Traveling Companions

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
December 20, 2015

4 Advent C

Two bizarre stories collide in our gospel lesson this morning.  First, Elizabeth and Zechariah are both righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments of God.  But Elizabeth is barren, and she and Zechariah are getting old.  Gabriel, an angel of the Lord, appears to Zechariah and tells Zechariah that Elizabeth will bear a son.  Zechariah does not believe the angel, so Zechariah's voice is taken away and he is told by the angel that he will not be able to speak again until the baby is born.  That baby is John the Baptist.

Secondly, Gabriel, one very busy angel, goes to visit Mary, who is engaged to Joseph, a descendant of the great King David.  Gabriel tells Mary that she will conceive and bear a child.  Mary is a bit perplexed by this, since she is a virgin, but she is satisfied by the angel's explanation that the Holy Spirit will come upon her and her child will be the Son of God.  Gabriel tells Mary that her relative Elizabeth has conceived a son in her old age, and is, in fact, 6 months pregnant.  And Mary says "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word."  That is bizarre story number two.

Mary and Elizabeth are both on very strange journeys, not of their own choosing, begun by the announcement of an angel, and each involving an unlikely pregnancy.  One child, the angel tells Zechariah, will have the spirit and the power of Elijah to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.  The other child, the angel tells Mary, will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David and of his kingdom there will be no end.  Both women have every right to be a bit perplexed at this turn of events!

The two stories collide this morning, when Mary, having heard from the angel Gabriel, goes with haste to a Judean town in the hill country, where she and Elizabeth greet each other with great joy and with song.  We are told that Mary stayed with Elizabeth for 3 months, and then returned home.  After all the detail we are given about the greeting Elizabeth gives Mary, and Mary's great song of praise, the simple fact that Mary stays three months and goes home seems rather anticlimactic.

I wonder what Mary was thinking, as she left with haste and traveled through the Judean country side.  Some scholars speculate that she went in order to hide her pregnancy from her family at home.  If that were the case, one would think she would leave home for the last three months rather than the first three months.  Was she banished by her family, embarrassed by this unplanned pregnancy?  There is no evidence in the story that she was sent away, by either Joseph or her parents.  In fact, in Luke's gospel, we are not even told that Joseph knows of Mary's pregnancy at this point.  My guess, is that while Mary was open to God, and obedient, and willing to be the servant of the Lord, she was also a bit scared and confused.  An angel had appeared to her and told her that she would conceive and bear a son. The angel had mentioned that her relative Elizabeth had conceived a son in her old age, so perhaps Mary was thinking that she does not need to travel this strange journey alone.  She has a fellow traveler, whose journey will be alike, but different, who can travel with her and will help her see what God is doing through her.

The story of the visitation tells us more than that John the Baptist recognizes the Messiah while they are both still in their mother's wombs.  This story tells us that Mary, the mother of Jesus, chose not to travel her remarkable journey alone, and not to try to understand what God was doing through her, all by herself.  The story actually tells us that Mary has three traveling companions on this journey.  First, she has Elizabeth, a living breathing human being (as opposed to an angel), who is able to name what God is doing through Mary.  Only when Elizabeth recognizes Mary as the mother of her Lord does Mary rejoice.  Secondly, we are told that Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit who helped Elizabeth speak the truth to Mary.  And lastly, when Mary responds to Elizabeth's greeting, she does so by reaching into Scripture.  The song Mary sings is the same song Hannah sang in 1 Samuel to give thanks for the birth of her son, Samuel.  Scripture is also a companion on Mary's daunting journey.

Mary's story reminds us that we are not called to travel alone, either.  Alone, we cannot always make sense of what God is doing through us.  Alone, we may think we have heard the voice of an angel and wonder if we were dreaming when God calls us to do a new thing or takes us to a new place.  Alone, we may not yet be able to rejoice in God's action in our lives.  The story of the visitation reminds us that we have fellow travelers in each other, in the Holy Spirit, and in Scripture, no matter how bizarre or joyful or confusing the journey might be.  And the delicious twist to the story is that the one who teaches us that we need never travel alone, is the one who will give birth to the child named "Emmanuel," God with us.  Indeed, we never travel alone.

Amen.

Stones

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
December 13, 2015

3 Advent C

Some years ago, when my husband was at Kanuga, the Episcopal Conference Center in Western North Carolina, he brought me back some stones from a place called High Rocks, a lovely spot on a cliff that over looks the valley below.  High Rocks is just up the mountain from the house where my grandparents lived and where our family gathered every Thanksgiving for about 30 years. Each year after Thanksgiving dinner, we would hike up to High Rocks to walk off that second piece of pumpkin pie and enjoy the view. Countless other visits to our grandparents involved hikes to that magical spot where you can be eye level with the clouds and hear the sounds from the valley.  The stones Don brought me are just rocks.  They are not particularly beautiful, or polished, or even unique.  They are just rocks.  But the rocks come from a place that is near and dear to my heart, a place alive with stories of times I spent on that mountain with people I love, experiences of the presence of God that I cherish, and more memories than I can count.  The stones are alive for me, in their own special way, because of the stories they hold.

One of my favorite Bible passages comes near the end of Luke's gospel.  Jesus has entered into Jerusalem, riding on a colt, and the whole multitude of Jesus' disciples begin to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power they had seen.  Some of the Pharisees in the crowd say to Jesus "Teacher, order your disciples to stop!"  And Jesus replies "I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out."   If the people are not moved to sing God's praise by the stories of God's deeds of power, then the stones will.

This morning, in one of the most memorable lines in Scripture, John the Baptist says to the crowds who have come out to be baptized by him in the wilderness "You brood of vipers.  Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?"  Then he tells them to bear fruit worthy of repentance.  "Do not begin to say to yourselves ‘We have Abraham for our ancestor' for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham."  Bearing good fruit is what is important, according to John the Baptist, not pedigree.  Those who do not bear good fruit will thrown into the fire.

When the crowds, the tax collectors, and the soldiers hear John's words of condemnation, they are moved to ask "What, then, shall we do?"  John's instructions are simple.  Share. Be fair. Do not be greedy.  This sounds more like "All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten" than how to avoid the unquenchable fire!  But the truth is that John is reminding the people of their very own story, for the Hebrew scriptures hold many admonitions to do those exact things.  The Hebrew story is about responding to the graciousness of God by being gracious to others, both friend and stranger.  That story is about remembering what it was like to be strangers in a foreign land, whether Egypt or Babylon, and treating people in a similar situation with kindness and hospitality.  What God asks of us in not complicated.  But if the people forget their story, and fail to act as children of God, then God will raise up stones to take their place.

At the end of John the Baptist's tirade, we are told that with these and many other exhortations, John the Baptist proclaimed good news to the people.  Which part of John the Baptist's rant qualifies as good news? The part where we are called a brood of vipers?  Or the part where the people are told that their status as children of Abraham is worthless if they do not bear good fruit?  Or the part about the unquenchable fire?

The words of the readings from Zephaniah, Isaiah, and Paul's letter to the Philippians help soften the blow from John's words this morning.  In the reading from Zephaniah, we hear "Sing aloud, O daughter Zion, shout, O Israel!  Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!  The Lord has taken away the judgements against you, he has turned away your enemies."  The reading brings hope to an exiled, despondent people.  Likewise, Isaiah claims God as "our "stronghold and sure defense" and calls the people to "Ring out your joy."  And the letter to the Philippians calls the people to rejoice in the Lord always, and let their gentleness be known to everyone.  These are the kinds of readings I want to hear in Advent, full of hope and promise as we await the birth of the Christ Child.  No where in my imagination do I find a baby Jesus with a winnowing fork in his hand!

However, the soaring words of Zephaniah and Isaiah come after the people have been severely chastised by the prophets for the way they treat widows and orphans, for their worship of other gods, and for the many ways they have broken God's commandments.  The people have forgotten their story and they have paid the penalty. Paul calls the Philippians to rejoice, but only after he gives them a tongue lashing for following false teachers and failing to get along with each other.   An often overlooked fact about Scripture is that the good news often goes hand in hand with judgement. Judgement is tempered with hope, and mercy is free but not cheap.   John the Baptist proclaims judgement against the people who have come out into the wilderness to be baptized, but he also offers them hope in his own gruff way.  He calls the people to repent, so repentance must be possible.  He tells them the truth-that they way they treat each other matters to God and they can do better.  He tells the people that the chaff will be burned, but the wheat will be gathered.  And there is one coming who will baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire.  No wonder the people were filled with expectation.  There is hope!

"So with many other exhortations, John the Baptist proclaimed good news to the people."  The message of John the Baptist is this: The good news demands something of us.  The birth of Christ requires a response from us.  That response is to remember our story, the story of our God who became human in the Christ Child, born to unwed parents who were away from their home with no place to stay, for whom the sky lit up and the angels sang, and who will give his life for the life of the world.  John tells us that simply waiting for the Christ child to arrive is not enough.  God can raise up stones to wait.  John calls us to use our lives to put flesh on the story of Jesus.

Amen.

Dress for Success

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
December 6, 2015

2 Advent C

Years ago, when Don and I lived in Lexington, Kentucky, we lived across the street from a little boy named Greg, and his parents, Ann and Jim.  Greg was probably 6 or 7 years old, full of energy and imagination.  Every now and then, Don and I would look out our front window, and Greg would be out in his front yard, all dressed up as superman, or batman, or some other super hero, flying around his yard and working hard to save the world.  As we watched Greg scale tall buildings with a single bound, I learned that there is a fine line between pretending, and allowing oneself to be transformed into someone or something else, even if for a brief time.  Greg would tell you quickly that he was not pretending to be superman.  Greg was superman, just not all the time.  Which, of course, is very superman like. And I have to wonder if Greg wasn't just a little more confident and a little more sure of himself for the time he spent transformed into Superman.  Perhaps having worked to save the world on Saturday made first grade a little easier come Monday.

Our reading from Baruch this morning calls us to enter into a similar sort of behavior.  The book of Baruch is named for the prophet Jeremiah's scribe and set in the 6th century BCE at the time of the Babylonian exile.  God's chosen people had been removed from the Promised Land, the land burned, the temple destroyed, and they wondered how they could possibly worship God away from the land God had given them.  Into this situation, Baruch writes the words we hear this morning,  "Take off the garment of your sorrow and affliction, O Jerusalem, and put on forever the beauty of the glory of God...For God will evermore give you the name ‘Righteous peace, Godly glory."  Then Baruch echos the words of Isaiah that we hear from John the Baptist in the gospel reading: "God has ordered that every high mountain and the everlasting hills be made low, and the valleys filled up to make level ground, so that Israel may walk safely in the glory of God."

Baruch is speaking words of hope to this exiled people, telling them to live like people who have been given the name "Righteous peace, Godly glory."  Stop with the self-pity and the negative thinking.  Live like people who believe God will lead them with joy, in the light of his glory, with the mercy and righteousness that come from God.  Baruch does not say this, but I imagine the scribe is thinking that if the people can live as people of deep hope, even in the midst of deep adversity, they will be transformed by that hope, and they will walk safely in the glory of God.

On the other hand, John the Baptist proclaims a baptism of repentance this morning.  He won't actually get around to calling us a brood of vipers until next Sunday.  This Sunday is a milder call to repent in order to prepare the way of the Lord.  We hear words similar to those of Baruch "Every valley shall be filled and every mountain shall be made low...and all flesh shall see the salvation of God."

Repentance.  When I think of repentance I usually think of things I need to stop doing.  But the word "repent" actually means to turn around, to change course, not just to stop doing something.  So, I wonder if the repentance John calls for actually looks like the change of behavior Baruch calls for.  What if repentance, preparing the way of the Lord, is actually about taking off the garment of sorrow and affliction, giving up whatever negative thoughts and self pity control us, and putting on the beauty of the glory from God?  What if repentance means living like God is leading us with joy, in the light of his glory, with the mercy and righteousness that comes from God?  And if we were to really live into the name "Righteous peace, Godly glory" what valley might be filled or what mountain might be made straight?

Neither Baruch nor John the Baptist are calling us to pretend that we are something we are not, or to pretend that problems which really do exist are not there.  Both are calling us to live like the people God calls us to be, whether we feel like that on any given day or not, and allow ourselves to be transformed from the outside in by our new behavior.  Baruch reminds us that we can't always control how we feel, but we can control how we act.  And if we act and engage the world as someone God calls "Righteous peace, Godly glory" what difference might that make in our own lives and the lives of those we encounter?

John the Baptist tells us to prepare the way of the Lord, to make his paths straight, not so that our own lives will be easier or better, or so that we will be more pleasant to live with, but so that all flesh shall see the salvation of God.  The salvation of God is not an abstract concept, something left to theologians to debate and explain to us.  The salvation of God is something we can see, and as Christians we believe that the salvation of God became visible in the person of Jesus.  Advent points us to the Christ Child and calls us to prepare the way of the Lord.  We can make the mountains impassable or we can put on the glory of God and make the rough ways smooth.  Advent calls us to put on the glory of God and prepare for the Christ child by living so that all flesh can see the salvation of God.

Amen.

The Kingdom of God Come Near

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 29, 2015

1 Advent 2015

When I was a child, my advent calendar gave me the illusion that I was in  control of the time until Christmas.  The other indications of when Christmas would arrive were pretty fuzzy.  My mother was never one to procrastinate.  She had a freezer and was not afraid to use it, so she was finished with the cooking well before Christmas.  Shopping for the relatives was finished and packages were wrapped by early December.  If Christmas had come two weeks early in any given year, my mother would have been ready.  So, if I measured the time until Christmas by Christmas preparations around the house, I could be off by a couple of weeks.  But, every night I could open one little window on my Advent calendar,  find one small Christmas symbol, and know how many days were left until Christmas.  I realized that my control over the time until Christmas was limited, however.  If I opened all the windows on the same night, Christmas would be no closer.  But by opening one window each night, I felt like I was moving myself one step closer to something unimaginably wonderful.

This morning, while we might have come to church expecting to hear something about the baby Jesus...at the very least the liturgical equivalent of an invitation to a baby shower, instead we hear about the signs of Jesus' return. Quite frankly, those signs do not seem to be pointing us closer to something unimaginably wonderful.  The signs Jesus describes this morning sound rather terrifying, quite frankly.   There are enough terrifying situations in the world today that, as we turn our thoughts to the birth of the Christ Child, I would personally rather hear something a little more uplifting.  Perhaps we could hear Isaiah say "The people who have walked in darkness have seen a great light."  Or perhaps we could hear Micah say "But you, O Bethlehem...from you shall come forth one who is to rule Israel."  But instead we hear Jesus say "There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves.  People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of heaven will be shaken."   I want to anticipate the birth of a baby.  Jesus seems to have something very different in mind.

Jeremiah and Paul also anticipate something very different from the Christ Child  this morning, although what they describe does not seem quite so terrifying. Jeremiah says "The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah."  That sounds pretty hopeful, actually.  And Paul writes in 1 Thessalonians "And may the Lord so strengthen your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his saints."  Hearts strengthened in holiness don't sound too scary, either.

In the case of  both Jeremiah and the writer of Luke's gospel, all the evidence is that their world is coming to an end, the future is terrifying, and God is no where to be found.  Jeremiah writes after Judah and Jerusalem have fallen to the Babylonians.  God's faithful people have been exiled, the land has been burned, the temple destroyed, and life as they knew it in the Promised Land had come to a most devastating end.  Where was the God who led the people out of bondage in Egypt and into the Promised Land?  Was the story all a hoax?  The first century Christians to whom Luke wrote did not have life any easier.  Jerusalem had fallen again, this time to the Romans, the temple had been destroyed again, and God's faithful people had been exiled, again.  Jesus had promised to return, but where was he?  Life was about as bad as life could get, and Jesus was no where to be found.  Was Jesus' promise a hoax?

In 2015, we live in a world that seems just as unstable as the world of Jeremiah or the writer of Luke's gospel.  While we, ourselves, may not be under attack, people of faith around the world are under attack.  People are living in and fleeing conditions I cannot begin to imagine.  Add in terrorism, natural disasters, illness, and other situations closer to home, and we, too, can wonder if the promises of God are a hoax, or if God is asleep on the job.  If the conditions of the first century and all the horrible circumstances people have found themselves in over the past 2000 years have not brought Jesus back yet, what are we waiting for?

After we hear Jesus describe the signs of his return in the sun, the moon, the stars and on earth, windows we would rather shut than look through, then Jesus says "Look at the fig tree and all the trees.  As soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is here.  So when you see these things taking place, you will know that the Kingdom of God is near."  Then Jesus tells us that his very generation will not pass away before these things take place.

How can this be true, all these years later?  Earlier in Luke's gospel when Jesus spoke about the Kingdom of God coming near, he said "Whenever you enter a town and the people welcome you, eat what is set before you, cure the sick who are there and say to them "the Kingdom of God has come near."  And then Jesus said to the disciples "But whenever you enter a town and the people do not welcome you, go out into the streets and say "Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you.  Yet know this, the Kingdom of God has come near."

Jesus is telling us that we don't control the nearness of the Kingdom of God by our actions, much less our success, nor is the nearness of the Kingdom controlled by the actions of those who seek to maim and destroy.  Through out the gospels, the Kingdom has come near because God has drawn near.  Period. The exiles in Babylon to whom Jeremiah spoke, and the early Christians to whom the writer of Luke spoke could look back and see where God had drawn near and know that God's promises were not a hoax.  Jesus calls us to remember where we have seen and known the Kingdom of God to draw near in the past, and keep our eyes open for those places where the Kingdom of God breaks in now.  What Jesus tells us this morning is that the Kingdom does not break in only with the joyous birth of tiny babies.  The Kingdom also breaks in where the sun, the moon, and the skies are being torn apart, and the very earth is being shaken.  The promise of Advent is this: We are not in control of when, where, or how the Kingdom of God breaks in. But the Kingdom of God does break in, likely when we least expect it.  Advent calls us to keep our eyes and our hearts wide open, not weighed down by the worries of this life, and expect to find the Kingdom of God come near.
Amen.

Christ the King and Toilet Paper

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 22, 2015

Christ the King

As many of you know, I served for a number of summers as the chaplain for 4th and 5th graders at Procter Camp, our diocesan camp in Southern Ohio.  One of my responsibilities there was to celebrate the Eucharist every morning.  The lessons for each day were chosen to correspond to the theme of the camp, so each day I had new readings to work with for the homily.  But I needed something more to get the kids' attention. They were 8 and 9 years old, after all.  So, each day a different cabin got to put an item into a special bag and bring the bag to chapel.  Whatever was in the bag, I had to weave into the very brief homily.  The only rule was that whatever went into the bag could not be alive or ever have been alive.  That eliminates a lot of things fourth and fifth graders might come up with.  But over the years, I found a Barbie, a clock, all sorts of soaps and shampoos, socks- clean, fortunately, a talking stick, a camera, and all kinds of other random things kids bring to camp.  One year, on the last day of camp, when all the parents had come to pick up their children and were also at Eucharist, I reached into the bag and pulled out a roll of toilet paper.  Now, there are all kinds of ways one could go with a homily on toilet paper, and I am sure the boys' cabin that provided me with the roll had several in mind.  I don't remember  the theme of the camp that year, or what the Scripture readings were that day, but roll of toilet paper reminded me of the gratitude I see on people's faces at the Food Pantry when they receive this simple, and utterly basic necessity that I totally take for granted.  Kelly, our parish administrator, and I experienced this very gratitude on Wednesday after Food Pantry.  We saw a woman coming to the door of Hollenbeck after the Food Pantry had closed. We were completely and totally out of food.  Kelly grabbed a package of toilet paper, and I headed for the door to greet the woman.  The woman had actually come to get the walker she had left, but Kelly handed her the package of toilet paper anyway and said "Would you like some toilet paper."  The woman's is clearly not an Episcopalian because she threw her arms up in the air and shouted "Praise Jesus!" This for a package of toilet paper.  Kelly and I weren't sure whether to share in her joy, or weep.

What, you might reasonably wonder, does toilet paper have to do with Christ the King Sunday, our patronal feast day?  Today, we hear Pilate ask Jesus "Are you the King of the Jews?"  And we hear Jesus be less than direct in his reply: "Do you ask this on your own or did others tell you about me?"  When Pilate asks Jesus "What have you done?" Jesus replies "My kingdom is not from this world."  And he repeats "My kingdom is not from here."

So, is Jesus a king or not?  And what does this have to do with toilet paper?

When I think of Christ the King, I think of the resurrected Jesus, the one the reading from Revelation calls "the faithful witness, the first born of the dead, and ruler of the kings of the earth," the one who says at the end of the book of Revelation "Behold, the home of God is among mortals.  He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe away every tear from their eyes....Behold, I am making all things new."  But today's gospel reading is part of the gospel reading for Good Friday.  Every year on Good Friday, we hear Pilate ask "Are you the king of the Jews?" and we hear Jesus say "You say that I am a king."  Jesus does not look like a king when he stands before Pilate and Jesus certainly won't look like a king hanging on a cross.  There are no fancy robes, he has no great wealth, no army, no territory over which to rule.  Jesus will have a crown, but it will be made of thorns, not gold and jewels.  He will be called "King of the Jews" but the people will be mocking him, not honoring him.  His followers are not fighting to keep Jesus from being handed over to the authorities.  So what kind of king is Jesus?

Earlier in John's gospel, Jesus said "I am the Good Shepherd.  I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.  And I lay down my life for the sheep."  Jesus knew his Hebrew Bible and he assumed his followers did, too.  And those followers who heard Jesus talk about the Good Shepherd would have been reminded of the passage in Ezekiel where God says "I will set over them one shepherd, my servant David, and he will feed them himself and be their shepherd."  David, of course, was the great King of Israel, who is described in Ezekiel as a shepherd.  When Jesus says "I am the Good Shepherd," Jesus is describing his kingship.  Jesus is the king who is a shepherd, who lays down his life for the sheep, which is what he is about to do when he stands before Pilate this morning.

Jesus' kingship is different.  Jesus' kingship is not of this world, and does not hold to the values of this world.  Jesus sought no power, wealth, or privilege for himself.  Instead Jesus worked to give power to the powerless, hope to those without hope, strength to the weak, and resources to the poor.   The last words of King David, Jesus' ancestor, are said to be those we hear in 2 Samuel this morning "One who rules over people justly, ruling in the fear of God, is like the light of morning, gleaming from the rain on the grassy land."   The work of the Shepherd King is to bring the light of morning to the darkness of night, and rain to the dry grass, making all things new for all people.

On Christ the King Sunday, we are reminded that this is the person for whom our church is  named.  The toilet paper we offer today will be greatly appreciated by those who receive it, I can guarantee that,  but the toilet paper will not change their lives.  The lives that will be changed by our offering of toilet paper are our lives.  Our lives are changed as we see and hear the deep gratitude of those who receive this simple, basic gift.  Kelly and I did not know whether to rejoice with our friend at the door on Wednesday, or to weep that someone could be so deeply excited about something so small.  I believe God calls us to be weep for all people all over the world who lack the basic things we all take for granted, whether toilet paper, food, shelter, medical care, or physical safety, and be moved to make this world of Christ is the King. As Christ Church, we are called be shaped by a kingship not of this world, and to make our world a place where the light of morning shines through for all people.  

Amen.

Where is Jesus?

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 15, 2015

28 Proper B

Our young Pub Theologians had quite a conversation about thankfulness last Sunday.  In my November Clarion article, I wrote about the apostle Paul's call in 1 Thessalonians to rejoice always, pray constantly, and give thanks in allcircumstances, not just the circumstances we find favorable.  So, I asked our 4th- 12 graders what they are thankful for, and they came up with a nice list.  Then I asked them to create a story about someone who finds him or herself in a dreadful circumstance. Any one who thinks youth lack in imagination have not met our young Pub Theologians.  Think Job meets the Zombie Apocalypse.  They came up with some wildly awful, and fortunately highly unlikely scenarios and we brainstormed what a person could possibly be thankful for if he or she found themselves in such a circumstance.  Then we backed up and talked about some challenges in our own lives and what we can find to be thankful for even when we are struggling.

While we don't hear about the zombie apocalypse this morning, we do hear from what is called the "little apocalypse" in Mark's gospel.  The 13th chapter of this gospel speaks about the end times, the times just before Jesus returns.  This morning Jesus tells the disciples and us not to be alarmed by wars and rumors of wars, earthquakes and famines, because these are the beginnings of the birthpangs. Our gospel reading ends there, but Jesus does not.  Jesus goes on to describe persecutions, divisions in families over the gospel, suffering such as has not been seen since the beginning of creation, and false messiahs.  Even the heavens will experience trauma as the sun and moon are darkened, the stars will fall from the heavens, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.  After Jesus has described in detail just how awful life will be, he says "But then, they will see the Son of Man coming in the clouds with great power and glory."  But then, the birthpangs will bear fruit and we will find Jesus in our midst.  But we need to watch and be ready.

The truth is, apocalyptic writings in scripture usually describe what is actually happening in the lives of the original readers, while also describing a future salvation.  The original readers of Mark's gospel were being persecuted.  They were experiencing many of the kinds of things Jesus describes in this section of Mark's gospel.  And they heard Jesus promise that this is not the end.  Jesus is coming and may even be here now, and they must watch.  Passages such as this give the people hope that the challenges they endure do not have the final word, and the challenges do not mean that Jesus is absent.

When times are difficult, we can easily wonder where Jesus is.  On a global level, the devastating terrorist attacks in Paris and in other parts of the world last week sound a lot like wars and rumors of wars, and the people of France feel under siege in a way not unlike the situation described in Mark's gospel.  On a local level, Springfield is certainly facing serious challenges, and while our challenges may not be apocalyptic, they are certainly life altering for those most directly affected.  The gun violence this fall has been devastating and can certainly make one wonder about Jesus' presence in our city.  The seemingly constant news about the challenges Wittenberg faces along with  businesses shutting down, leaving, or being sold is disheartening and a real challenge to our economy here.  Many of our own parishioners are deeply affected by these situations.  And then there are those who are suffering from frightful diagnoses or the lack of a diagnosis for difficult symptoms.  These local challenges may not add up to famine, war, and earthquake, but they are enough to make us wonder if Jesus has disappeared or God is asleep.

In the reading from 1 Samuel, Hannah is crushed by her lack of a child.  She is experiencing bullying by her peers and the heartbreak of infertility.   At the time when God seems most absent to her, what does Hannah do?  1 Samuel says she presents herself at the temple, but from the way the passage reads, I think she throws herself down at the temple, is deeply distressed, weeps bitterly, and pours out her soul to God.  She is reassured by Eli, the priest, that God has heard her.  God has not abandoned her, and eventually she does conceive and bear a son.  Yes she does get her hearts desire, which does not always happen, not even in Scripture, but the point is that, rather than run from the God who seems so absent, she drew near to God.

Scholars do not know who wrote the letter to the Hebrews or the circumstances around that writing, but the words at the end of our reading this morning are among my favorites.  The vestry actually wrestled with these words in our Bible study a few months ago as we read "And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching."  Provoke one another to good deeds.  The word "provoke" actually means "to call forth" but I find myself provoked more often to anger or impatience as Hannah was by her rivals  rather than being provoked to good deeds.  When the writer says "and all the more as you see the Day approaching," the writer is telling us that the need to provoke one another to love and good deeds, and not neglect to meet together only increases as challenges increase.  The early church did not gather to sing hymns, share scripture, and break bread together because life was easy.  They gathered because life was hard and they needed each other in order to be able to find Christ in their midst. They needed each other in order to be able to make Eucharist, which is the Greek word for thanksgiving, when being thankful was too hard to do alone.

We can hear scripture that describes the end time as hopelessly outdated and irrelevant, or we can hear the call of such passages to watch for Jesus to be among us in challenging time.  We can hear the story of Hannah as a miraculous healing unlikely to really happen, or we can admire her honesty in baring her pain before God.  And we can get bogged down in the talk of sacrifice and offering in the book of Hebrews and give up, or we can hear the call to hold together and encourage one another in good times and bad and make a difference in the world.  Scripture reminds us this morning that God is closest when God seems most absent, and that the way to know God's closeness and find Jesus in our midst is to come together and encourage one another, to provoke one another to love and good deeds so we make a difference, and to stick together.

Amen.

Enjoy the Ride!

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 8, 2015

27 Proper B

When I was in high school, our youth group took a trip to Six Flags over Texas, an amusement park.  We had washed cars, raked leaves, and sold candy bars all year to raise the money for this trip.  We boarded a bus on a Friday night, arrived at Six Flags on Saturday morning where we spent the day riding the rides, and then got back on the bus and arrived home Sunday morning.  Riding the bus at night saved money on overnight accommodations, and all of our waking hours could be spent riding rides.  My friends talked me into riding the roller coaster, which I am sure was fairly tame by today's standards.  "You will love it," they said.  Against my better judgement, I agreed.   The ride only lasted 90 seconds.  How bad could that be?  Once we got in the cart, were strapped in, and the safety bar had been lowered across the seat, the train started slowly up a steep incline.  "This is not so bad," I thought.  And then, the bottom fell out.  The roller coaster descended at an alarming rate.  I could hear people screaming, but I couldn't breathe, much less scream.  I was holding on for dear life, but in the brief moment I had my eyes open, I could see others with their arms up in the air, eyes open, and their screams seemed to be happy screams.  Apparently, the way to enjoy a roller coaster is to let go and trust the safety bar, but I was having nothing of that.  I shut my eyes, tried to breathe, and held on for dear life for a very long 90 seconds.  And I promised God that if God would just get me off that roller coaster alive,  I would never, ever get on a roller coaster again.  And for all the promises I struggle with, I have kept that promise to God. No problem!

This morning we hear the story commonly known as the story of the widow's mite.  I always wonder what the poor widow was thinking when she put into the treasury what was, according to Jesus, her last two coins.  Because if Jesus is right, and those really were her last two coins, I am hard pressed to think the widow was anything other than foolish.  Not that the two copper coins were going to get her very far, but at least they were something.   I wonder if the widow at the treasury reminded the disciples of the widow of Zarephath in 1 Kings.  In that story, the widow is down to nothing but a little bit of olive oil and flour when Elijah asks her for some water and a little bit of bread.  The widow tells Elijah that she is gathering sticks for a fire so she can go home and make a meal for herself and her son, and then they will lie down to die.  Then Elijah says to the widow "Do not be afraid.  Go home and do as you have said.  But first make a small loaf of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me.  Then make something for yourself and your son.  For this is what the Lord, the God of Israel says ‘The jar of flour will not be used up and the jar of oil will not run dry until the day the Lord sends rain to the land.'" And, indeed, that is exactly what happened.

But Jesus does not tell us what happened to the widow who put all that she had into the treasury, and he does not even tell us that what she did was right.  He only says that she has put in more than all the rich people because she put in everything.  The rich people had put in out of their abundance, and she had put in out of her poverty.

I wonder if Jesus is teaching us about the difference between living our lives while holding on for dear life, and living our lives letting go.  Before the widow put her last two coins in the treasury, we saw the scribes who like to walk around in long robes and be greeted in the market places, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets.  The scribes seem to be people who want to hold on to what they have, in part, perhaps, because those long robes, best seats, and places of honor gave them their identity.  And I imagine they like that identity, so they hold on to it.  On the other hand, the poor widow lets go of everything, down to her two last coins, so she has to be defined by something else.  She has nothing to rely on but God, so her identity comes from that relationship. And if, indeed, we are meant to remember the widow at Zarephath, we know that the offering of her last two coins will not be the end of the widow's story.

When we give out of our abundance, we still have plenty to hold on to.  When we give out of our poverty, we have to let go and rely on God.  I do not think this story calls us to give our every last coin to the temple.  I do think this passage calls us to think about what we hold onto so tightly because we have so little, and to let go of even that little bit.  For many of us, perhaps our poverty is that of time. We feel like we have so little time that we have to hold onto it and manage what we have down to the last nanosecond.  The way we manage our time tells us a lot about who we are.  What if we were to let go of our hold on time, or whatever our poverty might be?  Rather than hold on so tightly that we cut off circulation to our fingers, forget to breathe, and fail to open our eyes, what if we, like the widow, let go?  What happens if we throw our arms up in the air, open our eyes, and let ourselves be exhilarated by the ride?  Perhaps Jesus is telling us that only by letting go, and giving out of our poverty, whatever that poverty might be, can we really enjoy the ride as children of God.

Amen.

"Unbind him and let him go."

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 1, 2015

All Saints

Don and I had been married about 2 years when we went to Colorado with Don's parents to visit Grandma and Grandpa Stinnett.  A lot about that trip was a new experience for me.  For starters, there was the car trip itself.  The distance from Arkansas to Colorado was further than I thought!  Then, there was farm life.  I grew up in the suburbs and in the city.  Don's grandparents were wheat farmers.  I will never forget Grandpa Stinnett's voice-somewhere between disbelief and disdain, when he found out I had never ridden a horse.  "You are a city girl" were his exact words.  And then there were the meals.  My mom was a great cook, but she saved the really big meals for festive occasions.  Grandma Stinnett, on the other hand, was feeding men who worked in the field all day.  Every meal was a major food event that could have fed a football team.  Platters of chicken fried steak, bowls of mashed potatoes and vegetables, most of which were home grown, salads, breads, and dessert were on the table and while the selection varied from meal to meal, the quantity did not.  These meals were not for any particular celebration, although they were certainly prepared with plenty of love.  These meals had a purpose and that purpose was to nourish people to do the hard work of farming.

Today is All Saints Day, one of the most beloved feast days in the Church.  We sing magnificent hymns, light candles as we remember our loved ones, and on this particular All Saints Day we hear what are, in my humble opinion, some of the greatest passages in all of Scripture.  On this day that we remember the lives of those who have gone before us, we hear God promise, in both Isaiah and Revelation, that the day will come when God will wipe away every tear from our eyes and God will swallow up death forever.  Some day, we will not be parted from our loved ones by death.  And before God destroys death, God "will make for all people a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well aged wines strained clear."  God will prepare a banquet for us, not unlike the banquet Grandma Stinnett created over and over again bringing all the workers together-although minus the well-aged wine, at least when Grandma was watching.  On All Saints Day, we are reminded that at God's banquet table, both the one at this altar and the one to come, we are joined with all those who have gone before us for the feast that gathers us and makes us one.

But for what purpose does God create this meal?  To show God's love for us? To gather all of human kind together? As a great celebration of the new thing God is about to do?  Or to nourish us for the work ahead?

Today's gospel reading contains my favorite line in all of scripture. After Jesus has raised Lazarus from the dead, and after Martha worries about the stench when the stone is removed from the tomb, and after Lazarus has come stumbling out with his hands and feet bound and his face covered, Jesus says to the startled onlookers "Unbind him and let him go."

"Unbind him and let him go."  Jesus has just raised Lazarus from the dead.  But until Lazarus has been unbound, he might have been able to stumble out of the tomb, but he can't do much else.  In order to be fully free, Lazarus must be unbound.  And apparently, unbinding is not in Jesus' job description.  Resurrection is Jesus' job.  Unbinding is the work that belongs to Jesus' followers. Unbinding is the work of resurrection people who can see the new thing God is doing in their midst.

Unwrapping Lazarus sounds simple enough.  But Mary and Martha are being asked to touch a man who was dead just a few moments ago, a man whose stench they feared.  And if they unbind Lazarus, what might they be unleashing?  The man had been dead.  Now he was alive.  What new power might he now have?  Will he be the same brother they once had?  But we know they swallow their fear and unbind their brother because in a few verses later, Mary and Martha give a dinner party for Jesus, and Lazarus is at the table.  Unbound.

Unbind him and let him go.  When we think about the great saints of the Church, and perhaps the saints of our own lives, we see people who heard Jesus say "I do the work of resurrection.  You do the work of resurrection people."   Those people stepped out of their comfort zones in faith to do things they could never have done on their own. Resurrection things.  Mary said to the angel "Let it be with me according to your word."  Peter, despite his many failings, stepped forward to be the rock on which Jesus would build the church.  Mother Teresa worked with the poorest of the poor in Calcutta.  The list goes on and on.  All these people believed that Jesus does the work of resurrection and we do the work of resurrection people who believe God is doing something new in our midst.  But the work of resurrection people is not always, or often, easy.  Being resurrection people in a world that fears the stench of death is hard work, for which we need real nourishment.  And so God draws us together and feeds us with the holy meal, a foretaste of the meal Isaiah describes, to nourish us for the hard work ahead.  Does God feed us because God loves us?  Yes.  Does God feed us so we can see the new things God is doing in our midst?  Yes.  And does God nourish us so we have the strength for the work ahead?  Absolutely.

The Saints of the Church and the saints in our own lives are 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 call us to see the resurrection work God is doing in our midst, and to trust that God will nourish us, as God nourished them, to do the work of resurrection people.

Amen.

Chaos and Confusion

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
October 18, 2015

24 Proper B

As some of you may know, the Archbishop of Canterbury was in the United States last week.  He was here to dedicate the chapel at one of our 10 Episcopal seminaries.  The historic chapel at Virginia Seminary in Alexandria, Virginia was destroyed several years ago in a devastating fire that was caused by a simple human mistake.  The cost to the seminary was tremendous. They had lost their place of worship, which is a central point in the life of a seminary.  The chapel held part of their identity, in much the same way that this space can hold much of our identity as a worshiping community. Over the following months and years, many conversations were held to determine how to rebuild and how to recapture something of what was lost.  At a gut level, the community needed to restore a sense of order in the midst of the chaos of loss.

I was not in Virginia last week, but several of my friends were, so I have heard about the dedication of the beautiful new space and the sermon the Archbishop preached.  One of my friends was struck when the Archbishop reminded the congregation that "Holiness is messy."  I have not heard the sermon or seen it in print, so I can only wonder about what the Archbishop meant. I wonder if the Archbishop meant to remind the people gathered for the dedication of a glorious worship space that holiness was found, not just in the beautiful chapel, but also in the chaos that reigned in the aftermath of the fire. God is present in moving worship, but God is also present in the chaos of tragedy and confusion.

Job, and James and John are all wrestling with messy situations they do not understand this morning.  Job has lived his life faithfully, but has lost his family, friends, health, possessions and his future.  To say that Job's life is a mess is an understatement.  Job, and all those around him, believe that faithfulness is rewarded with material blessings, so the assumption is that Job's sin has caused the loss of everything and everyone he holds dear.  But Job knows he has not sinned and in the course of the story he has moved from accepting his fate to railing against the unfairness of God.  This morning, God finally responds to Job.

James and John are also guilty of thinking that their faithfulness should be rewarded with honor and power.  They have left everything and followed Jesus. In an orderly world, they should be rewarded with something that looks like a reward.  Unfortunately, the lectionary leaves out the passage immediately before James and John's request.  In that passage, Jesus tells the disciples for the third time that he will be "handed over to the chief priests and scribes, and they will condemn him to death, then they will hand him over to the Gentiles, they will mock him and flog him and spit upon him and kill him, and after three days he will rise again." Talk about messy!  But as with the first two times Jesus told the disciples what is coming, the disciples do not understand.  The first time, Peter took Jesus aside and rebuked him for even thinking such a thing, which provoked Jesus to say "Get behind me Satan."  The second time, the disciples respond by arguing among themselves about which one of them is the greatest.  This time, the third time, James and John respond by asking for seats of honor on Jesus' right and left hand, the obvious reward for those who have been faithful.

While God does respond to Job this morning, God never does answer Job.  God never gives Job an answer to the question of why Job, and upright and godly person, should suffer so greatly.  God's soaring words this morning do little other than remind Job that God is God and Job is not.  God says "Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?" and "On what were its bases sunk, or who laid the cornerstone when the morning stars sang together and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?"  God takes Job and us back to the creation of the world to remind us of a deep order to creation, even in the midst of the chaos of our lives.  Holiness is not always orderly.  Holiness is also messy.

In my imagination, Jesus' first response to James and John's request is a deep sigh.  But then Jesus asks the two disciples whether they can drink the cup he will drink or be baptized with the baptism with which he will be baptized.  Of course James and John say "yes." When Jesus was baptized, the heavens opened, a dove descended, and the voice of God claimed Jesus as God's own son.  What's not to like about that?  Since James and John have been faithful followers of Jesus, at least in their own minds, they have no reason to think their baptism will be any different.  They are clueless because they have not been listening to Jesus.   Jesus' response is to tell them that their request is not his to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared.  With this vague and unsatisfactory answer to the disciples' request, Jesus, too, is pointing to an order in the cosmos that is out of his and their control.  The choice of those to sit at Jesus' side is likely messy and will not include the people they think should be included and will exclude some who think the should be included.  No one but God gets to control the seating arrangements.  Holiness is messy.

Rather than worry about who is in or who is out, or whether God is fair or not, or whether or not the disciples have a clue what is going on, Jesus points the disciples to something they do have control over: the way they live their lives.  Jesus calls them, and us, to be servants as he is a servant.  In the midst of all that we do not understand, when God seems unreasonable at best, absent at worst, when chaos seems to reign, Jesus calls us not to understand, but to serve.  And serving is messy.  We don't always get to serve the people we want to serve, when it works for our schedule, or in the ways we are most comfortable serving.  But when Jesus tells us to serve as he has come to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many, serving is made holy.  There is an underlying order to the cosmos that we may not understand.  At the same time, chaos and tragedy do not always have a reason.   Both are true and holiness is messy.  Jesus calls us to live in this tension simply by serving as he has served.
Amen.

Ridiculously Complicated

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
October 11, 2015

 23 Proper B

Some days, Jesus seems to make following him so complicated, so ridiculously hard, that I have to wonder why any of us even try.  Take the man in today's gospel reading for example.  The man has a simple question, which he begins by addressing Jesus with respect.  "Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?"  To me, the question sounds perfectly respectful and reasonable.  But, rather than simply answer the man's question, Jesus says "Why do you call me good?  No one is good but God alone."  That seems like a snarky response to a respectful question.  Then Jesus implies that the man already knows the answer to his question. "You know the commandments: You shall not murder.  You shall not commit adultery, You shall not steal, you shall not bear false witness, you shall not defraud, honor your father and mother."  This response is interesting for two reasons.  First, when Jesus points the man to the 10 commandments, Jesus only mentions the last 6, which are about our relationship with other people.  Jesus leaves out the first four, which are about our relationship with God.  Secondly, these commandments seem like a pretty low bar, quite frankly.  All we have to do to inherit eternal life is honor our parents and refrain from murder, adultery, lying, cheating, and stealing?  The man must have been ecstatic to hear that the answer to his deep longing for eternal life was something so simple.  He says to Jesus, "Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth."  Then Jesus raises the bar.  Jesus looks at the man and loves him, a good thing, but then says "You lack one thing: go, sell what you have and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven.  Then come, and follow me."  Is Jesus messing with this poor man?  Jesus is on his journey to Jerusalem which will take him to the cross and beyond.  By the time this guy goes home, has an epic garage sale, finds the poor to give them the money, then catches up with Jesus, Jesus will have suffered, died, and have risen, just as he has been telling his disciples would happen.  Jesus has gone from setting the bar ridiculously low to raising the bar impossibly high.  And the man gives up.  And we call this good news?

Now Jesus has some explaining to do for his very perplexed disciples, both the ones in the gospel lesson and us.  Jesus has just told the disciples in a previous passage that whoever is not against them is for them, and the man clearly seems to want to be for them and follow Jesus.  Jesus answer does not help their perplexity, however.  "It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God."  Clearly this is an impossible scenario, so the astounded disciples ask "Then who can be saved?"  The prevailing theology in the first century, and I am not sure we are much different, is that the possession of riches means that someone has been blessed by God.  If such a person cannot be saved, then who can possibly be saved?  Jesus replies "For mortals, it is impossible, but not for God.  For God, all things are possible."

Peter, never one to miss an opportunity to brag, begins to say to Jesus "Lord, we have left everything and followed you."  What Peter means is that he and the other disciples, unlike the rich man, meet the qualifications for salvation.   Jesus seems to affirm Peter's claim with his statement about leaving house, siblings, parents, and field.  But then Jesus says "But many who are first will be last and the last will be first."  What is that supposed to mean?  Is the rich man the person who thinks he is first but will be last because of his wealth?  Or is Peter, who thinks he is first because he has given up his wealth, going to be last.  Might the rich man who went away sad for he had many possessions and now thinks he is last, be first after all?  All of this in answer to the man's simple question "What must I do to inherit eternal life?"

I believe that Jesus' very complicated answer to a simple question is meant to point out the flaw in the man's question.  "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" implies that there is some action one can take to inherit something.  As a rule, an inheritance is a gift.  We inherit because of who we are, or, to put it another way, to whom we belong.  We inherit because we are the beloved child, or niece or nephew, or friend or favorite charitable organization of someone who has died.  And we never know that what we are scheduled to inherit is actually ours until after the person has died, the will has been read, the bills have been paid, and there are sufficient assets to cover the gifts made in the will.  My guess is that the man wants to bypass this uncertainty and guarantee that he will receive eternal life by earning it.  What we earn is ours by right.  What we earn belongs to us and anyone who takes that away from us is committing theft, which is against one of those 10 commandments Jesus just mentioned.  What we inherit is pure gift and out of our control.  Jesus makes earning eternal life look impossibly complicated and ridiculously hard, because it is impossible.  There is nothing we can do to earn eternal life.  Honoring the 10 commandments won't get us there, and neither will selling all we have and giving to the poor, as Jesus's comment to Peter shows.  No combination of offering our time, talent, and treasure will earn us eternal life.  No number of afternoons serving at the Food Pantry or Saturday mornings on Altar Guild, or Sundays teaching Sunday School will earn us eternal life. Earning eternal life is impossible.

Last week, we saw Jesus take little children into his arms and say "Truly, I tell you. Whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it."  Little children receive joyfully and do not expect to have to earn anything.  In an ideal world, little children know they are loved and live like they are loved, and little children know they are dependent on those who love them.  Perhaps Jesus is not the one making following him so very complicated.  Perhaps we are the ones who make discipleship complicated.  Jesus calls us to depend on him, not our wealth or possessions, and believe that we have been given eternal life as a gift.  Then Jesus calls us to live like that gift matters so the world can tell the difference.  Whatever combination time, talent, and treasure we offer to God, Jesus calls us to let that offering show the depth of our gratitude for what we have already been given.  Following Jesus is hard, but we are the ones who make following Jesus complicated.
Amen

What God Has Joined, Let No One Put Asunder

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
October 4, 2015

22 Proper B

A small group of clergy and lay leaders got together this week at St. Raphael's just down the street and began to make plans for this year's Interfaith Thanksgiving Service.  Some of us have been sitting around the Interfaith planning table for a while.  For others, this was their first planning meeting.  Each year for decades now, this group has planned a thanksgiving service that brings all of us together and focuses on what we have in common, rather than what divides us.  As we talked this week about possible themes for the service, we realized that this Thanksgiving service is what keeps is connected to each other in a world that tries, in a variety of ways, to divide us.  Coming together once a year as we do is a bit like a family reunion.  Perhaps your family reunions are different from the ones I have been too, but if the reunion draws people who are connected by a common ancestor two or more generations back, not everyone knows each other.  We often do not have a lot in common in terms of politics or religion, so fortunately we have family stories to share and talk about, and those stories are what keep us connected to each other.  At our Interfaith Thanksgiving Service, the three faith traditions that come together are the three Abrahamic faiths, so we, too share a common ancestor, and we all give thanks to the same God.  We also noted at our that, even though we only gather once a year, when we gather and give thanks together, we have a bond that has served us well in times of crisis.  After 9/11, for example, we were able to come together, Jews, Christians, and Muslims, stand together, and pray for peace.  Each of the clergy and lay leaders gathered last Monday morning believe that our own faith is strengthened when we live as people who are connected to each other.

Job, on the other hand, is feeling quite disconnected this morning.  In a story that develops over many chapters and raises more questions than answers, Job finds himself tested by Satan and disconnected from his health, his family and friends, his belongings, and his future.  The story raises disturbing questions about God when we hear God agree to let Satan test Job's faith right up to the limit of taking Job's life.  While the intent of the story is to wrestle with the problem of why bad things happen to good people, the story also points to the fundamental importance of being connected with other people as part of our being connected to God.  Job feels quite disconnected from everything and everyone, including God, as he sits on the dung heap this morning.

The Pharisees are not the least bit interested in connections this morning as they arrive to test Jesus.  The gospel is clear that the  the Pharisees have come to test Jesus, not to get his thoughts on divorce.  What the Pharisees really want is to trap Jesus.  When they ask "Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?" they full well know the answer.  Deuteronomy 24, verse 1 allows a man to write his wife a certificate of divorce.   So, if Jesus answers "no," he will be contradicting the law of Moses.  Jesus will also be in trouble with the Romans, since just four chapters ago, John the Baptist lost his head, literally, for criticizing Herod Antipas who had divorced his wife to marry his brother's former wife.  If Jesus says "yes," he will have raised an abundance of legal and theological questions about marriage.  The Pharisees seem to have Jesus in a loose/loose situation, which is right where they want him.

At this point, Jesus may not be squirming, but we are.  I doubt any of us came to church this morning to hear Jesus talk about divorce.  This is perhaps one of the most difficult and painful gospel readings in our lectionary and evidence, once again, that I don't pick them-I just preach them.  We hear hard words from Jesus, ones we would rather not hear and ones that cause great pain.  The Episcopal Church takes the issues of marriage, divorce, and remarriage very seriously, but Jesus' words this morning are far more strict than church teaching.  Jesus' words are uncomfortable at best, and at worst leave people feeling alienated from the church and from the gospel.  Is making people feel marginalized and vulnerable what Jesus intends?

Jesus responds to the Pharisees with scripture as he usually does when being tested.  But Jesus does not respond with the passage from Deuteronomy that the Pharisees have in mind.  Jesus raises the stakes much higher, as Jesus typically does when being tested, and reminds us of the stories of creation.  Those stories remind us that we are all connected, not just those who are married.  Jesus' answer to the Pharisee's question about divorce is really a teaching about all those places where hardness of heart separate us from each other, where the vulnerable are exploited and people are pushed to the margins of society.  And the vulnerable and the marginalized are exactly the people Jesus seeks to draw into the Kingdom of God.  The law in Deuteronomy allowed a man to divorce his wife, but not vice versa.  Women who were divorced, along with their children, often lived in poverty, where they were among the marginalized and the vulnerable.  When Jesus finishes with the Pharisees test, he takes little children into his arms and blesses them.  The disciples try to shoo the children away, because children had no honor or status in society.  But Jesus chastises the disciples because, again, the marginalized and the vulnerable are exactly the people Jesus wants to draw in.

This morning, Jesus holds before us the deep connections God intended for us in creation and intends for us now.  In the midst of a world divided by politics, the ever widening chasm between rich and poor, our failure to come together and find solutions to gun violence, those divide between who have food and those who need it, Jesus calls us to live as people who are connected to each other. Jesus has taken a simple but divisive question and raised the stakes.  In the stories of creation, what God has joined together is not just those who are joined in marriage, but the whole human family.
Amen.

The Need for Salt

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
September 27, 2015

21 Proper B

One summer when I was a chaplain for 4th and 5th grade camp at Procter, we had a cooking activity with the campers.  Two groups of campers made chocolate chips cookies from an almost identical recipe.  The only difference between the two recipes was that one recipe included a very small amount of salt-probably 1/4 of a teaspoon, and the other recipe left out the salt altogether.  We wanted the campers to see that leaving out the very smallest ingredient made a big difference in the quality of the cookies.  And our point was made.  The campers who used the recipe that included the salt had beautiful, delicious, chewy cookies. The campers who had the recipe without salt produced flat, sort of beautiful, less flavorful cookies.  Leaving out just 1/4 teaspoon of salt made a big difference.

Jesus is rather angry with his disciples this morning when he compares them with salt that has lost its saltiness.  The disciples have run to Jesus tattling on someone who was casting out demons in Jesus' name without being an actual follower of Jesus.  These are the same disciples who had tried without success to cast a demon out of a young boy just a few verses earlier.  They are the same disciples who were just arguing last week over who was the greatest among them.  I think the disciples might be a tad bit jealous of the other person's success.  Jesus has harsh words for the disciples and anyone who would put a stumbling block in front of someone else.  Jesus closes his admonition with the words "Salt is good, but if salt has lost its saltiness, how can you season it? Have salt in yourselves and be at peace with one another."  How does Jesus get from the disciples' envy of anther person's success to talking about salt?

Jesus is not the only person who is angry this morning.  King Ahasuerus is furious. The story of Esther is a great story, full of humor and plot twists, suspense and intrique, along with no small amount of violence and other scenes that would disqualify the story for a PG rating, which a sermon must have. So, the PG version of the story goes something like this.  Persian King Ahasuerus has had his wife, Queen Vashti, banished for disobedience.  Esther is the orphaned Jewish niece of Mordecai, chief minister of the King.  Esther becomes the new queen without the King ever knowing she is Jewish.  Esther's uncle, Mordecai, discovers a plot to kill the king so Mordecai tells Esther, who tells the king, incurring the King's favor.  Haman is the King's prime minister, and custom requires that everyone bow to the Prime Minister.  Mordecai refuses, as he is Jewish and will not bow to any human being.  So Haman plots to kill not only Mordecai, but all the Jews in Persia.  Esther finds out about the plot, so when we hear the King ask Esther this morning for her request, even up to ½ his kingdom, she is ready.

Esther asks the King to spare her people and reminds him of the dangers to himself should the entire Jewish people be killed.  When the King hears of the plan to kill all the Jewish people, he is outraged and asks who is responsible for this plot.  The answer is Haman, his very own Prime Minister.  Haman is hanged on the very gallows Haman had prepared for Mordecai, a gallows that is 75 feet tall, and we are told that the anger of the king abated.  Then we hear that the Jewish people celebrate the feast of Purim each year to remember the days in which the Jews gained relief from their enemies, and their mourning was turned into gladness.  So that's the PG version of the story.

What is really interesting about the book of Esther is that nowhere in the story is God, the Torah, prayer, or worship mentioned.  Nowhere.  Not one mention.  The deliverance of the Jewish people in Persia is due strictly and simply to the cunning and conniving of Esther, with some help from Mordecai.  God is nowhere to be found.  The pairing of this story with Psalm 124 in the lectionary makes it clear that, in Hebrew thought, God gets the credit for delivering God's people every time they are  delivered, which is why Esther is included in the Hebrew scriptures despite the seeming lack of direct intervention by God.

The reading from James tells us that the prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up, and their sins will be forgiven.  We are admonished to pray for each other so that we may be healed.  The reading from James describes the direct action of God through the actions of the faithful.  So, in our readings this morning, we have an example of a successful exorcism by someone who was not following Jesus and the disciples, the deliverance of the Jews through the trickery of Esther without mention of God, and the admonition to Christians to pray for one another and the assurance that God will work through those prayers. We have three very different examples of the way God works in the world.

So, when we hear Jesus admonish the disciples for having lost their saltiness, I wonder if what they have lost is the ability to see God at work through all people.  I wonder if what brings salt to our lives of faith is the ability to look beyond the places and ways we believe God works to see God's work at all times and in all places.  In his address to Congress last Thursday, Pope Francis lifted up four Americans for special mention: Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King, Jr, Dorothy Day, and Thomas Merton.  Two of these people were Roman Catholics, two were not.  Abraham Lincoln, whatever his personal faith might have been, did not belong to a church, nor did he attend.  And yet, because of their concern for the poor, the marginalized, the oppressed, or peace, the leader of the Roman Catholic Church held these four people up, not only as American heros, but as people through whom God worked to bring about justice and peace.

Jesus admonished the disciples because they could only see God at work in the very specific places where they wanted to look.  They had lost their saltiness, their ability to see God at work in all sorts and conditions of people and places.  Jesus tells them, and us, to have salt in ourselves and be at peace with one another.  It turns out, a little salt makes a big difference.  Perhaps Jesus is telling us that only when we can see God at work in all people, even those with whom we do not agree or understand, can there be real peace.

Amen.

The Faith to be Changed

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
September 20, 2015

20 Proper B

As I walked into a patient's room at the hospital last week, the hospital chaplain was asking her who had been the most influential person in her life.  The patient had a ready answer to that question, with stories to share and obvious gratitude for that person's impact on her life.  She and I continued the conversation after the chaplain left, and when the patients's daughter arrived, she added to the conversation as well.  A thoughtful question had provoked a wonderful conversation, in part because the chaplain was willing to ask a meaningful question and in part because the recipient of the question was willing to engage the question and explore the answer.

Jesus has been asking some good questions lately.  Last week, we heard Jesus ask his disciples "Who do people say that I am?"  The disciples were plenty willing to engage that question.  "John the Baptist, and others, Elijah, and still others, one of the prophets."  But then Jesus asked them "Who do you say that I am?" I imagine there was a deep and awkward silence before Peter said "You are the Messiah."  Jesus takes that conversation to the next level when he explains that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, be rejected and be killed, and on the third day rise again.  Peter was appalled at this thought, rebuked Jesus, and Jesus responded with "Get behind me Satan, for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things."  Now Jesus is angry and Peter is embarrassed.  So much for a great conversation!

This morning, Jesus and the disciples are passing through Galilee, and Jesus is once again teaching the disciples that the Son of Man will be betrayed and killed, and after three days rise again.  This time the disciples decide not to engage the conversation, even though they do not have a clue what Jesus is talking about. But they do not ask Jesus to explain, because they are afraid.  No one wants to be called Satan!

Through out Mark's gospel, and the gospels in general for that matter, the opposite of faith is fear.  So when we are told that the disciples do not understand what Jesus is saying, but are afraid to ask, we can infer that they are lacking in faith.  When the disciples and Jesus arrive in Capernaum, Jesus asks another question. "What were you arguing about on the way?"  But the disciples were silent.  They don't want to answer Jesus' question because they had been arguing among themselves about who was the greatest.  If we needed proof that the disciples really, really did not understand Jesus' teaching about suffering, dying, and being raised again, now we know for sure.

I wonder why the disciples were afraid to ask Jesus to explain the teaching they did not understand.  Clearly, the were afraid of appearing stupid, making Jesus mad, and being called Satan as had happened to Peter.  I can't blame them one bit for that.  But I wonder if they were also afraid of the answer.  If they actually heard Jesus say "The Son of Man will be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed he will rise again," that might not be a conversation they wanted to have.  Do they really want to know what that means?  Maybe ignorance is bliss.  What would it mean to be followers of someone who is going to be betrayed and killed?  How would they be changed if they understood what Jesus was talking about?  The disciples are afraid, and their hearts are hardened, but not without reason.

Rather than getting angry with the disciples this time, Jesus tries to open up the conversation by showing them a more appropriate response to his teaching.  Jesus takes a little child in his arms and says to them "Whoever welcomes one such child in my name, welcomes me.  And whoever welcomes me, welcomes the one who sent me."  Children in the first century world had no status.  Children were liabilities, not assets.  Some 60% of all children did not reach their 16th birthday, so parents had lots of children in order for some to survive.  If an adult male needed an heir, he adopted another adult male to inherit his wealth. Children ranked below women and above slaves.  So, this is not about Jesus telling us we should cuddle babies, as much as I might like for that to be one of Jesus' commands.  Jesus is telling us that the appropriate response to his teaching about his suffering, death, and ultimate resurrection, is radical hospitality, especially to those on the margins of society.

Radical hospitality is a Biblical value.  The reading from Proverbs, when taken by itself, looks like a hopelessly outdated job description for an overworked and probably exhausted woman.  But the description of the capable wife mirrors the description of Wisdom personified in the second and third chapters of Proverbs, so this is probably not a description of a living, breathing human person.  What does Wisdom personified do?  Wisdom provides hospitality, not only to her family and friends, but to the poor and the needy.  Example after example is given in our reading this morning to show the depth of the hospitality Wisdom offers.  Our reading from James this morning describes a community that is capable of radical hospitality because that community is free from bitter envy and selfish ambition, not worrying about who among them is the greatest, but is peaceable, gentle, and willing to yield, all of which makes for a gracious host.

Jesus is teaching the disciples and us that the appropriate response to his betrayal, death, and resurrection is radical hospitality.  We can easily think, like Peter, that we know what Jesus means.  I wonder, however, what questions we are afraid to ask Jesus because we, like the disciples, either think we know the answer, or are afraid of the conversation.  What do we not ask Jesus because we are afraid?

The disciples did not question Jesus because they were afraid.  A community of radical hospitality, a community that, as the reading from James says, if full of people who have no bitter envy or selfish ambition, but are peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, is a community that is not afraid of the question or the answer, and has the faith to be changed by the conversation.
Amen.

Letting Jesus Lead

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
September 13, 2015

19 Proper B

Several weeks ago now, we had the Blessing of Teachers and Students at Christ Church to mark the beginning of the new school year.  At the 10 o'clock service, typically at least half of the congregation comes forward for that blessings.  We are a congregation with a lot of educators.  Today, churches all over the country are beginning the Christian Education year.  Sunday School teachers have been recruited.  Classrooms have been prepared.  Goals have been set.  Curriculum has been chosen.  The teachers have spent hours preparing.  A lot of effort goes into Christian Education at Christ Church and in most churches.  Between our commitment to Christian Education, the work so many of us do in the field of education, and the value we as a congregation put on education, I have to say I was somewhat dismayed when I read the passage from James this morning.  "Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers and sisters, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness."  Those are daunting words as we begin the new program year!

In addition to these somewhat discouraging words from the book of James, we hear these words from Jesus this morning: "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.  For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake and the sake of the gospel will save it."  Those are hard words that don't exactly make me want to jump out of my chair and follow Jesus.

But Christian Education, whether Sunday School or Pub Theology or Bible Study, is actually about learning what it means to follow Jesus.  What does Jesus mean when he says "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves, and take up their cross and follow me?" The temptation is to think of our cross as all the burdens we shoulder either ourselves or on behalf of others~the burden of unemployment, concerns about children, whether our own or the children of Springfield, refugees, sickness, homelessness, inadequate health care, the list seems endless and picking all that up is makes following Jesus seems like a burden in itself.  But I do not think that is the cross Jesus calls us to carry.  In baptism, we are each marked with oil in the form of the cross, and these words are said "You are sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ's own forever."  The cross that we are called to carry is not the sum total of all of our challenges and the challenges of the world around us.  There is nothing distinctively Christian about that.  In another place, Jesus says "Come to me all who are weary and heavy laden and I will refresh you.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."  I wonder if perhaps we are called to let Jesus carry all of our burdens so that we have the strength to carry the cross of Christ, which is the ultimate triumph of life over death.  But what, exactly, might that mean?

When Jesus asks the disciples "Who do you say that I am?" Peter answers with great confidence "You are the Messiah."  Peter's answer, of course, is correct.  But Peter wants to define the Messiah on his own terms, following a Messiah of his own creation.  When Jesus describes what will happen to the Messiah, that he will be rejected, suffer, die, and rise again, Peter is aghast.  Obviously these things do not happen to the Messiah!   Jesus' rebuke is severe because Peter is denying the very cross of Christ that is the triumph of life over death and defining the Messiah on his own terms.  Peter must have been mortified when Jesus said "Get behind me Satan, for you are setting your mind not on divine things, but on human things."

Peter is not wanting to follow Jesus.  Peter is wanting Jesus to follow him-to go where Peter wants to go and do what Peter wants him to do.  Jesus has just healed a sick girl, given hearing to a deaf man, and turned a small amount of bread and fish into a feast for the masses.  Peter wants to follow that person.  Jesus, on the other hand, is talking about pouring out his life.  Jesus calls the disciples to follow him as the journey takes him through the cross, not around it, giving his life away rather than holding on until his knuckles turn white.  Jesus calls the disciples to give up their own itinerary-their own ideas about where this journey will take them, get rid of their road map, quit limiting their possibilities, and live fully by picking up the cross of Christ and following Jesus into new life.

In a week when we marked the 14th anniversary of 9/11, followed the refugees fleeing their homeland for safety in Europe, and tended to the various stumbling blocks in our own lives, we can easily wonder about this journey we are on with Jesus.  We did not choose journeys such as these and quite frankly, sometimes we find ourselves on a journey we did not sign up for.  On bad days, we can wonder why, if we are putting ourselves out for Jesus, Jesus does not do a better job of taking care of us or our loved ones, or people we have never met but we know to be enduring unimaginable horrors. All we see are the burdens we and others have to carry, and the part of discipleship we want is the part where Jesus carries our burdens and takes them away.

Jesus says "If any want to become my followers, let them take up their cross and follow me.  For those who want to save their life will loose it and those who loose their life for my sake and the sake of the gospel will save it."   Following Jesus means not avoiding hard questions or difficult situations, but trusting that God is present and trying seeing life in the midst of death.  Following Jesus is to trust that there is no place we can find ourselves where the Risen Christ cannot be found, not necessarily to fix the situation but to go first through the challenge and let us follow.  Following Jesus means we may not always be able to see where we are going because we are not first in line, but trusting that Jesus is first in line and does see.  What it means to pick up the cross of Christ is to trust that life has the final word and Jesus will get us there.  What it means to follow Jesus is to actually let Jesus lead the way.

                                                                           Amen.