July 7th, 2024: Reflections on The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, Mark 6:1-13, by Reverend Hartshorn Murphy

Jesus grew up in the village of Nazareth, where he most likely assisted his father Joseph in his work as an artisan.  The word “tekton” means one who works with their hands – in wood or stone or light metals or even as a potter.  Thi9s was not considered to be highly skilled work and was often the work performed by peasants who had lost their land.  Sepphoris was the largest city in the Galilee.  The Romans had laid waste to it and were now employing a large work force to completely rebuild it.  A short journey from Nazareth, we ca easily visualize Joseph and his apprentice son waling the road and talking about the people’s hope for deliverance from the Roman occupation.

          Perhaps it was after Joseph had died, leaving Jesus bereft of a strong male figure to protect him from the gossip surrounding his birth, that Jesus went south and became a disciple of John the Immerser.  In Luke’s gospel, we see Jesus at age 12 talking with the elders in the Temple but none of the gospels reveal where he was during what’s been called “The Missing Years” – and no, it’s fantasy to speculate that Jesus went East and studied with the Buddha.  At least some of that time was spent learning John’s Mishnah.

          Following John’s martyrdom, Jesus along with a couple of John’s other disciples, go north to the relative safety of the Galilee.  Jesus picks up the mantle of John’s mission – proclaiming the nearness of the Kingdom of God and calling people to repent – to change their hearts and minds and wills – and live into this good news.  Jesus gathers about himself disciples and centered in the seaside town of Capernaum, most likely at Simon Peter’s home, Jesus travels widely;  preaching and healing and exorcizing.  Although, to be honest, the distinction between curing illness and exorcising unclean spirits – in Greek, “demons” – is fuzzy at best.

          Finally, Jesus decides to go home.  It’s clear that this is not a family visit because he takes his disciples with him.  This is an evangelism mission.

          Yeshua, a fairly common Jewish name, had gathered some fame as one of John’s disciples and for the mighty works he was said to have performed, and thus was a welcome guest preacher.

          The initial response was quite positive.  The people marveled at his wisdom.  Until someone in the back of the congregation recognized him.  “Hey, wait a minute.  Isn’t that Mary’s boy?  He and his dad repaired our shed years ago.  Y’all know his brothers and sisters…”

          Son of Mary.  Jewish boys are sons of their fathers – Simon bar Jonah, James & John the sons of Zebedee.  In effect “This is Mary’s boy, who knows for sure who his daddy is.”  All the old ugliness came back.  Mark sums it up simply:  “They took offense at him.”

          This is the story of familiarity breeding contempt.  The villagers were thinking “We’re as good as he is but we can’t teach like he does, so his teaching is not wise and he didn’t do those things they say he did.”  Jesus is amazed at their closed minds and closed hearts.  Jesus observes that other messengers of God – the Prophets – had similar experiences.

          Now Luke takes this story from Mark and embellishes it.  In Luke, the people don’t just “take offense at him,” but seek to kill him.  Jesus barely gets away with his life.  Mark is not quite so dramatic, but this story signals the ending of the Galilean ministry.  Jesus begins to set his face toward Jerusalem.

          The second story is of Jesus sending the 12 out on a missionary journey.  Their time of preparation is ending.  They are sent – the word “apostle” means “sent” – sent to proclaim the Kingdom and while doing so, to heal the sick and free the demon plagued.  They are to carry no provisions but to depend on the hospitality Jewish custom requires of fellow Jews.  If someone refuses to receive them, they are to shake the dust from their sandals as a witness against those homes.  What did that mean?

          Pious Jews, when returning to the Holy Land of Palestine from Gentile territory, would shake the dust from their shoes at the border so as not to contaminate the Holy Land and God’s holy people with the soil of profane places.  Such a public witness by the disciples would serve to publicly proclaim that those who were inhospitable were heathens and worthy of God’s judgment when the Kingdom comes.  Heavy stuff.  Perhaps it caused some folks to rethink their reluctance to welcome Jesus’ friends – or maybe it just made the disciples feel better.

          Some years ago, I had a conversation with a Mormon elder about their 2 x 2 missionary work, about how successful or unsuccessful the work was.  He confided in me that the point was not to make converts.  That is indeed very rare.  But the rejection, house by house, has the effect of strengthening a Mormon boy’s faith.

          The message of Mormon missionaries is, in a sense, a scolding for not believing what they believe and an invitation to change our minds  before it is too late.

          Was that the message of the 12?  In going out 2 x 2 and healing the sick, exorcizing unclean spirits and bringing a greater spiritual wholeness, the 12 proclaimed hope to the poor showing compassion and love.  Blessed are you poor.  Blessed are you mourning the loss of loved ones to Roman violence.  Blessed are you who are hungry or when you are excluded or reviled by the powerful;  for God loves you and his reign is near.  Live the good news.

          Do y’all remember the TV show “Blackish”?  It ran for some 8 years.  In an episode called “Charity,” Dre, the husband and father, feels uncomfortable about getting directly involved with those in need.  His wife, Bow – short for Rainbow – is a physician who travels the world to treat those in desperate need.  Shamed by her into cleaning out his clothes closet, Dre is driving to a goodwill drop site with his Armani and Calvin Klein collection and resenting it.  He sees a sleeping homeless man on a bus bench who is about his size.  He quietly puts the bag of designer clothes on the bench and congratulates himself on his generosity – and on saving gasoline.  Soon rumors circulate around town that Dre is a drunken bum because people have seen the well dressed sleeping homeless guy and assume it’s Dre because they do in fact resemble each other from a distance.  Dre decides to buy the guy some nice new sweat clothes and get his designer stuff back.  But as Dre is reaching for the bundle he’d left, the guy wakes up and cries out “I’m moving, I’m moving.”  Dre says, “Hey man, let me buy you a cup of coffee.”  And the homeless guy responds, “You’re not gonna talk to me about God are you?”

          Now, sit with that for a bit.

          They go into a coffee shop and talk and Dre discovers that they have a lot in common.  Later, Dre confesses to his wife how tenuous his own growing up was, and how with one or two catastrophes, it could have been him on that bench.  Scene –

          Now sitcoms are by nature simplistic and sentimental, but where today’s gospel reading and this TV show touch each other is in the vulnerability of the character Dre and the vulnerability of the disciples on their mission and even the vulnerability of Jesus going home for the first and last time.  These folks all went forth with open hands and open hearts seeking to bring a little hope to the broken, despised and dejected.

          When love puts on her big girl pants and walks around outside, she becomes charity.  Seeing others not as clients or problems to be solved but as brothers and sisters, all of us made in the image and likeness of God;  equally loved by God.  The task of seeking and serving Christ who comes to us incognito in the face of strangers in need – it is to them our reverence is due.

          Two quotes to sum up our reflection today.  The first is by Diana Butler Bass, who wrote:

“While contemporary Christians tend to equate morality with sexual ethics, our ancestors defined morality as welcoming the stranger.  Unlike almost every other contested idea in Early Christianity, including the nature of Christ and the doctrine of the Trinity, the unanimous witness of the ancient fathers and mothers was that hospitality was the primary Christian virtue.”

And finally, from Verna Dozier:

“Where Jesus came, life was different.  He proclaimed the gospel by being the gospel… (so) don’t tell me what you believe, tell me what difference it makes that you believe.”

June 30th, 2024: Reflections on The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost, Mark 5:21-43, by Reverend Hartshorn Murphy

Jesus has crossed to the other side of Lake Galilee.  Clearly, his fame as a healer has preceded him, as a large crowd has gathered, some simply curious, but many seeking relief from suffering.  As he’s making his way, the leader of the synagogue approaches him.

          Synagogue leaders were not clergy.  They were simply well-respected elders, empowered to facilitate the business of the town or village.  We erroneously may think that all those in authority – the scribes, the doctors of the Law, the Pharisees – opposed Jesus but that was not true. 

          Some, like Jairus, recognized Jesus as someone with spiritual power.  It’s not remarkable that Jairus comes, in his extreme distress, and kneels at Jesus’ feet.  “My daughter is dying.  Please come, and lay your hands on her and make her well.”  Jairus knows that his little girl is beyond the help of earthly powers.  Only supernatural power from God can help.  Jairus is right to be terrified.  His situation was all too commonplace.   Sixty percent of all live births in the Province of Palestine died by their mid-teens.Touched by Jairus’ very public display of trust, Jesus agrees to go. 

          While making their way, followed and surrounded by the townspeople, a woman screws up her courage.  She has suffered with what we’d diagnose today as irregular menstruation.  This condition made her ritually unclean because in order to take the ritual bath, the mikveh, her flow of blood had to be ended for 8 days.  For 12 years, prohibited from entering the Temple, she has sought the help of physicians.  She obviously was a woman of means because physicians were expensive, such that she is now destitute.  She thinks, “If only I could touch but the hem of his garment, he could make me whole.”

          It’s a bold move.  This woman is unclean, and impurity was contagious.  She dared not approach the prophet directly, but surreptitiously.  She, in her desperation, stretches out her hand and touches the hem of his garment.  Mark tells us that Jesus felt power drained out of him and asks, “Who touched me?”  The disciples laughed.  “Man, look at all these folks crowding us.  It’s more like who didn’t touch you dude.”  But Jesus persists.

          This is a tense moment.  The woman, who could have melted away in the crowd, came forward.  She fell before the prophet in great fear.  Would he condemn her in front of the whole village, who already shun her for her affliction?  Would the cure she has sensed in her body, be reversed?  Made worse?

          Jesus, with tenderness, tells her that “her faith” – that is to say, your conviction that I could make you well and restore you to this community – “your faith has made you whole.”

          While this happened, Jairus’ friends come and tell him that his daughter has died.  “Why bother the rabbi anymore.”  Jesus overhears all this and he tells Jairus to not be afraid.  Fear – not doubt – is the opposite of faith.  Dismissing the crowd, only Jesus and his top lieutenants, Peter, James and John, accompany Jairus to his house.

          The professional women mourners were keening but Jesus stops them, proclaiming “The child is but sleeping.”  They laugh as him.  Jesus takes Jairus and his wife and the 3 chosen disciples into the house, dismissing all the others.  Jesus takes the little girl by the hand and tells her to get up.  Mark, perhaps sensing that there’s some power in the Aramaic, retains the command.  The little girl is raised – in Greek, it’s the same word used for the resurrection – and Jesus says “give her some food.”  In the family meal, the little girl is restored to community, not unlike the woman with the flow of blood, now whole, is restored to family and clan.

          The Lazarus story only appears in John’s gospel.  This is Mark’s Lazarus tale – complete with the interval, the delay, that keeps Jesus from getting there before the girl has died.  It’s a mystery why Jesus said, “She is only sleeping.”  Did he somehow know that she was in a coma?  The Jews believed that the soul lingered above the body for 3 days, hoping to be reunited with the body.  It’s interesting that the word “cemetery” in the original Greek meant “sleeping place” as our ancestors in the faith believed that the dead sleep until the last day, when they will be raised up.

          The point of these two stories – held together by the number 12 – is about overcoming impurity.  Being touched by a bleeding woman made Jesus unclean.  Touching a corpse as well, made one unclean.  Jesus restores people to health;  beings touched by and touching the unclean, notwithstanding the scandal to the pious and the resentment of those in authority.

          The ministry of making well continued after Jesus’ death, in the work of the Apostles.  It is and must be a part of the work of ministry – but too often the spectacle of it all has been used to manipulate and deceive.

          As a child, I was utterly captivated by the faith healer Kathryn Kuhlman, who hosted a show called “I believe in miracles” in the 1960’s and 70’s.  Such a magnetic presence, I believed that she, like Miss Nancy on Romper Room, was talking directly to me.  All I had to do to heal my angst – and my teenaged acne – was to reach out and touch the 16” screen on our black & white TV.

          Many decades later, I have come to a deeper insight.  “Curing” is aimed at disease and cures are elusive and rare when dealing with life threatening illness. 

          Healing, on the other hand, is aimed at restoring wholeness and meaning and connection.  We pray for a cure but must remain vigilant to not use the language Jesus used, “Your faith has made you – or failed to make you – well.”  Those who are quite ill are not helped by suggestion, wittingly or unwittingly, that their lack of good health is a result of scant faith.  But through faith, healing – in the sense of finding shalom – always comes to those seeking it, always.

          I will close today with a letter collected by David Kessler for this 1997 book:  The Rights of the Dying:  a companion for life’s final moments.

Dear friends,

Six or seven months ago I lay in a hospital bed convinced that I was going to die.  AIDS, cancer and pneumonia all seemed to be fighting to claim my life.  At that time, I felt very terrified that I might die and go to hell, or just not go on at all.  But my time had not come.  The time since then has been a precious gift, in which great healing had occurred.  After months of medical treatment, followed by months of holistic treatment and months of spiritual work on myself, I am free.

My partner’s remarkable support, a spiritual guide, a meditation partner, several meditation retreats, support from wonderful friends, and a lot of work within my own heart has left me in peace.

For many months, my idea of healing was that of curing my body.  I gave it my best try and I am proud of that fact.  I was even given several months of relative health and energy.  At that time, I often expressed my certainly that I could heal my body with my own healing powers.  I still believe these healing powers exist, but as my physical health reached a point where optimism about my health would have had to become self-denial, I realized the need to accept my own impending death and physical mortality.  I also realized that self-compassion meant feeling in my heart that even death was not a sign of weakness or failure.  This seems to be the ultimate act of self-acceptance.  I thank God for it.

All this did not come easily.  I have wept many times;  I have gotten angry and confused.  But I have learned that the only way out of the pain is through the pain.  A hard lesson to learn…

In the past six months, I have started my own production company, which produced a calendar of my own photography.  I have grown closer than ever to my family, my partner and my friends.  I am very proud and thankful for these things.  Most important, I have come to accept myself exactly as I am.  This is the greatest gift of all.

And so, my healing has occurred.  Soon my body will be dropping away from me, like a cocoon, and my spirit will fly like a butterfly – beautiful and perfect.  I don’t claim to know where exactly it is that I am going, but my heart tells me it is filled with light and love.

An open heart is an infinitely greater blessing than death is a tragedy.  Let us all take comfort in this knowledge.

Love, Bill

                           

Fr:  The Rights of the Dying:  a companion for life’s final moments, by David Kessler, 1997

June 23rd, 2024: Reflections on The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Mark 4:35-41, by Reverend ('Mo') Lyn Crow

Maybe you are like me.  One of the things that most attracts me to the Episcopal Church is the symbolism.

 And one of the symbols we use a lot is the symbol of the boat.  Not only does the boat represent the physical thing that carries us across the water, it also is a symbol for the church.

 I’ll never forget the Sunday, early in my ministry, when I just finished leading the Sunday liturgy.

 As we sang the final strains of the last hymn, it hit me.  I had just taken the boat that is the church out for a sail and had just brought it safely in to shore!

 So cool!

 Another meaning of the boat symbol is that it represents the earthen vessel – the individual.

 We have on board, of this earthen vessel, the One who created the universe, formed the seas, and as today’s gospel reminds us, has power over the waves.

 Through the gift of the Holy Spirit that powerful One is present in us.

 Doesn’t that just blow you away?

 Maybe not.  We often take it so matter of factly.  Ho Hum, yes, the Holy Spirit dwells in me.

 We forget or fail to draw the obvious conclusion.

 If the powerful One dwells in me then . . .

 But we forget that, and along come the storms in our lives or in the lives of those we love, and we feel powerless over them.

 Stormy relationships, illness, emotional problems, trouble at work, addictions.

 We sometimes become overwhelmed by the events in our lives.

 Along comes a storm and we forget to wake up the power that is in us.  We are too focused on the storm.

 Or worse yet, we say wonderful things to ourselves, like:

-         This will never get any better.

-         This is just the way my life is.  I might as well get used to it.

-         I deserve this in my life because of all the mistakes I have made.

-         God brought this into my life to teach me a lesson.

-         I’m supposed to learn to endure suffering, so I’ll be a better Christian

 I defy you to show me anywhere in the gospels where someone comes to Jesus for healing or to be rid of the demons that haunt them and Jesus says

-         No, I’m sorry I won’t heal you.  You’re getting what you deserve.

-         No, I’m not going to get rid of your demons today.  I think that if you live with them a little longer there’ll be a valuable lesson in it for you.

 Jesus does not want us to suffer one moment longer with the chaos in our lives.

 He and all the power of the Universe, the powerful energy of the One who holds all of Creation in his hand is available to us – available to do miraculous things in our lives.  Things that will make our jaws drop.

 Our inheritance as followers of Jesus the Christ is power.  That’s the gift we celebrated on Pentecost and that he promises each and every one of us.  Power to do miraculous things.

 Think of some of the things Jesus said to his disciples and says to us.

 Matthew 17:20    If you had faith no bigger than a mustard seed you could say to this mountain, “Move from here to there” and it would move.  Nothing will be impossible for you.

 John 14:12    Whoever has faith in me will do what I am doing, indeed he will do greater things.

 Acts 1:8    You will receive power when the Holy Spirit falls upon you.

 Jesus was in the business of empowering people – He expected them to be powerful people doing powerful and miraculous things.

 Jesus has given us all we need to be powerful people.  People who can channel the spiritual energy of the Creator of the Universe to do incredible things:

-         to bring peace in chaos

-         to rid us of the demons and addictions that haunt us

-         to bring health in illness

 We are called to be powerful people, to wake the sleeping giant in each and every one of these earthen vessels.

 How do we do it?

-         First – choose to look away from the storm and remember the power of the Universe is in us and available to us.

-         Wake the sleeping giant within through prayer. 

Prayers like:        Let me experience the power of Your Presence

                              Let me be a channel of your healing

-         Be immersed in that energy and power that is in you.

-         Focus on what you would like to see happen – the healing, the peace in a relationship, the calming of an inner turmoil, the perfect job.

-         Allow awareness of the energy and power within you to fuel your prayers for the situation and to give you a vision, a picture in your mind of the prayer being answered and just sit with it.

-         Thank God for the healing that has already begun even before you see the effects of it.

-         Repeat as needed.

 There is a learning curve to this.  It takes some practice.  It needs to be a part of your life.

 The story is told of a Kansas farmer who found a baby eagle in one of his fields.  The poor young eagle was not in good condition and the farmer took it back to his home to nurse it back to health.  Over the next few weeks, the eagle did well, and the farmer put it in with the young chicks in his chicken pen.

 Although the eagle did well during the first weeks, it began to grow listless and seemed to be losing its strength.  The farmer feared the young eagle was going to die after all, until – one day the farmer had an inspiration.  He packed the eagle in his pickup truck and headed west for the Colorado mountains.  When he arrived at the eastern edge of the Rockies, the farmer took the young bird deep into the foothills.  Finally, he held the eagle in his arms and pointed its head to the mountain tops where the wind was blowing, and an occasional eagle cried out as it traced the currents of the mountain winds.

 A strong shudder coursed through the eagle’s body, and it spread its wings as a new strength seemed to surge through the bird.  It stood and leaped into the air, caught a strong breeze and soared into the sky.

 The farmer watched the eagle with a tear in his eye as the bird cried out what seemed to be a farewell.  A verse from the Bible came to the lonely figure of a Kansas farmer as he watched the eagle soar:

             “… those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. 

                                    They will soar on wings like eagles …”

 We are like that baby eagle.  We have spent too much time in the chicken coop and have forgotten the power within us.  It is time for us to wake up the sleeping giant in us and soar on wings like eagles.

June 16th 2024: Reflections on The Fourth Sunday of Pentecost, Proper 6, Year B, by Reverend Jeannie Martz

Back in 1977, 47 years ago, some of us here, and many others since, sat in darkened movie theaters, mesmerized as the words “Long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away” scrolled into the far distance; and we might even have caught our breaths – I know I did – as the huge, pale underside of an Imperial destroyer suddenly passed silently “over us” across the screen; at the time, a wonder of animation against the black background of space.  The Star Wars world has continued to grow in the years since then, spawning multiple storylines and characters, both future and past in relation to the original; but this morning I want us to remember the first time a young actor named Mark Hamill entered our lives as Luke Skywalker – back before R2-D2, C3PO, and light sabers all became part of our culture.  I want us to remember the first time we watched Obi Wan Kenobi encourage Luke to close his eyes, and to feel and to trust the Force, that mysterious life energy in opposition to the Dark Side; the first time Obi Wan encouraged Luke to let go, and to let himself be guided by a power greater than himself.

            Back here in our own galaxy, some of us in the corporate world may at one time or another have taken part in a team building exercise called a “trust walk,” where one person is blindfolded and led by someone else through a building or along a trail, with the blindfolded person being completely dependent upon the person leading them for safe passage through whatever obstacles may be in the way.

            More energetic than the trust walk but also popular in both team building and general recreation are ropes courses, various arrangements of rigging and climbing and whatnot that present challenges for both individuals and groups, encouraging participants to trust each other and to work towards a common goal.

            If we toss these three situations into the pot:  Luke Skywalker trusting the Force, one blindfolded person trusting another person, and members of a group learning to trust each other; if we toss these three situations of trust into the pot and stir them around, we start to get an idea of what Paul is talking about in 2 Corinthians when he refers to “walk[ing] by faith, not by sight.”

            Remembering that Hebrews 11:1 tells us that “…faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen,” to “walk by faith, not by sight” is to walk every day, no matter what’s happening with the world and in the world, to walk every day trusting in Jesus’ assurance that God’s promises will come to pass and that God’s kingdom will come in its fullness.  To walk by faith rather than by sight is to trust Jesus’ words through the visions of Julian of Norwich that “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well;” and trusting that in this world of ours, contrary to things seen, sooner or later, in the fullness of God’s time, God’s Ultimate Will, will be done.

            For us as disciples of Jesus, walking by faith is important; and this importance, along with the trust that makes such walking possible, this importance and trust are both affirmed by the parables of the kingdom that we hear Jesus tell this morning in Mark’s Gospel.  Both the parable of the seed that grows secretly, and the parable of the mustard seed, these both involve growth that is steady and sure, but in each case the growth begins underground and cannot initially be seen.  The sower sows the seeds, and then trusts that in God’s time and by God’s grace, they will germinate and begin to grow.

            But there’s a question mark here when we look more closely at these parables and we try to relate them to Christian life on a daily basis:  as important as walking by faith is, as important as trusting in the growth that God brings is, if we look at these parables to guide us in our everyday lives, it’s a little hard to see exactly what kind of guidance they’re giving us because there aren’t any people at all in one of them – and there’s only the “someone” I’ve already mentioned who scatters the seed in the other.

            The parable of the seed tells us that the sower sleeps and rises, night and day, but has no control over the sprouting of the seed, much less any knowledge of the “how” of its growth.  The earth produces “of itself” without the sower’s help, and the seeds’ growth is progressive and orderly:  “first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head.”  Only when the grain is fully mature does the sower get involved again, and then the task is simply to harvest that which has come to fruition all by itself.

            So where is the guidance here for us as disciples? 

Just before today’s 2 Corinthians passage, Paul says, “…we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal…,” but I’m afraid this isn’t much help – because if this visible world and its visible troubles are actually temporary and passing away, and if, as it seems in the parables, God’s kingdom is going to steadily erupt from the soil on its own, does what we do in our own lives even make a difference anymore?

            A few verses later, though, as we just heard, Paul also says that “…whether we are at home or away, we make it our aim to please [the Lord].  For all of us must appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each may receive recompense for what has been done in the body, whether good or evil.”  (2 Cor. 5:10)

            So even though this world of the body is temporary, says Paul, our actions in this world are still important; keeping our eyes on Jesus and choosing actions consistent with what we believe Jesus would do, and would have us do, in a given situation or relationship, these actions do still make a difference.

            So now the question is, what in fact should we do?  Which actions will please Jesus as we wait and walk in the confident expectation of his return, and the inbreaking of God’s kingdom?  Should we perhaps try to be helpful to hurry things along?  Should we be proactive, put the seed in a hothouse under some lights, and give God a hand by speeding up the kingdom’s growth?

            We may remember that Sarah tried that back in Genesis when she despaired of ever conceiving the child God had promised, and she took matters into her own hands.  She sent her maid Hagar to lie with Abraham, with the result that Ishmael was conceived; and the tragic and the horrific continue to this day as the descendants of Ishmael, the first born, and the descendants of Isaac, the child of God’s promise, do battle even as I preach, over who gets the land, and to whom the land really belongs.

            Speaking of the Land, the Holy Land, the Promised Land, as Jewish author Chaim Potok incorporates into his classic novel The Chosen, it’s both poignant and telling in light of our Gospel reading that back in 1948, strict Orthodox Jews opposed the formation of the State of Israel because they said that this new Jewish homeland would be an act of blasphemy; that its formation was an attempt to force God’s hand and God’s timing, because it would give the land back to the Jews before God was ready for that to happen; before God had sent them God’s messiah.

            Even today – and there was a lot of buzz around this back at Y2K, buzz that still continues – even today, various fringe groups of both Evangelical Christians and Jews, sometimes working together and sometimes working separately, these groups look at the Temple Mount in the Old City of Jerusalem and they dream about building the Third Temple in our day by force, and, depending on one’s religious perspective, thereby triggering either the Messiah’s first coming (for Jews) or second coming (for Christians).  However, given that the Muslim Dome of the Rock currently occupies, and has occupied, the Temple Mount for over 1,300 years (1,333 to be exact), such a move does not appear at the moment to be a constructive step towards world peace.

            So:  if on the one hand, doing nothing while we wait upon God and the kingdom; and on the other, doing too much instead of waiting upon God; if neither of these is what Jesus would have us do, perhaps we should take a page or two from Luke Skywalker and from the realities of gardening.  Perhaps we should work together in concert with the kingdom’s growth, through our actions as identified by today’s collect – through proclaiming God’s truth with boldness and ministering God’s justice with compassion, providing through our lives as favorable an environment for God’s will being done on earth as we can.  As we pray so often in the Prayers of the People, “Give us grace to do your will in all that we undertake, that our works may find favor in your sight.”

            In 2 Corinthians in the verses that come right after the end of today’s reading, Paul says, “All this is from God who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself…and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us.  So we are ambassadors for Christ, since God is making his appeal through us….”  (2 Cor. 5:18, 19a, 20a)

            We are ambassadors for Christ, and ambassadors speak in the name of the one who has sent them.  We are representatives of Christ and as we walk by faith, this is how we are to work in concert with God:  we are to be reconcilers in this broken world.  We are to continue Jesus’ healing work of bringing people back into relationship with each other, back into relationship with creation, and back into relationship with God – because that’s what reconciliation is.  Reconciliation is restoring, being in, and staying in, relationships that are marked with truth, with justice, and with compassion.

            The Rt. Rev. Stephen Charleston, a citizen of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma and a former Bishop of Alaska, says this about Jesus and relationships:  “Jesus invites us into a living relationship with God.  That relationship is love, but the love is sustained through forgiveness.  Forgiveness is what keeps us from being lost to God.  It is what keeps us from being lost to one another.  Forgiveness is our life line in the storm.  It is our path to peace.  In the gospel, Jesus makes this connection by drawing a spiritual circle of forgiveness around us.  He tells us that we cannot stop forgiving because if we do we will stop being in relationship.  For his healing to work in our lives, for peace to be possible, we must keep the living link that only compassion can offer.  It is the deep acknowledgement that none of us stand outside the Jesus circle in our need for forgiveness.  None of us has a corner on the market of forgiving others because they have sinned greater than ourselves.  ‘Who will cast the first stone?’ he asked those who wanted to judge another’s sin.  Within the love of Jesus, there are no corners in which to hide, only the circle of forgiveness that is his healing compassion.”  (Good News: A Scriptural Path to Reconciliation, p. 21)

            Bp. Charleston goes on to say that “It is difficult to not retreat from one another because [staying] will challenge us to live into an obedience to God that is not based on law, but love.  As much as we would like to resolve our conflicts with hard and fast rules about how to judge one another’s behavior, we will have to accept the fact that we will rarely agree on what is ‘right.’  Instead, like the living branches of a vine, we will have to grow together.  We will have to be guided by love, by the example of Jesus as he taught us to be open, merciful, forgiving, and faithful.  Consequently, we will have to be open to change, to compromise, to humility.  Our faithfulness will not be measured by how ‘right’ we are, but by how loving we are.”  (Ibid., p. 27)

            Bp. Charleston finishes by saying, “Compassion is the power of God to bring forgiveness into even the most violent conflict.  Forgiveness is the mercy of God to bring people back into community even after the most hurtful separation.  Community is the grace of God to bring peace into human lives even in a world of fear.”  (Ibid., p. 22)

            We are ambassadors of Christ in community, called to be reconcilers; called to be a new creation in this world of fear by walking together in faith, in compassion, in forgiveness, in love – and in trust, trusting that “God walks beside us through all the peaks and valleys of our lives,” “as near to us as our very breath.”  (F, 2 Cor, H, 139)

            As God’s new creation, it’s time for each of us to let go of our own fear and allow ourselves to be guided, sustained, and empowered by a Spirit and a Force far, far greater than ourselves – for the sake of the world, and the reconciliation of all humankind.  Amen.  

June 9th 2024: Reflections on The Third Sunday of Pentecost, Family Conflict and Baal-Zebul, Mark 3:20-35, by Reverend Hartshorn Murphy

Last Sunday’s gospel story was about a conflict between Jesus and some Pharisees over observing the Sabbath. In today’s story, the conflict has escalated and is between Jesus and his family and Jesus and the Doctors of the Law from Jerusalem. The context is Jesus’ almost frantic healings and exorcisms in the towns and villages in the Galilee. As Jesus returns to the house which is his headquarters in Capernaum, the sick and broken continue to crowd the courtyard of the house; so much so that Jesus and his disciples can hardly eat dinner. Jesus’ family is in that crowd, and they push through and seek to “restrain him.” The image here in the Greek is most dramatic – they try to bind him with rope. They think that he’s insane. Why? It’s helpful to remember that Jesus has been away for some time. We can’t say with any certainty for how long – but Jesus was a disciple of John the Baptist and typically, a discipleship lasted for years as the student would seek to learn his master’s Mishnah – his “repetition” – by rote memory and practice in 1st Century illiterate Palestine. Leaving home a youth and returning as a man, Jesus had preached his first sermon in Nazareth, which went well at first, until he claimed that the power of God’s deliverance is “fulfilled in me.” What was it that someone shouted from the back of the synagogue? “Hey, wait a minute, I know that dude!” (I paraphrase.) “Isn’t that Mary’s son?” A Jewish man is called by his father’s name: Simon bar Jonah, James and John the sons of Zebedee. To call him “Mary’s son” was to remind people of the rumors surrounding Jesus’ birth. Jesus shouts “A prophet is without honor in his hometown!” – and it went downhill fast. Jesus barely escaped with his life. In Capernaum, Jesus’ fame spread as an itinerant preacher, healer, and exorcist. And for his family, this had gone far enough. Jesus has gone beyond himself. In a culture in which one’s place in life is pre-determined by clan and tribe, by village and family, Jesus has shamed his people by presuming to be more than he is. It’s just all too much. It’s gotta stop. Hence, the rope… Or maybe that’s not what’s going on at all. Maybe his family is trying to protect him. If Jesus is perceived to be crazy, then he doesn’t deserve death. Aware of the growing opposition of the rich and powerful, Mary may be seeking to save her son, and while doing so, to protect her family’s honor. For the Jerusalem authorities, the issue is the same. What’s gotten into this Nazarene peasant? If he’s exorcising demons, he must be in collusion with the chief demon. Baal-Zebul was a Canaanite deity – a pagan god – which survived in Jewish folklore as the top demon. His name is literally translated as “Lord of the Mansion.” If the dark realm is like a household, the chief demon could evict a less powerful demon, but sooner or later, Jesus the enabler would have to pay the price – thus unleash an even greater evil into the world. Jesus says, “Don’t be absurd!” A house divided cannot long stand. To free the captives of Satan means that Satan has been bound; like a strong man whose house is being robbed. Only the power of God, working in me, can accomplish that. Jesus then says that these scholars are guilty of the “unforgiveable sin.” Now, those of you who have hung around churches for a generation or more, are aware that there’s been much speculation and not a little fear around the “unforgiveable sin.” So, let’s be clear. Jesus is accusing his critics of blaspheming the Holy Spirit. So, what’s blasphemy? The Greek word means “to slander” or “to show irreverence.” To slander God. If you can’t see God’s Spirit in Jesus’ work, and instead see it and name it as evil, would be to say, with Milton’s Satan in Paradise Lost: “Evil be thou my good!” It is to see ugliness as beauty, to proclaim lies to be truth. You cannot enter into God’s dream for the world – The Kingdom of God – because you are incapable of the repentance both John and Jesus called for – to change. In this great cosmic struggle between good and evil, the failure to respond to this good work can only be due to a conscious and deliberate choice to oppose God. That’s the very definition of being hopelessly lost. It is to see young men, carrying Nazi flags and marching and chanting: “Jews will not replace us!” And calling them: “Very good people.” And believe it. I commend for your summer reading, a book C.S. Lewis published in 1945, titled, The Great Divorce. The storyteller lives in “grey town,” where it is dreary and dark, and where it’s always raining, both outdoors and in. He waits to board a bus for a day trip. As he waits, several people walk away in disgust. Those who board, find themselves carried to the outskirts of heaven, the shining country. Spirits of the passengers’ loved ones encourage them to repent and enter in. Surprisingly, most of the passengers choose to return to grey town. Each has compelling excuses. My favorite is an Anglican Bishop whose theological formulations are so intellectual and abstract, that he’s not sure if God exists apart from a cerebral construct. A sherpa, the great Celtic theologian George MacDonald, explains that those who choose to stay will find even their most painful griefs transformed into joyful memories. Indeed, any citizen of hell can choose to enter into heaven if they will let go their sly deceptions and illusions and be changed. Heaven and hell are a choice – in this life and in the next. Well, Jesus’ critics withdraw – no doubt stunned and angry – but surely not converted. Jesus goes back in the house and is surrounded by his disciples and a few villagers; when someone comes in to say “Your family is still outside.” Jesus replies most harshly “Who are my mother and my brothers?” Clearly, if they were trying to save him, Jesus did not see it that way. If they were trying to confine him by the bounds of family, clan, and custom, he is unwilling. Jesus redefines family as those who seek God’s will. The Jesus movement – this rag tag band of men and women who have responded to Jesus’ call to “follow me!” – they are his family now.

To Jesus, the reign of God was not some abstract theological ideal, but was a fellowship of men and women seeking to live lives of sanctity, compassion, and justice. In St. Paul’s letter to the Hebrews, Paul writes: “Both the one who makes people holy and those who are made holy” – the word means sacred, set apart for God’s use, being whole – “those who are made holy, are the same family. So Jesus is not ashamed to call them” – indeed to call us – “brothers and sisters.”

Amen

June 2nd 2024: Reflections on The Second Sunday of Pentecost, Proper 4 2024 Year B by Reverend Jeannie Martz

The Rev. Jeannie Martz In North Palm Beach, Florida, on a beautiful piece of property that runs from US Highway 1, which is always busy, down to the shore of the Intra-Coastal Waterway, there is a retreat center owned by the Passionist Fathers of the Roman Catholic Church. The dormitory wings of the center form a squared off “W,” with each arm of the W extending towards the Intra-Coastal and the rooms angled, so that every room has a balcony with a private, and serenely beautiful, view of the water. Years ago, when I served in the Diocese of Southeast Florida, I was fortunate enough to spend some time at the Passionist Fathers on a silent retreat for diocesan clergy – and trust me, trying to keep Episcopal priests silent for a full two days is like the proverbial herding of cats! Those clergy who were normally fused to their cell phones were in agony, and so the Bishop made some slight provision for taking “really (really) important calls.” Now, I’m enough of an introvert to relish enforced non-conversation, but even I was surprised during this retreat to discover silence as more than just the absence of noise. I discovered silence as a physical place; silence as a state of being. On the retreat’s free afternoon, I chose to take a walk off the grounds. I walked along US 1, and then along the road that leads to Jupiter Island, and back again. I was gone for about two hours in those days before the ever presence of ear buds, surrounded by the noise of traffic and the sounds of everyday life. When I got back to the driveway of the retreat center and stepped onto the property, stepped off the sidewalk of US 1, the contrast was physical and instantaneous. I felt as if I had opened a door and stepped through, back into my own center; back into a realm of peace. I had re-entered Silence. The Jewish sabbath, Shabbat, the day and the reality that figure in two of our readings this morning, is a similar sensory and spiritual state of being – and yet, Shabbat is so much more as well. Lasting 25 hours, from sundown Friday until 3 stars are visible in the sky on Saturday night – or more prosaically, lasting until an hour after sundown on Saturday – Shabbat is the theological and spiritual highlight of the Jewish week and the unity that binds together all the branches of Judaism. Described as “a weekly holiday;” “…more than just a day off from labor;…[Shabbat] is a day of physical and spiritual delights.” Shabbat is “a reminder of the purposefulness of the world and the role of human beings in it;” and “a day of joy, a sanctuary from travails, and even a foretaste of the perfected world that will someday be attained.” (Shabbat 101, online) Another source says that Shabbat stands alone, “separate from the rest of the week;” Shabbat is “the centerpiece of Jewish life,” “a time that is set aside to take notice of the wonders around us.” (ReformJudaism.org, Chabad.org) Most importantly, Shabbat is seen to be a personification of God’s Law and of Israel’s relationship to the Law. Once invited into the family through the opening prayers and candles lit as darkness falls on Friday evenings, “…[T]he Shabbat is a ‘queen,’ writes one rabbi, “whose regal presence graces every Jewish home for the duration of the Shabbat day.” (Chabad.org) The standard greeting for the day, “Shabbat Shalom,” is an additional invitation and welcome not only into the state of being that is the peace of Shalom, but also an invitation into the home where Queen Shabbat is present. Christian interest in the spiritual implications of the Sabbath, both devotional and personal, has grown over the past 40 years or so, with great attention now being paid to what each of us designates as our own “Sabbath time” – a time ideally free from, or at least insulated from, our own “travails,” as the rabbis phrased it; and “a time to take notice of the wonders around us.” As Christians, we also honor Genesis and God’s resting on the seventh day of Creation, seeing Sabbath time as a time of our own re-creation, of personal refreshment, and a time for reevaluating our relationships with God and with the others around us. As probably all of us know from personal experience along the way, however, relationships are tricky business. As the late Jimmy Buffet, one of my personal favorites, once said in one of his songs, “Relationships! We’ve all got ‘em. We all want ‘em. What do we do with them?” Relationships, bless their hearts, have lives of their own, with growth and developmental patterns all their own; and it doesn’t matter whether a relationship is one on one, one on group, or group on group. In each case, the interpersonal dynamics are the same. A relationship experiences tension when the needs or the expectations of one or both parties in the relationship aren’t being met. Depending on how seriously this tension is being felt, the relationship can either go into a pinch, or into a crunch. In order for the relationship to survive – and not just endure, but survive – both parties must recognize the tension, hopefully of a pinch, renegotiate their expectations, and start again from this new point. In our reading from Mark this morning, however, we’re well beyond pinch. The relationship between Jesus and the Pharisees, the experts on the Law of Moses, this relationship is definitely in a crunch mode, and will need major renegotiation to survive. In Jesus, the Pharisees’ expectations of God and of the promises about the Messiah, as well as their traditions about the Law of Moses, are not being met in the person and in the actions and teachings of Jesus. They have zero interest in renegotiating these expectations with him, and so Mark concludes this section of his Gospel with the observation that “The Pharisees went out, and immediately held counsel with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him.” The livedout reality of Jesus and the Pharisees’ traditional expectations of the Messiah didn’t match – and therefore, something had to give. What are our own expectations concerning our relationship with God? What are our own expectations of, and understandings of, discipleship? What do we think being a disciple of Jesus Christ looks like, and means in the world today? If being a disciple means being a student, at what point do we graduate? When do we move beyond simply sitting at the Teacher’s feet? Studies in education have shown that one of the best models for learning is “action/reflection.” That is, although it may sound counterintuitive and actually descriptive of most teenagers, studies say that we all really do learn better when we act first, and then think second. According to this model, we understand better when we engage in an activity, and then reflect on our actual experience of the activity rather than reflecting only on the theory of the activity. In theory, the stove is hot, but that’s just what people say. In practice, yep, the stove is hot – and my reflection upon this action of touching the stove is, what do I personally need to do to avoid being burned again? What, as a disciple of Jesus Christ, do I personally need to do to show forth this discipleship in my life? This is the question, this is the learning model, of this season we’re now in, the long, green Season after Pentecost – and I’m delighted it’s green, because this is the first chance I’ve had to wear this green stole from Jerusalem that a friend brought back from the same pilgrimage I was on and, total surprise, gave it to me for Christmas. Today is its maiden voyage! Back to the calendar -- this season between Pentecost Sunday two weeks ago and next November’s First Sunday in Advent is known in some Christian traditions as Ordinary Time, which sounds kind of sad and ho-hum; but actually just means that we keep track of the Sundays with ordinal numbers: the Second Sunday after Pentecost, the Third Sunday after Pentecost, the Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost, and so on. But going back to action/reflection, Ordinary Time is this space when we reflect on, and learn from, all the activity that has come before in our liturgical year: the anticipation, nativity, ministry, crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus, and the outpouring of God’s Spirit upon God’s people -- in other words, Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Holy Week, Easter, Ascension, and Pentecost. Here in Ordinary Time, we have the spiritual space to look back and say, “Holy Guacamole! Now what do I do??” – and we have the time to reflect on the teachings of the Christian year. What happened, we ask? What does all this mean? And what difference does “all this” mean in our life together as a faith community? What does it mean in each of our lives individually? How is God calling me as a person of faith to respond to Jesus on a daily basis? In addition to being questions of the Spirit, these are all questions that have to do with relationships. What do we do with them? In these coming weeks and months, through our readings, the Church gives us space to examine the assumptions and expectations that we have about life, about God, and about being a Christian and a follower of Jesus. It gives us space to examine these expectations and to compare them, both to the lived-out reality of Scripture, and to the lived-out reality of our own lives. Today’s readings show the early Church beginning this process, a process that in turn can help to guide us as we reflect. Even so, as we determine our words, our actions, and our expectations of ourselves and those around us, Paul’s words from 2 Corinthians remain a healthy touchstone: “We do not proclaim ourselves,” he writes. “[W]e proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord and ourselves as your slaves for Jesus’ sake. For it is the God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. “But,” Paul reminds us, “we have this treasure in clay jars” – or in “earthen vessels,” as traditionally phrased; the “clay jars” of our own mortality, fallibility, and finitude. “We have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear,” Paul writes, “that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.” This extraordinary power – power to examine our relationship with God, to examine our own expectations of this relationship, to be a participant with God in the ongoing Creation and re-creation of the cosmos, to invite God’s Sabbath into our lives with the Peace of Sabbath, the state of being that is Shabbat Shalom; all this is a gift that lies at our fingertips, waiting to be invited in. And so, I have an additional invitation for all of us. I invite all of us to approach this Ordinary Time, this long Season after Pentecost, as a season of Sabbath: a season we dedicate as a time and a space to be with God – a time of refreshment, renewal, and re-creation, welcoming God into our homes and into our lives. Most of us don’t light candles just before sundown on Fridays to welcome in the Sabbath – but I invite each of us to reflect on the Sabbath places in our lives. Where are the places that enhance, make us aware of, our relationship with God? Where are the places that feed us spiritually, that are to us, as those rabbis said, “a reminder of the purposefulness of the world and the role of human beings in it,” “a time that is set aside to take notice of the wonders around us.” (Shabbat 101 (online), Reform Judaism.org) Early June to late November is a long time, which means we can savor, rather than rush, our reflections. We can step back from the world’s busyness, find a place of quiet, and think about what the presence of Jesus in our lives means – and as we do, may the peace of this Sabbath time be with us all.

Amen.

May 26th 2024: Reflections on John 3:1-17 by Reverend Lyn Crow

Murphy’s Law – “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.”

Sailors have their own version of Murphy’s Law – in fact, there are two laws: they are called Deal’s Laws of Sailing:

 -         Deal’s first law of sailing is this: “The amount of wind will vary inversely with the number and experience of the people you have on board the sailboat.” In other words – the more people on the boat the less wind there will be.

-         Deal’s second law of sailing says, “No maSer how strong the wind is when you leave the dock, once you have reached the farthest point from the port from which you started, the wind will die.”

 Anyone who is a sailor can attest to the validity of these laws. And I think all sailors will agree that once the wind stops blowing, there is nothing you can do to get it going again.

 

When you are sailing, you are completely at the mercy of the wind. The wind can disappear suddenly, leaving you stranded at sea if you have no motor.

Sailing makes you aware of your dependency.

 

It is very much like receiving God’s grace – you by your own efforts cannot cause God’s grace to come upon you any more than you can cause the wind to blow.

That is Jesus’ message to Nicodemus in today’s gospel. You can’t cause God’s grace to come upon you.

 

God’s Spirit moves where it wills and the receiving of the Spirit is God’s work in us – not something we do for ourselves. As Thomas Manson, an American religious leader, once said, “We can’t direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails.”

And that, I think, is what Jesus is trying to teach Nicodemus in today’s gospel.


And to understand why, we have to understand Nicodemus. He was:

-         a Pharisee – the strictest sect of the Jews regarding the law

-         a ruler of Jews

-         probably a member of the Sanhedrin, a group of 71 men who made up the equivalent of the Supreme Court and the legisla]ve body in Judea.

-         very religious

-         knew the Torah (what we call the first five books of the Hebrew Scriptures) by heart

-         drawn to Jesus – probably heard about water to wine at Cana and healings

-         careful, sneaking out at night to meet with Jesus

He wants to know the secret of Jesus’ spiritual power. He says, “No one can do the signs that you do unless God is with him.” How has Jesus harnessed God’s power? Jesus knows what Nicodemus wants to know and so he begins to tell him the secret. You might say that what he does is to try to teach Nicodemus how to sail. (Jesus was, after all, a sailor.)

What Jesus realizes is that right now Nicodemus has a rowboat spiritually. That’s what author David Takle calls it. In rowboat spirituality we:

-         persist even when it’s hard

-         go to conferences

-         we study

-         we memorize scripture

-         we do all the right things

-         we try to help as many people as we can

-         we row harder

-         we do more

-         we beat ourselves up because we are not dedicated enough

-         we try to be perfect

-         we use willpower

 

We are trying to please God by trying!

But Jesus is invi]ng Nicodemus to switch it up; to embrace sailboat spirituality instead.


In sailboat spirituality:

-         the wind does most of the work

-         our only work is to align the sail with the wind

-         we allow the wind to take us where it will – maybe where we’d never go on our own

-         instead of trying to do what we think is the right thing to do, we allow God to work on our hearts to change us

-         instead of trying to use willpower to overcome contrary feelings and inclina]ons, we allow God to transform us from the inside out

In sailboat spirituality, if the wind dies down as Deal’s Law says it will, we rest and wait un]l the Spirit makes her next move.

 

I learned the joy of this with my friend Dennis on his Hobie Cat; sure enough, just like Deal’s Law promised we were stranded; and I discovered there was nothing more wonderful than the peace of bobbing about on the waves, soaking up the sun, while we waited for the wind to gust again. Rest is good – even in the spiritual life.

The wind blows where it chooses, Jesus tells Nicodemus, and you hear the sound of it, but you don’t know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.

 

The spiritual life is best lived not rowing but sailing. Not with hard work and willpower, but with learning the skill of sefng our sail to catch the wind. That’s what the spiritual disciplines are for:

-         centering prayer

-         the labyrinth

-         the rosary

-         fasting

-         prayer

-         reading spiritual books

-         studying scripture

-         coming to Eucharist

-         Chris]an Education

-         small groups


These are all the ways we learn to set our sails so that we can catch the movement of the Spirit in them.

 

And that is Jesus’ invitation to Nicodemus and to us today: Give up your oars – put up your sail and let the wind of the Spirit do the work.

In the words of Christopher Cross’ song, “Sailing”:

“Well, it’s not far down to paradise At least it’s not for me
And if the wind is right
You can sail away and find tranquility
Oh, the canvas can do miracles
Just you wait and see
Believe me”
“Sailing – takes me away to where I’m going…”

 

May 19th 2024: Reflections on The Day of Pentecost by Reverend Hartshorn Murphy

There were 3 great festivals in the Jewish year in which all Jewish males

were, ideally, required to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. These agricultural feasts required an offering of first fruits of the harvest as a thank offering and celebrated aspects of the foundational story of Jewish identity: the Exodus.

The first and most important was Passover. Held in the spring, it commemorated the fact that the angel of death “passed over” Hebrew homes and slayed the firstborn – human and animal – of the Egyptians, thus persuading Pharoah to let the Hebrew slaves go. The Passover festival saw an ingathering of the barley harvest.

The third festival, in the fall, was the Feast of Tabernacles – or Booths, which commemorated God’s providential care of the Hebrew tribes in the desert for 40 years, living in make-shift dwellings or booths. This festival saw an ingathering of the first fruits of the grape and olive harvest.

The second feast was the Festival of Weeks which celebrated the giving of the Torah, the law, on Mount Sinai and was the ingathering of the wheat harvest. The Festival of Weeks was to be held 7 weeks after Passover. Seven weeks equals 50 days. The Greek word for 50 is “Pentecost.”

The story of Pentecost, read this morning, comes following the events Luke describes in Acts chapter one. In the first chapter, Luke tells us that after his resurrection, Jesus appeared to his followers over a period of 40 days, at the end of which he instructed them to remain in Jerusalem and await the gift promised by John the Baptizer: a baptism by fire. For what purpose? So that “you shall be my witnesses in Judea, Samaria and to the ends of the earth.”

The followers numbered about 120. That included the eleven remaining apostles following the suicide of Judas: the brothers of Jesus, Mary, Jesus’ mother, and “the women” – which suggests that a high percentage of the followers were, from the beginning, women. The apostles draw lots to determine


who should replace Judas. One who had been present from the beginning. And the lot falls on … Matthias, who is then enrolled as one of the twelve.

So when the Pentecost story unfolds in Acts 2, the “they” likely refers to the 120 followers. On them, the Spirit of God descends, described here as fire and wind.

Fire and wind are Biblical metaphors for God’s presence. God spoke to Moses out of a burning bush – fire. The escaping Jewish slaves were led through the desert at night by a pillar of fire. The Hebrew and the Greek word for “wind” can also be rendered as “breath” or “spirit.” At the beginning of creation, God’s breath hovered over the primordial waters, bringing order out of chaos. In John’s gospel, on Easter night, Jesus breathes on his disciples and says “receive the Holy Spirit.”

And so on Pentecost, these followers – the sum total of the Jesus movement – receive the gift of the Holy Spirit, experienced as a new power. They begin to proclaim Jesus in languages not their own – to be precise, in the languages of the Jewish Diaspora, the 15 nations of pilgrims in Jerusalem for the

Feast of Weeks. Symbolically then, the whole world. Now to be clear: this is not glossolalia or speaking in tongues. Glossolalia is defined as “an outpouring of inarticulate sounds as the result of overpowering religious emotion.” It was a common experience in the primitive Church and early on, it was eagerly sought as a sure sign that one was possessed by the divine.

St. Paul discouraged it because it did not edify non-believers, created disorder in worship, and could be easily counterfeited. On his list of spiritual gifts, Paul ranks it as 8 of 9. He wrote “anyone who speaks in a tongue edifies themselves but one who prophesies” – recall, prophesy is not telling the future but rather speaking the mind of God to the present – the one who prophesies “edifies the church. Since you are eager for the gifts of the Spirit, try to excel in those that build up the Church.” (1 Corinthians 14)

Fascinatingly, 1873 years later, there was another visitation of the Spirit – in downtown Los Angeles. Called “The Azuza Street Miracle,” an itinerant black


preacher named William Seymour, on April 9, 1906, held a revival in the warehouse district in downtown LA, in which people began speaking in tongues.

But here’s the thing. Their interpretation of that event was that they were, like those first century followers, speaking foreign languages. The Azuza Street Miracle lasted until about 1915 and over that time, evangelists embarked from LA throughout the world, assuming that when they arrived, they would be enabled to do what those early followers did – to be witnesses for Jesus.

This was the birth of the Pentecostal movement. Naivety and zeal would produce an amazing harvest. Predictably, what destroyed the Azuza Street Mission was the resentment of white Christians who distrusted any spirit which saw black, white, Asian and Latinos worshipping together, women in leadership with authority over men, and an African American as the chief pastor.

A century later, in 2014, white Pentecostals formally apologized to black Pentecostals for the racism in the Assemblies of God: the unwillingness to welcome blacks among themselves.

But wind and fire had been unleashed in LA in 1906 as on that first Pentecost – but what does it mean?

In the 11th chapter of Genesis, after Noah’s flood but before the call of Abraham, there is the unsettling story of the Tower of Babel. The people all spoke the same language, living together in a great city. They conspired to build a great tower, presumably to reach heaven and to conquer it. God destroys the tower, scatters the people over the face of the earth, and confounds their language so that they cannot come together and conspire to build another tower.

The Pentecost story in Acts is the reversal of the Babel story. Where in Genesis, the scattering led to conflict and rivalry, the Pentecost story is the beginning of a reunification of humankind. Just as the Festival of Weeks celebrated the giving of the Torah which created a new community of one identity out of the disparate desert tribes, so the giving of the Spirit at Pentecost created the possibility of a new sort of human community, the Church. The Church, where as Paul writes, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave


or free, there is no longer male or female, for all of you are One in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3:28)

When a cynic in the crowd accuses the followers of Jesus of being drunk, Peter explains that it’s only 9 o’clock in the morning (although what that has to do with it, I’m not sure). Peter explains all of this by quoting the Book of Joel.

All flesh – not just a few especially chosen individuals – but the old and the young, male and female, slave and free, shall be empowered by the Spirit to prophesy; it reveals God’s dream for humankind – of reconciliation, sufficiency for all, of justice flowing like a river and of a beloved community of peace.

All prophets – from Jeremiah to Jesus, John the Baptist to Martin King, Miriam to Dorothy Day – hold out blessing and curse. A blessing if we seek and do justice, calamity and woe if we do not. But speaking up for God is hard; it’s far easier to remain silent.

Just a quick story: back when I was a newly minted priest serving in Milwaukee, on behalf of the social action committee, I submitted a resolution at convention in support of the United Farm Workers. The radical action proposed to educate our parishioners about the struggle for higher pay and better working conditions. Someone immediately stood to object, saying: God had made Mexicans short so that they wouldn’t have to stoop so low to pick our produce. The resolution was swiftly tabled.

I was stunned silent; shocked to hear such naked bigotry in a house of prayer. In saying nothing, I shamed myself by choosing prudence over prophesy.

The British theologian N.T. Wright wrote this in The Challenge of Easter:

“Our task is to announce in deed and in word that the exile is over… doing things differently, planting flags in hostile soil, setting up signposts that say there is a different way to be human… The Christian vocation is to be in prayer, in the Spirit, at the place where the world is in pain, and as we embrace that vocation, we discover it to be the way of following Christ… with arms outstretched, holding on simultaneously to the pain of the world and to the love of God.” Amen.

May 12th 2024: Reflections on John 17: 6-19 by Reverend Lyn Crow

They say you can never really know a person’s character un0l you’ve seen how he or she responds under pressure.

 Show us a person in a stressful situation –

-         like the loss of a job

-         the loss of money

-         the loss of friends

-         when things don’t go as planned

-         when his/her health or life is threatened

-         when he/she loses a loved one

Then the real character of a person is revealed, they say. Watch a person under pressure –

-         is it all about them?

-         or do they continue to think of others?

-         do they take their anxiety out on others?

-         is blame the name of their game?

-         how do they treat others who can do nothing for them?

These are some of the things that reveal a person’s true character – what they are really made of.

 In our gospel readings beginning way back on Maundy Thursday and continuing through today, we see Jesus under very stressful circumstances –

-         The pressure of the religious authori0es is building – they are out to kill him.

-         He is aware that one of his friends will betray him to death.

-         His followers are wishy-washy in their allegiance to him.

Worst of all – they s0ll don’t seem to understand what he has spent the last three years teaching them.

 Many people would fold under that kind of pressure. But what does Jesus do?

He shows his true character –

-         his absolute commitment to, and love for, God

-         and his faithful love and commitment to God’s people

The writer of John’s gospel has wriWen down all the evidence of his character.

In John’s 13th chapter, we are told that during the evening he was under the most pressure, the night of the Last Supper, he takes on the role of a servant.

He waits on his friends as a servant, washes their feet, and then tells them to do the same for others. Then he gives them a new commandment – a new rule of life – love one another. He then tells them he is going to prepare a place for them so that eventually they can all be together again.

He warns them about the corrupting influences out in the world. Then he promises them the gift of an Advocate after he is gone – the gift of the Holy Spirit. He warns them of coming persecu0ons.

And then in today’s gospel he begins to pray for them – out loud – so everyone can hear him. On this Mother’s Day I am reminded of a mother’s love.

Jesus’ prayer is an extraordinary prayer –

-         It is a prayer filled with glory.

-         It’s the prayer of a man who has given everything he could to serve the God he loves and to serve God’s people.

-         It’s the prayer of a man who wants to be sure that his followers will be protected after he is gone.

And the most amazing part of his prayer comes at the beginning of today’s gospel.

Jesus says to God – speaking about his disciples – “They were yours and you have given them to me. They have kept your word.”

Jesus is saying that the disciples were God’s gift to him and that they had been faithful to God. Now that’s amazing!

Think for a moment of whom he speaks. Think of the motley crew he is talking about.

Take James and John for instance: the Sons of Thunder –

-         who wanted to call down fire from heaven to destroy the Samaritans

-         and who wanted the seats of honor in heaven

 You would think Jesus would pray that God would grant them compassionate hearts and a bit of humility.

Instead he prays, “James and John were yours and you have given them to me. They have kept your word.” Later he says of James and John – I am glorified in them.

Amazing!

And what about Peter –

-         who tried to walk on water and nearly drowned

-         who whacked off the ear of a soldier with his sword

-         and would deny he knew Jesus three times

 You would think Jesus would ask God to give Peter more faith, to calm him down, to give him the courage of his convictions.

But no – he prays, Peter was yours and you have given him to me. He has kept your word. He says of Peter – I am glorified in him.

 Amazing!

And then there’s Thomas – doubting Thomas who won’t believe in Jesus’ resurrec0on un0l Jesus lets him touch his wounds.

 Surely Jesus would pray to God for courage and faith for Thomas.

Instead he prays – Thomas was yours and you have given him to me. He has kept your word. And he says of Thomas – I am glorified in him.

 Amazing!

These are just a few of the ones Jesus prayed for. There were more. And none of them were spiritual superstars.

For all of them Jesus prayed – they were yours and you have given them to me. They have kept your word. He says – I am glorified in them!

Amazing!

Now here’s the interesting thing to remember.

After Jesus’s resurrection and after the coming of the Holy Spirit, the disciples do catch on fire for Jesus –

-         they preach even when it is dangerous to do so

-         when they are arrested, they sing hymns in their jail cells

-         nailed to crosses or thrown to the lions, they keep the faith

 What Jesus saw in them when he prayed for them comes true – becomes a reality. It was never the quality of these men that was important.

It was what they became when the Holy Spirit was moving in them.

It was their being open to moving with the Spirit that made them great. And what does that say about us in our day?

Well, as Paul put it in Romans 3, “We all fall short of the glory of God.”

And opera0ng under our own steam we don’t do much beWer than James or John or Peter or Thomas. But empowered by the Holy Spirit, who knows what we might accomplish for God?

One thing I know for sure – Jesus was not only speaking and praying for the disciples in today’s gospel.

 He was speaking and praying for all of us when he said, “They were yours and you gave them to me. They have kept your word.”

Fill in your name:                     was yours and you gave her to me. She has kept your word.

 Jesus says – I am glorified in                     (fill in your name).

                    was yours and you gave him to me. He has kept your word.

Put your name in Jesus’ prayer because he is talking about you. He is telling you your life counts. He is saying that filled with the Spirit, you can do amazing things.

That is Jesus’ prayer for you and me and for all of us. Amazing! Alleluia!

May 5th 2024: Reflections on John 15: 9-17 and Rogation Sunday by Reverend Jeannie Martz

In addition to being the Sunday when we celebrate May birthdays and anniversaries, you can see on the front of our worship booklets this morning that today, the Sixth Sunday in Easter, is also known as Rogation Sunday.  Rogation Sunday and the three weekdays that follow it, called “Rogation Days,” are an ancient festival of the Church, a time “to seek [God’s] blessing for a community and its sustenance.  The word rogation,” writes one author, “comes from the Latin verb rogare, meaning ‘to ask,’ which reflects the beseeching of God for protection from calamities.  As the Book of Common Prayer puts it, ‘Rogation Days are the three days preceding Ascension Day, especially devoted to asking for God’s blessing on agriculture and industry’” – and Kevin has chosen music this morning that intentionally celebrates these Rogation Days.

This same author concludes, “Rogation invites people to ask for blessing – for a particular place; for all its inhabitants; for every endeavor to promote the common good.  It is totally inclusive – joining everyone in seeking sustenance and a commitment to play their part in its provision.”  (theclewerinitiative.com)

Rogation Sunday is about blessing and relationship – the intertwined relationships between God, God’s people, God’s creation, and the labor of God’s people; and while Rogation Sunday is about multiple relationships, today I want to focus on one specific type of relationship that Jesus highlights in this morning’s Gospel reading.

Way back in 1995, the Oscar winner for Best Original Song starts out, “You’ve got a friend in me, you’ve got a friend in me.  When the road looks rough ahead and you’re miles and miles from your nice warm bed, you just remember what your old pal said.  Boy, you’ve got a friend in me.  Yeah, you’ve got a friend in me.”

The second verse continues, “You’ve got a friend in me, you’ve got a friend in me.  You’ve got troubles, I’ve got ‘em too.  There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.  We stick together and see it through, ‘cause you’ve got a friend in me.  You’ve got a friend in me.”  (Music and lyrics by Randy Newman)

Originally a celebration of the close relationship between the cowboy doll Woody and the little boy who loves him, over the course of the original movie “Toy Story,” the song extends its embrace to include the hard-won partnership between Woody and space explorer Buzz Lightyear, as well as all of the toys in the playroom.

The unique interpersonal relationship known as “friendship,” the pledge to “stick together and see it through,” has been explored by philosophers and orators, by theologians, monastics, and others since long before Randy Newman wrote that song.  Back in the 4th century B.C., the classical Greek philosopher Aristotle identified three different types of friendship.

The first type of friendship, he said, is based on “utility,” or usefulness.  This is the friendship of connections and of networking, of getting things done.  While it may be enjoyable while it lasts, a utilitarian friendship begins out of necessity and ends as situations and individual needs change.

The second type of friendship is that of pure pleasure.  Some people are our friends simply because we like their company; we enjoy spending time with them – and although these relationships might last through the years depending on circumstance, there’s no inherent guarantee that they will.

For Aristotle, the best kind of friendship is the third type, and this is a friendship with deeper connections; it’s a relationship where our friend is, in Aristotle’s words, “another self.”  (F, J, T, 500)  We ourselves might call this friend “a soul mate.”

As a contemporary writer says, “…this kind of relationship is based on a mutual appreciation of the virtues the other person holds dear.  In this kind of friendship, the people themselves and the qualities they represent provide the incentive for the two parties to be in each other’s lives.  Rather than being short-lived,” he says, “such a relationship endures over time, and there’s generally a base level of goodness required in each person for it to exist in the first place.”  (Zat Rava, humanparts.medium.com, “Aristotle on friendship”)

“…[W]e are known by the company we keep,” another commentator says.  “[I]n fact, we are very likely to become the company we keep.”  “[A]ccording to Aristotle, one of the best ways to [develop a particular virtue in] oneself…is to emulate those who already embody it.”  “These best friendships,” he says, “are the most formative:  a true friend who loves as God loves will, in time, teach us how to love as God loves.”  (F, J, T, 500)

A true friend, who loves as God loves, will, in time, teach us how to love as God loves.

Here in this morning’s passage from John, which is a continuation of the Farewell Discourse with its metaphor of the vine and the branches that we heard last week, Jesus invites those who follow him into this third, and best kind of friendship; this friendship of deep connection, of mutual appreciation; and for those of us who are his followers, this friendship of personal transformation. 

“I do not call you servants any longer,” he says, “because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father.  You did not choose me, but I chose you.”  (Jn. 15:15-16a)

I’ve taken the initiative here, says Jesus.  I have blurred the boundaries between us, I have widened the circle around us.  I teach you how to love as God loves. You may say that you have a friend in me; I say, I ALSO have a friend in you.

The word Jesus uses for “friend” here is philos, which comes from phileo, a verb in ancient Greek that means “to love.”  Usually used to indicate “brotherly love,” as in Philadelphia, the “City of Brotherly Love,” the author of John’s Gospel uses the verbs phileo and agapao (which in its noun form is the love we know as agape) interchangeably, leaving no doubt that Jesus’ friends are in fact in the third category of relationship.  Jesus’ friends are “those who are already loved” – loved by Jesus, and loved by God.  (NIB, John, 758)

“The English noun ‘friend,’” another author writes, “does not fully convey the presence of love that undergirds the Johannine notion of friendship….”[T]o be Jesus’ friend and to love Jesus are synonymous, because both are defined as keeping Jesus’ commandments.  (Ibid., emphasis mine)

Hold this thought for a moment.

Mutuality.  Reciprocity.  Indwelling.  Dependence.  Abiding in, and making a home in.  All of these describe aspects of last week’s relationship between the vine and the branches that Mo. Lyn Crow talked about; a relationship where we as the branches, now identified as beloved friends, draw our very life from the true vine that is Jesus, the vine that itself flows with the life and the nature and the essence of God – the vine that flows with Love, and brings that Love on into us.

And yet, as I just said, there are other words that are also integral parts of the relationship between the vine and the branches, also integral parts of the relationship between Jesus and those who are Jesus’ friends – and these words are “obedience” and “commandments.”

“For the love of God is this,” writes the author of 1 John, “that we obey his commandments.”  (1 Jn. 5:3a)

As 21st century Western Christians, we’re not big on these two words.  We’re Lone Rangers, individual and autonomous.  We’re the Marlboro Man riding with self-determination into the sunset, the preteen saying, “You’re not the boss of me!”

And yet, our historic Christian faith is a corporate faith, a communal faith, born in ancient cultures where identities were based in the group, not in the individual – because individuals without a community had no identity.  This spiritual heritage remains part of our faith today, because when we gather, we claim that we gather together as the Body of Christ.  We don’t gather together as a collection of independent “Body Parts of Christ.” 

And we remind ourselves that commandments are gifts of guidance that save us from the random fickleness of our own preferences and our own opinions – and that being obedient doesn’t negate being autonomous. 

Instead, says one author, our obedience to the commandment – which is the commandment to love, of course – our obedience is, in fact, the epitome of our autonomy; the proof of our empowerment by God to prevail against the self-centered and power-based ways of the world.  Obedience is, he says, “a natural result of [our] new relationship with God.” (F, 1J, E, 495) – a relationship that we have come into by choice.

Love is agape, love is philia, love is decision, choice, and intention; not the feeling, emotion, or preference we might assume it to be. 

Love is us choosing to invest in God’s vision for the world, as God has invested God, and God’s vision, in us.  God invests God’s vision for all of creation to us.

Back in the 4th century AD, in a treatise called “Grace and Free Will”, Augustine of Hippo reflected on how it is that God makes sure our investment in God’s vision is successful. 

Referring to passages in the book of the prophet Ezekiel where God first commands Ezekiel to make for the people a new heart and a new spirit, and then later says that God Godself will give the people a new heart and a new spirit, Augustine writes:  “How is it, then, that [God] who says, ‘Make you [a new heart and a new spirit],’ also says, ‘I will give you [a new heart and a new spirit]’?  Why does [God] command, if [God] is to give?  Why does [God] give if man is to make, except it be that [God] gives what [God] commands when [God] helps him to obey whom [God] commands?”

In other words, even as God commands us to love, God provides the means and the substance for us to be able to obey, already giving us the love that God commands.  We just need to put that love to work in our own lives.

And there’s something else here:  when passing the Peace, one of my former parishioners back at Trinity, Orange invariably adds, “and JOY” to his greeting.  In today’s reading, Jesus says, “I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.”  (v. 11, emphasis mine). 

“The unity and mutuality that love makes possible, symbolized by the unity of vine and branches, leads,” says one scholar, “to full joy.”  (NIB, John, 758).

And why would we NOT want joy?  Why would we NOT want to obey God’s commandment to love, when through God’s Spirit, God is already providing the means for us to make that choice for love – and for our joy to be complete?  What are we afraid of?

In seeking to apply Scripture to our own lives, it’s helpful to remember that our understanding of Scripture can change as the setting and the circumstances of the writer or the writer’s audience change – and it’s instructive to consider three different settings. 

The first setting is the setting of the Biblical narrative itself.  John has Jesus naming his disciples “friends” on the night of the Last Supper as danger, betrayal, and death are looming.  How did they hear these words, and what did they understand them to mean?

John himself is doing his actual writing at the end of the first century AD, 70 to 80 years after that night, when there’s a great deal of tension between his community of early Jewish Christian believers and the world around them.  More and more, his own readers are needing to choose whether or not they will “stand up, stand up for Jesus” in the face of adversity and social expulsion.  How did they hear his words, “I have called you friends”?

Finally, how do we hear these words and these readings today?  What does being Jesus’ friend rather than his servant or his student mean to us today?  What does being Jesus’ friend, sticking together and seeing it through, look like in today’s world?  What kind of ministry or ministries does being Jesus’ friend call us into today?

As an online blogger I quoted earlier writes, “We are, and we live through, the people we spend time with.  The bonds we forge with those close to us directly shape the quality of our lives. 

“Life,” this blogger says, “is too short for shallow relationships.”  (Zat Rava)

 

Life is too short for shallow relationships.

Life is too short NOT to be Jesus’ friend.

Life is too short NOT to love; and here at St. Matthias, life is too short NOT to do the loving thing.

Amen.

April 28th 2024: Reflections on John 15:1-8 by Reverend Lyn Crow

Abide in me

Abide in me and I in you
In all that you say in all you do
Remember to cling to the one who
truly loves you
Abide in me and I in you
Remember to love the way I do
For in me you have life ever more
For in me you have life ever more

I remember one time preaching for a baptism.

It was just two weeks after a massive tsunami hit Indonesia with all the death and destruction it brought with it.  It was a constant story in the media.

It was distressing to me to be preaching about baptismal waters when so many people were suffering because of water.

I remember an image on CNN of military personnel handing out bottled water to survivors.

It was such an irony that the very thing that brought death and destruction – water – was also a source of life to them – they needed it to survive.

So it is with the waters of baptism – there is a death in them.

There is a dying to everything that would keep us from experiencing the life of God to the full.

But more importantly – the waters of our baptism are the source of life for us.

In the waters of baptism we discover the truth – we are a child of God, the beloved, a member of God’s family.

As the gospel reminds us – we are branches of God’s family tree.  And we need to stay connected to that vine to live.

And as we come up out of the water, or as the last drops of baptismal water are wiped from our brow, we are anointed with oil with these words:

You are sealed with the Holy Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever.

Just as the Māori of New Zealand mark their faces with tattoos to identify them as members of a particular tribe and family – in our baptism, we are marked with our own tribal tattoo – the sign of the cross.

We belong to a particular tribe and family and this tattoo of the cross on our forehead proves it.

We acknowledge that we are part of God’s family and we want to learn to live that way.

The members of this family of God, this tribe, see themselves and others, and the world in a particular kind of way that is unique to them.

First – we know ourselves to be the Beloved of God.

In the family of God there is no need to prove we are worth something.

As Henri Nouwen reminds us in his book Life of the Beloved – we don’t have to do something relevant or spectacular or powerful in order to be loved by God.

Our belovedness is not earned – it is given as a gift.

Oh, there are other voices who will try to convince us otherwise – you are stupid, you don’t count, you won’t amount to anything, you are unlovable.

Sometimes that voice is our own.

But the truth is, God has loved us since time began:

-      in the womb

-      carved in the palm of God’s hand

-      called by name

-      loved with infinite tenderness, the way a mother loves her child

-      where we go, God goes

-      nothing can separate us

The truth is we are the beloved in whom God is pleased – warts and all

The Second way that God’s tribe see things a bit differently is that we understand that our family is always bigger than we imagine.

Mother Teresa was interviewed and asked, “What’s the biggest problem in the world today?”

She didn’t hesitate – she said, “We draw the circle of our family too small.  We need to draw it larger every day.”

In God’s family, the moment we draw a circle so that we are on the inside and those people over there are on the outside, God says, “Draw your circle bigger.”

Lastly, the tribe of God recognizes that our work in the world is to bring about God’s brand of justice in the world.

That means bringing about respect and equality for those who are weak and fragile and marginalized.

It means tenderly caring for the bruised reeds and the barely smoldering wicks of the world.

It means opening the eyes of the blind, freeing prisoners, feeding the hungry.

It means to love with steadfast love.

This justice is brought about gently, carefully, caringly, and often inconspicuously.

In many quiet ways, the people of God work, often behind the scenes, and out of the spotlight, to be kindlers of the fire for those who have lost hope.

This is our identity as members of God’s tribe.

This is what our tattoo signifies.

And with our baptismal vows we promise to live this way but always, always we add after the promise we make – I will with God’s help.

It is impossible to fulfill our promises without God’s help.

Today we have renewed our vows.  May we hold in our hearts the words:  “I will with God’s help.” 

O God we need you.

 

Abide in me

Abide in me and I in you
In all that you say in all you do
Remember to cling to the one who
truly loves you
Abide in me and I in you
Remember to love the way I do
For in me you have life ever more
For in me you have life ever more

                                            

April 21st 2024: Reflections on 'Good Shepherd Sunday' by J.D. Neal

This Sunday in our Easter season is sometimes called ‘Good Shepherd Sunday’. We call it that because, in our gospel this morning, we hear Jesus call himself, ‘the good shepherd’ — the one who lays down his life for his sheep, the one who protects them from the wolves and gathers all of his scattered sheep into one fold. This is in contrast to the ‘hired hands’ who run and scatter when the wolves show up because they’re more concerned with themselves and their own security than with the well-being of the sheep.

And this contrast makes a lot of sense because when we meet Jesus in this gospel, he is in the middle of a conflict with the Pharisees (a fairly normal day for Jesus). Jesus has just healed a man of blindness, but he has done this on the Sabbath. The Pharisees, tunnel-visioned into their particular interpretation of Torah, believe that Jesus has broken the law by doing this. This is a theme with them, throughout the gospels, Jesus heals a suffering or crippled person on the Sabbath, and the Jewish leaders try to punish him for it, believing it would be better to let that person suffer than to risk compromising their own personal holiness by helping on the Sabbath. Like we often do, the Pharisees here prioritize their own personal comfort and security at the expense of the people they are meant to be guiding and caring for. They sound a lot like those ‘hired hands’ Jesus is describing.

This is a solid parable on its own, but if we’ve spent much time with the Scriptures, we know that this imagery of shepherd and sheep shows up all over the place. So let’s back up a bit. Not only is God often referred to as the shepherd, guiding and protecting his people, Israel, but a whole bunch of important figures in the Old Testament are connected with the language of shepherds and sheep. The prophet Amos, King David, Moses, a whole bunch of the patriarchs — many of the most important leaders in Israel’s history were actual shepherds, spending at least part of their lives caring for and protecting the flocks of others. Throughout the Scriptures these and other leaders are referred to metaphorically as the good ‘shepherds’ of Israel, guiding the people in the ways of God and keeping them from being ‘scattered’. On the other hand, the Scriptures refer to leaders like Pharoah and the later, increasingly corrupt leaders of Israel and Judah as bad shepherds, who lead the people astray and allow them to be scattered, so that they become like ‘sheep without a shepherd.’ 

If we zoom in a bit more, we start to see a bit of a pattern emerge. On the one hand, those ‘bad shepherds’ in the Old Testament lead the people to prioritize security, accumulating wealth and often engaging in idolatry and violence in attempts to secure their power and rule. Ultimately, these shepherds, in their pursuit of wealth and security, lead the people into war and exile. On the other hand, the ‘good shepherds,’ like Moses or the prophets, lead the people away from relying on wealth and power for their security, and they try to gather the people towards justice and mercy, towards faithfulness and reliance upon God’s provision — because these good shepherds know that if they follow the voice of the true shepherd, they will always have enough.

That, I think, is what the shepherding imagery is mainly meant to communicate to us in the Scriptures. Remember that for the people of the Bible, a shepherd is someone who leads and sustains her flock in the middle of a desert. This is what Psalm 23 is about. Often, we get confused because the picture we associate in our minds with shepherds and sheep is a lush meadow, right? We imagine rolling hills and flowing streams and green and flowers and ‘mary had a little lamb’ — or something like that. But none of that exists in the land of the Scriptures. A shepherd in the ancient near east (or in the middle-east or Palestine today) led her sheep through mostly dry and desolate terrain — through a desert, where drinkable ‘still waters’ are scarce and ‘green pastures’ are small patches of grass amidst the rocks. “Paths of righteousness” is both a metaphor and a technical term for a safe path that has been beaten through the treacherous desert terrain, and a rod and staff were needed to beat off the beasts who might attack a stray sheep. In other words, Psalm 23 is not about how God is the shepherd who always leads us into lush green lands of comfort and abundance, far from danger and the shadow of death. Psalm 23 is about how God is the good shepherd who — if we listen to his voice — can always lead us to water and sustenance in the midst of a harsh world, who finds sure footing for us when the way is rough and steep, and who does not hesitate to journey with us through the shadow of darkness and death when that is the direction we must go. Christ does not promise us that we will always have comfort or security, wealth or abundance; but he does promise that, if we follow his voice, he will always make a way for us and be there to provide for and guide us — to ensure that, no matter how desolate or dark things may get, we will always have enough.

This is all in the background when Jesus calls himself ‘the good shepherd’ in our gospel this morning. But, as much as this reading is about what it means for Jesus to be the ‘good shepherd’ who lays down his life to provide for us, there’s something else that I want to draw our attention to this morning:

In the middle of his parable, Jesus calls out that his sheep “know him”, they “listen to his voice.” If we back up a few verses to the start of chapter 10, this theme is even more pronounced. Let me read it for you (vv.2-5): Jesus says that, “the one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out… and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger… because they do not know the voice of strangers.” You see, today is just as much about the sheep as it is about the good shepherd. 

Everything we’ve talked about so far is predicated on the idea that we are ‘the sheep’ in these passages, but what does it mean for us to be ‘the sheep’ of this ‘good shepherd’? Sheep aren’t always the smartest creatures, but, as the passage points out, they are very good at recognizing and following their shepherd’s voice. A teacher I like tells a story about how a shepherd can mix her flock with a whole bunch of other flocks  in the same fold together overnight and then separate just her individual flock from the fold in the morning by opening the gate and calling to them — because the sheep only listen to the voice of their particular shepherd. If we are going to be Christ’s sheep, if we are going to journey with him wherever he is leading us, we have to learn to recognize Christ’s voice.

We live in a world where we are surrounded by bad shepherds and ‘hired hands’, to use Jesus’ term. We are surrounded by voices, inside and outside the Church, who promise comfort and security and purpose in exchange for our energy and our money and our allegiance. We live in a world that is often confusing and exhausting, where we don’t always know which way to go, and so our own fears and anxieties also push and pull and scatter us. Even in our own denomination and here at St. Matthias — we are in transition, we don’t have a rector, we are aging, there aren’t as many of us as there used to be, and we are often just not sure where to go or what to do next. 

But the way forward for us is not to give ourselves to one of those voices that promises us security and purpose, just as the way forward for St. Matthias is not to just wait for a new rector to come in and give us direction. If we are to be Christ’s sheep, if we are to go in the way that Christ is calling us, then we have to do the hard and uncertain work of making space to listen to Christ’s voice. This isn’t something we can just pay for or subscribe to. We have to do the difficult work of drawing close to Christ and listening — in the Scriptures, in the people around us, in the Eucharist, in prayer. We have to spend time soaking in Christ’s presence and staring at Christ’s face and listening to Christ’s voice until we begin to know him, until we begin to taste and see and hear him calling to us in our day to day lives, our communities, our responsibilities, our challenges, our relationships — until we begin to be able to recognize his voice calling and see where he is leading us. Because he is leading us, Christ is the good shepherd who is right there, ever and always calling, waiting for us to recognize his voice so that he can go with us and guide us, so that he can show us the way to new life even in the midst of the barren places of our lives — if we can just learn to listen, to know his voice.

Amen.

April 14th 2024: Reflections on Luke 24:36b-48 by Reverend Lyn Crow

1.    It’s interesting isn’t it – that today’s gospel is in many ways a repetition of last week’s gospel.

2.     Remember?  Last week we heard from John’s gospel

a.   disciples after crucifixion frightened, hiding behind locked doors

b.   Jesus appears – peace be with you

c.   one missing – Thomas

d.   he doubts

e.   week later Jesus appears again and shows Thomas his wounds

3.     This week – we hear about the same event from Luke

a.   there’s got to be a reason why we’re hearing the same story again

b.   and I’m going to find it

c.   I combed through both versions of the story

d.   and I found it

e.   In John’s version last week the primary focus was on doubt – Thomas’ doubt and the doubt of anyone who read the story

f.     But in this week’s version from Luke the primary focus is fear-

g.   the disciples thought they were seeing a ghost when Jesus appeared and they were afraid

h.   Jesus dealt with doubt by showing Thomas his wounds

i.     He dealt with fear by asking for food and eating it

j.     See – a ghost doesn’t eat food

4.    Then Jesus does Bible study with them

5.     He shows them how his death and resurrection was prophesied in the Old Testament, the Prophets, and the Psalms

 6.   Then he gives them instructions

a.    here they are huddled in fear

b.   their numbers had shrunk

c.   Can anyone relate?

d.   and Jesus after dealing with their doubts and fears gives them their marching orders

7.    Their ministry, which they thought was over is going to expand again

8.     And here’s what your ministry needs to be about, he says

9.     You’re going to proclaim repentance, turning around, changing directions, forgiveness and mercy

10.                And you are going to do this all over the place

11.                You realize, don’t you, that these marching orders are for us also?

12.                What if Jesus is here among us saying you need to proclaim repentance and forgiveness of sins in my name everywhere.

 

13.                Well, how the heck are we supposed to do that?

14.                I used to be terrified that Jesus would ask me, the introvert, to stand on the corner in front of Vons and hand out tracts

15.                In my life – the only way I have ever seen people change their lives, turn around and experience God – the only way is through hearing other people tell their Jesus stories.

16.                Like on Cursillo – Thursday to Sunday filled with people, both lay people and priests telling their stories

17.                And lives are changed

18.                Jose Garcia

-       he & wife drug addicted

-      wife died – his turning around

-      he tells it on Cursillo

-      the whole room in tears

-      believe me, when Jose tells his story lives change

19.                 I’m Irish – my Dad was born in Belfast

20.                The Irish love to tell stories and we love to hear stories

21.                We know the power of stories

22.                The Ancient Irish people had folks set aside who were the official story tellers

23.                They were called shanachie

24.                The shanachie documented events – they were the historians, the ones who remembered and shared what they remembered

25.                In the early days, the Celts insisted that only poets could be the story tellers

26.                Why?  Because they believed that knowledge that is not passed through the heart is dangerous

27.                It may lack wisdom if it does not come from the heart

28.                So in order to have power it had to come from the heart.  Interesting, huh?

29.                Robert McKee is a world famous creative writing professor at USC

30.                His students have won

a.    36 Academy awards

b.   164 Emmys

c.   19 Writer’s Guild of America awards

d.   16 Director’s Guild of America awards

31.                 He says storytelling is the most powerful way to put ideas into the world today

32.                Stories allow us to step out of our own shoes

33.                They tap into our right brain, the place of imagination and creativity, which is the foundation of innovation, self-discovery, and change

34.                If you want people to grow in self-knowledge, and to be transformed, he says, tell them a story

35.                Storytelling is at the heart of our faith.  (Holding Bible up)  What is this but a collection of stories?

36.                You are witnesses – Jesus says in today’s gospel

37.                What are you a witness of?

38.                What are your stories?

39.                Spend some time pondering that.  How do you live your life differently because you are part of the Jesus movement?  Who in your life needs to hear that there is a different way to live?

40.                Maya Angelou said “There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside of you.”

41.                Each of you has stories of the kingdom inside of you

42.                Today I commission you as St. Matthias’ shanachie

43.                You are our storytellers

44.                So go tell your stories and change the world

April 7th 2024: Reflections on John 20:19-31 by Reverend Hartshorn Murphy

So, what can we say about Thomas, whom we commemorate each year on the Sunday after Easter?  Who was this Thomas?  What’s his deal?

          We first encounter Thomas when Jesus and his friends hear the news that Lazarus is near death.  Jesus feels compelled to go to Lazarus’ sisters but there had been a threat.  If Jesus showed up near Jerusalem again, he would be stoned to death.  The disciples are hesitant and afraid.  But Thomas boldly challenges them, saying: “Let us also go, that we may die with him!”  Thomas is deeply loyal here but also somewhat impetuous.

          The second time we see him is at the Last Supper.  Jesus delivers what will become known, over time, as his “Farewell Discourse,” where he says: “I go to prepare a place for you.”  Thomas responds:  “Lord, we do not know where you are going, so how can we find the way?”  Thomas is not given to metaphors…

          And so we now come to this third encounter.  The disciples are in hiding.  In fear of the enemies of Jesus, they are secure behind a locked door.  They were no doubt also filled with despair and disillusionment.  They had failed Jesus but at the same time, Jesus had failed them.  The dream that they had given their lives and their hearts to for three years was now dead.  I see Peter as a broken man.  His three denials of Jesus “I tell you, I don’t know the man!”, echoed in his heart.  But Thomas has his own echoes: “Let us all go and die with him.”  Thomas, on Easter night, is missing.  Shut away.  Humiliated?  No doubt.

          On Easter night, Jesus comes through the locked door and the disciples are terrified.  He says, “Peace be with you” and shows them his wounds.  This one you are seeing is not a ghost but is that self same Jesus.  And Jesus breathes the Spirit on them.

          In John’s gospel, this is the Pentecost event.  The imagery echoes the Genesis story.  As God breathed life into the nostrils of the first man Adam, so here Jesus breathes new life into spiritually dead disciples.  The dream is not dead but alive.  As I was sent, so I send you.  The disciples – students – now become apostles -  “ones who are sent.”  The language here about forgiving or not forgiving sins is baptismal language.  For John, sin is rejecting Jesus.  The commission here – as in Matthew’s gospel – is to be evangelists, to extend the community.

          Of course, Thomas, in his shame, missed all of this and when he’s told the story by those who were there, he rejects it all out of hand.  His friends are clearly overwrought.  Perhaps, as occasionally happened with Jesus’ disciples, they had entered into, as it were, an alternate state of consciousness, seeing and hearing things which are preposterous.  Belligerently he cries:  “Unless I can touch it…”  Right?

          And the next Sunday night, Jesus comes for Thomas.  Without anger or judgment comes a word of invitation:  “Come and touch.”  At that instant, at the sight of that wounded body, Thomas’ heart breaks open and he sees with the eyes of his heart what his physical eyes can not confirm and he declares:  “My Lord and my God!”

          Peter, the Rock, had proclaimed Jesus to be the Messiah, the anointed of God.  Thomas goes so much further:  my Lord and my God.

          Jesus responds to Thomas, with what we might call the last beatitude:  “Blessed are those who have not seen and believe.”

          The gospel of John ends as it began.  We have come full circle.  The gospel of John begins, “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was - [what?] – God.”    The gospel ends with Thomas’ bold acclamation:  Jesus is Lord and God.

          Thomas’s story does not end there.  Legend has it that after this, the disciples drew lots and it fell to Thomas to go to India, arriving about the year 52 CE.  It is said that along the way, he met the Magi, those wise men of the East present at Jesus’ birth.  He founded seven and a half churches - ? – and became the Patron Saint of India.  The Anglican church to this day is known as the Mar Toma Church.  And Tomas is a favorite name given to Indian Christian boys.

          My favorite legend about Thomas is that at the Assumption of Mary, the Catholic doctrine that the Virgin Mary was taken up to heaven bodily at the end of her life;  an optional doctrine in our Anglican tradition – that Thomas had been summoned from India to witness this event and that Mary gives him her girdle as proof for him to show the other apostles, since Thomas prefers physical proof.

          Thomas returns to India afterwards and was martyred in the year 72.  His relics are said to have wrought several miracles.  Clearly, once Thomas had surrendered his cynicism, he surrendered all.

          The moral John would have us take from this story is that like his community in Ephesus around the year 100 CE, bereft of the original witnesses, we – you and I – are called to be people of faith based on their witness.  As St. Paul wrote in Romans 10:17:  “Faith comes from hearing!”  We are to be, like Thomas, an apostle – ones sent with a message.  Well and good.

          But let’s flip the narrative today.  Let’s change the tune.  Instead of “doubting Thomas,” I’d like to call him “Tardy Thomas.”  The issue here is that the dude was just plain late – well, yeah, seven days late.  He withdrew from the fellowship and sought isolation instead of community.

          How often have we known folks – friends, relatives, and maybe sometimes even ourselves – who in sorrow or sadness or pain, cut ourselves off from the fellowship of the Church?  And that estrangement can last for a time or for a season – or a lifetime.

 “Doubt is not the opposite of faith;  fear is.
Fear will not risk.
That even if I am wrong, I will trust that if I move today
by the light that is given me, knowing it is only finite and partial,
I will know more and different things tomorrow than I know today,
and I can be open to the new possibility I can not even imagine.”
-      Verna Dozier

 The phrase “do not fear” or “fear not” appears 365 times in scripture.

One for each day of the year.

          Thomas, unlike Peter, chose in his fear and despair to absent himself from the company of the faithful and missed the initial blessing.  When we choose to isolate ourselves, the whole community is diminished by our absence.  New Life is indeed on offer but we need to be present to grasp it.  So, suit up, show up, and never give up, friends, never give up.  Amen.

 

March 31st 2024: Reflections on Mark 16:1-8 / John 20:1-18 (Easter Sunday) by Reverend Hartshorn Murphy

After the death of Jesus on a Roman cross, Joseph of Arimathea – a member of the Jewish Council, The Sanhedrin – asks Pilate for the body.  John’s gospel tells us that he was assisted by another Judean disciple of Jesus, Nicodemus.  These men carefully wash the blood and dirt from Jesus’ body and wrap him in a linen shroud.  His body would remain on the stone shelf for a year and a day after which time, the tomb would be opened.  Jesus’ bones would be collected and placed in an ossuary – a stone bone box – to be carried north to his family in Nazareth to be entombed in their family grave.  As the sun sinks marking the start of the Sabbath, the men quickly seal the tomb with its heavy stone disc and hurrying away, they do not see Mary of Magdala and Mary the mother of Joses who had discreetly followed them.

          The next night, after sunset, Mary and two other women go to the marketplace to buy burial ointment:  olive oil scented with myrrh and aloes.  In the morning, as the sun is rising, these women make their way to Joseph’s tomb to do the last best thing for their friend – to anoint his tortured body.  As they make their way, they worry about finding someone to roll away the tomb’s seal, for Jesus’ male disciples are all in hiding.  They were hoping later in this day or the next, to quietly slip into one of the caravans heading north and escape the fate which had befallen their Rabbi.  As the three women approach the grave, they discover the stone rolled away.  The women are furious.  They presume that Jesus’ enemies had committed some great indignity on the corpse.  They rush inside.

          There they see a man dressed all in white.  Later gospels will say it plain:  it’s an angel, who tells them to not be alarmed.  Jesus is not here.  You are looking for Jesus who was executed by the Romans;  you won’t find him in a tomb, even a tomb sealed with a huge stone.  Luke’s language is more poetic – why do you look for the living amongst the dead?

          The messenger then gives the women a promise and a commission.  The commission:  tell Jesus’ male disciples to go back to the Galilee.  The promise:  he has gone ahead of you, there you will see him.

          The women flee the tomb, filled with amazement and awe but they tell no one because they were afraid.  And so, in just eight short verses, Mark’s Easter story ends.  The ending is so abrupt and so disturbing that a 2nd Century scribe will create a more satisfying ending.  But Mark’s tale ends with those words:  “They said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”

          There are no resurrection appearances in Mark.  We find those in the other three gospels.  Those stories reveal that Jesus is profoundly changed.  He is no longer a figure of flesh and blood as we know it.  He is no longer confined to time or space.  He enters locked rooms.  He walks the road with his friends but is to them a stranger.  At supper time, Jesus breaks the bread and as he does so, they recognize that this stranger is in fact Jesus – and he vanished from their sight.  He is seen in Jerusalem and yet also in the Galilee apparently at the same time.  And he is seen by Paul, who self describes himself as someone “untimely born” for he never knew Jesus in the flesh but will experience Jesus alive – after which he will declare that Jesus is Lord.

          In other words, the presence his disciples had known before the cross continued to be experienced afterwards.  The message to us on this Easter Sunday morning is just this:  The Jesus who lived – who walked and talked and healed, who broke bread and wept and suffered – and who died a violent death on Calvary’s hill, is not to be sought in the Palestinian Province circa 33 C.E.  He has been raised and is a present reality.  And he is experienced by his followers to this day.

Mark’s gospel ends abruptly with the women running away in fear and telling no one.  Obviously, they eventually find their voices but their initial fear feels very human.  Perhaps they feared the scorn of the male disciples.  We get it.  We are all reluctant to share such precious experiences lest those we tell, treat such tender stories with ridicule in this most cynical age.

Scholars wonder aloud if the original ending of Mark’s gospel was somehow lost.  But I would argue that just maybe it was intentional.  Mark’s gospel is “unfinished” because the story of Jesus is always unfinished.  It is a continuing story.  It ends with an unwritten page, left blank to be filled in by you.

Rumi, the 13th Century Sufi mystic said it this way:

“I called through your door

The mystics are gathering in the streets

Come out!  But you said:

Leave me alone, I’m sick!

I don’t care if you’re dead.  Jesus is here

And he wants to resurrect somebody!

That somebody is you.

March 29th, 2024: Reflections on Good Friday by Reverand Valerie Hart

What is it that makes it so hard to hear the Passion read out loud.  Is it the suffering of Jesus? Is it seeing the incredible cruelty of which humanity is capable? Is it being reminded of our own suffering reflected in the story.

 

When we read the Passion, like we did tonight, we hear of betrayal, cowardice, self-centeredness, fear, power, and manipulation. It’s hard to imagine how people could be so cruel. 

 

Yet, when we hear this story, we hear echoes of ourselves.  We have had times in our lives when we have been afraid and acted out of that fear.  We have had times when we have denied someone else, kept quiet when we could have spoken up. We see our own shortcomings, our weaknesses, our sins played out in this story.

 

This is hard enough. But we also see our personal suffering on display. We see the mourning mother experience the horror of her son’s death. Who have you lost? Who do you still grieve? We see Jesus’ agony at being betrayed by Judas’ kiss. Not just Jesus was betrayed that night, but so were all his friends and followers. Have you ever been betrayed by someone you loved and trusted?

 

I once heard about an ancient tradition of theological reflection where people wondered what it was Jesus did in that part of the Apostles Creed where it says, “He descended into hell.”  What was he doing during that time in hell?  One of the theories is that he was looking for Judas.  He was looking for the one who betrayed him to get an opportunity to forgive him. 

 

I can easily imagine Jesus looking for his friend Judas to tell him he was forgiven.  Just like Jesus comes looking for us who have all let him down in one way or another in our lives.  He comes looking for each one of us, each one of his friends, so he can tell us that we’re forgiven, that we’re loved, that it’s all going to be okay. 

 

Jesus offered forgiveness to the soldiers who nail him to the cross and to the one who betrayed him. But what about the suffering of the ones who were betrayed? Christ offers forgiveness to the perpetrators of sin, what about the victims?

 

One year I attended a Lenten retreat while I was actively working in my therapy on an unresolved memory of having been abused as a child. I had been reliving the shame and self doubt and struggling with how to let go and heal the very deep wounds I still carried. I was reflecting upon the common statements that Christ died for our sins. Or that He died for sinners. Or that He died to take away our sins. As I prayed in front of a crucifix I agonized over the question, “What about the victim?”

 

I knew the perpetrator had been forgiven, but where does that leave the victim? Where did I, as a survivor of abuse, fit in this salvation story?

 

Then I was drawn to the center of Christ’s chest, to the wide open area between the outstretched arms. To his heart, broken open by torture. And I saw, I knew, that Christ died to take upon himself our pain, our suffering, whether we are in pain due to the guilt we carry or we are in pain because of what has be done to us. He holds it all in that wide open heart. He holds the shame and the grief and the sorrow of the victim. He holds the guilt of the abuser. He holds it all.

 

And he comes looking for us to say that it is all going to be okay.

 

In fact, it’s going to be more than okay.  Out of the sadness of our lives, out of the tragedy of our lives, out of the things we do wrong, and out of the things that have been done to us, Jesus can bring hope. He can take each part of us that is dead or dying and he can transform it, heal it, forgive it, love it, and resurrect it.

 

He can transform that which is most painful and turn it into a source healing and strength that can empower us to help others and begin to heal the world.

March 28th, 2024: Reflections on Maundy Thursday by Reverand Valerie Hart

Do you remember the last conversation that you had with someone before they died? Do you remember where you were, what you did, what that person said? Almost fifty years later, I still remember my father’s last words to me. It doesn’t matter whether at the time we know the person is going to die, we still remember the interaction. And if the person knows that they are about to die it gives even more power to those last words. A dying parent will want to share some last bits of guidance for their child, spouses share a last loving good-bye and a teacher longs to impart one more bit of knowledge.

All four Gospels contain a description of the meal Jesus had before his death. There are differences between the Gospels, but they all make it clear that it was an extremely important event. Jesus knew that it was going to be his last time to eat with his disciples. As a teacher, he also realized that this was going to be his last opportunity to teach. The last class. The last chance to get through the thick skulls of those disciples exactly what it was he had been trying to teach them

At this last meal he could have talked intellectually. He could have sat with his disciples and said, “Okay, I want you to get the theology right. Here is the exact nature of God, and my relationship with God, and it is important that you believe this correctly.” But he didn’t do that.

And he could have talked about spiritual things. He could have talked about the things that are kind of hard to understand, like heaven and eternity. But he didn’t.

Instead that last supper was very incarnational. It was about action. It was about the world, being here, being now. It was about bread and wine and water and a basin and a towel. Concrete things. Simple things. Nothing expensive. Nothing fancy. Things that were in every Jewish household. Bread and wine, water, a basin and a towel.

Jesus came from the prophetic tradition. If you read the prophets in the Old Testament, you’ll find they often illustrated their teachings by doing outrageous things. Jeremiah at one point took a brand new pair of pants, wore them once and them folded them up and stuck them in a crevice in a rock. Six months later he took them out and they were full of holes. Then he explained that God said this is the Judean people, full of holes in their relationship with God. Another prophet had the king fire an arrow through a window and then said this is how you are going to conquer Syria. Another one went up to the future king and took his cloak and ripped it into twelve pieces and threw the pieces in all different directions to show that the tribes of Abraham were going to be scattered. The prophets did this because they knew that people remembered dramatic actions. Jesus wanted people to remember his last meal and what he was teaching. So he took some dramatic action.

First, he took the bread. Now the bread that he picked up had great meaning, if it was indeed a Passover feast. The unleavened bread represented the flight from Egypt, the hurry to get out of slavery into freedom. The bread represented that freedom. It also represented the manna that God gave people when they were in the wilderness. Bread represents survival, sustenance, the basic foundation of living. It nurtures and it feeds.

Jesus picked up the bread, and he blessed it. Then he broke it and said, “This is my body, broken for you.” He gave bread a whole new meaning.

Then he picked up the chalice of wine. The one cup that would be passed around and they all would drink from. The disciples were used to blessing the Passover cup.

Wine also is rich in meaning. We call alcohol spirits for a reason. Wine was considered to have spirit in it. And at the time of Jesus there were worshipers of the God Dionysus or as the romans called him Bacchus - the God of wine. Wine was one of the things that was offered at the temple in Jerusalem and poured onto the altar. Wine was rich in significance and meaning.

Jesus picked up the wine and he blessed it. Then he said, “This is my blood which is shed for you.” This is my blood? This is my blood! Imagine, imagine the reactions of the disciples who were all good Jews. Jews never, ever, ever drink blood. When an animal is killed for Kosher food all the blood is drained out of it. Blood was considered to carry the life force of the animal. That blood, that life force, was only to be offered to God. The idea that the disciples would drink blood? That got their attention!

Then he said, “Do this to remember me.” Well you can be pretty sure that the disciples weren’t going to forget that.

And if that wasn’t enough, the next thing he did was he took off his outer cloak and got down to his basic underwear, a simple garment much like the albs the clergy and acolytes wear. He was now dressed like a servant might be dressed. Then he took a towel, and a basin, and a pitcher of water and began to wash the disciples’ feet.

Remember, it was not like today where people wear shoes and walk on relatively clean sidewalks. Back then the disciples were wearing sandals, and they had been walking on the dirt streets that the chariots, donkeys and camels traveled. There was mud, and grim and all that stuff that you would not want to have between your toes. That’s what they were walking through on the way to dinner. So, when you came to a person’s house, if you had been traveling, to have your feet cleaned was a great gift. But it was never done by the host. If the host was rich, one of the slaves would do it, but it had to be one of the slaves that wasn’t Jewish because according to the Torah, you couldn’t make a Jewish slave wash someone’s feet. It was beneath them. So it would have to be a non-Jewish slave that would wash your feet. The bottom of the bottom. If you didn’t have slaves, then if you were a good host, you provided a pitcher of water, a nice clean towel and a basin where a person could wash their own feet. But never, ever would the host wash someone’s feet.

Yet here was Jesus, their Lord and their teacher, down on his knees washing their feet. No wonder Peter said, “don’t do this.”

After Jesus was finished and had done all these dramatic actions, much like in the prophetic tradition, he began to preach. Now came the teaching that all of those actions were leading up to.

He said, “Love one another as I have loved you.” Love one another as I have loved you.  

How did Jesus love them? Jesus loved them incarnationally, in the material world. Jesus fed them. He offered his body and his blood for them. Jesus got down on his knees and washed their feet - like a servant. That is how Jesus’ followers are to love one another.

When Jesus said, “Love one another as I have loved you,” he was not saying have a nice warm feeling about everybody, because that is not how Jesus loved people. And he wasn’t saying love in a sort of abstract sense of “well I love everybody in the world”, because that was not the way Jesus loved. The way Jesus loved was material, and real, and right here and in depth. It involved bread and wine, water, a basin and a towel. It meant being the servant. It meant touching with love. It meant offering his life. It meant being broken for them. It meant dying for them.

Those were his final words. That is what he wanted the disciples to remember. That was the summation of all his teaching and all his ministry. ‘Love one another as I have loved you.’

Now we will have an opportunity to wash each other's hands as a symbol, a representation, of Jesus washing the disciples feet. As you have your hands washed, I invite you to imagine Jesus lovingly washing your hands. It is humbling to receive such a gift from the Lord of all. And as you wash another's hands, I invite you to let yourself be an instrument of Christ's love. 

March 24th, 2024: Reflections on Palm Sunday by The Reverand Valerie Hart

He stood at the top of the Mt of Olives looking down at the city of Jerusalem. Behind him was the town of Bethany where his friends Lazarus and Mary lived. Ahead of him he looked at the stunning view of the city over which he had wept. Directly below he could see the grandeur of the Temple and the large platform on which it was built. The road lead past a graveyard. It was considered by Jews then, and now, a blessing to be buried on that hillside, for the Messiah was predicted to arrive from that direction.

Jesus knew how the Messiah was to enter Jerusalem. He knew all the prophecies, and he was about to follow them to the smallest detail. He called for a donkey to ride on. His closest followers put their coats on the donkey, and the crowds began to cheer. Everyone understood the implications of this ride into Jerusalem. Jesus was proclaiming that he was the one promised for centuries. By this ride he announced to everyone that he was taking on the role of the Messiah.

As he rode down the hill the procession passed by a garden where many people spent the night, for with Passover coming there was nowhere to stay in the city. Jesus and his disciples were used to sleeping out under the trees, and there was a peacefulness to that garden called Gethsemane. It was a good base for Jesus and his friends. But when he looked over that way, did he understand the agonizing night he would soon spend there? Such a mix of emotions must have passed through his human heart. How could he not get caught up in the joy and excitement of the crowd shouting Hosanna? Perhaps he thought that this would be the way and that it would be enough for the people to proclaim him king. But he also knew that there would have to be more. He knew that this story did not end with the joyful, triumphant entry. He knew there were dark, difficult chapters ahead as he passed that peaceful garden.

Less than a week later he was back in the garden, alone, on his knees on a hard rocky outcropping. The cheering crowds had evaporated, his friends were too sleepy to stay awake with him, and one of his closest followers, whom he so deeply loved, was betraying him to the authorities. Jesus knew all the prophecies, he knew what they meant, he knew the script he needed to follow, but he didn't want to. He knew the cup he was to drink, and he didn't want it. He knew what his loving father wanted from him, but he didn't want to give it. He knew what was necessary to save humanity, but he begged God to find another way.

In the book and movie 'The Last Temptation of Christ' the last temptation is described as the desire to lead a normal life. The temptation to run away from the cross, get married, have kids, and live a simple normal life. He could have done that. He could have slipped into the darkness and become lost in the crowds. If he had kept quiet, if he had stopped preaching, if he had lost himself in everyday life, the authorities would have left him alone. There in that garden he had a choice, and he said 'Yes' to God, just as his mother had said yes to God so many years before.

He whispered the words, "Not what I want, but what you want." Those words rang out across the hillside, "Not what I want, but what you want." They rang all the way up to heaven, and opened the door of salvation. "Not what I want, but what you want." It was at that moment that humanity was saved, for once he uttered those words, once he prayed that prayer, it all happened as it was supposed to. Those words, "Not what I want, but what you want," continue to ring across the centuries and touch our souls, for how can we not be touched by that ultimate prayer of faith and love and surrender.

We each have our own gardens of Gethsemane, our own times when we desperately want to not live out what we know God is calling us to. It may be at a time of crisis, when we are confronted with a medical problem; it might be when someone we love is dying. You might find yourself called to confront someone you care about, or someone you work with, who is living in a way that they shouldn't. Do your turn in you colleague for illegal manipulation of the finances of your company? Do you call the police on your child who is killing him or herself with drugs? Do you leave a spouse that is abusive? Do you stay with and forgive a spouse that has betrayed you and is repentant? Do you change your job if you feel you cannot serve God and your employer? Do you not want to give up your 'normal life' in order to follow Christ?

Being a follower to that Jewish carpenter never was and never will be an easy thing. To choose to walk with Christ means not just to cheer him as king and wave your palms. It does not mean occasionally coming to church on Sunday and engaging in the joy of praising God. It also means sitting with him in Gethsemane. It means tearfully giving up the struggle to do things our own way and to humbly say to our loving Father "not what I want, but what you want." It means being willing to sacrifice having a "normal life" in order to live a loving life. It means dying to all the selfishness in our hearts and learning to serve. It means saying yes to our own cross, yes to our own suffering, and yes to a loving God.

Let us spend a few minutes together in silence, joining with Christ as he knelt on the hard stone of Gethsemane and see if we are ready to say, "not what I want, but what you want."

March 17th, 2024: Reflections on John 12: 20-33 by The Reverand Valerie Hart

Remember show and tell as a child? I love having an opportunity to do “show and tell,” so I have something to hand out to everyone.

The story in the Gospel today is about seeds. I am going to give each one of you a seed.

(Hand out seeds, mention to those online to get a seed)

You may recognize these. They are corn seeds. In fact they are popcorn.

You will notice as you hold onto this how incredibly hard it is. It is like a rock. It has this hard outer shell. If you think about the life of a seed, it starts out with a plant that is growing and makes a flower. Then the flower gets fertilized, and a seed begins. All the energy of that plant, all the nutrients that it gets from the soil, all the energy that it synthesizes from the sun, all of that work of the plant - goes into building up the seed, of providing it everything it needs to become strong and healthy. Then once the seed is completed, once it has developed and is whole it makes this casing around itself, this hard shell, to protect itself. This keeps it from being easily hurt, and it keeps it from growing any bigger. It has that dual nature.

This popcorn with this hard shell around it will stay like that forever. After all, this popcorn could have been in my cabinet for years. I have no idea. Don’t check the expiration date. It is said that in some of the graves in Egypt they found grain that was still okay and viable. The seed survives because it is strong and contained with a hard shell.

It is kind of like when we are growing up. We start out as a major investment of our family. They feed us, clothe us, and care for all our physical needs. They teach us, educate us, and help us, hopefully, to grow spiritually and to develop a sense of who we are, a sense of what’s important, and a sense of what the meaning of the world is. If we have had a really good and healthy childhood, we develop into an adult that is strong and self sufficient, and we develop what is called a healthy ego. The ego, the sense of self, is designed to protect us. That ego keeps us from being hurt by the outside world. It protects that understanding of who we are we have developed. It serves like that hard outer shell on the seed. And it is important, and it is necessary. The like the shell of the seed.

But, that shell, that ego, that keeps us safe also limits us. It is hard and rigid and keeps us from continuing to grow. And as it keeps us safe from things that are hurtful outside, it also can keep us from experiencing love and letting good things come inside. And our egos can get in the way of our union with God.

So just as the seed is perfect in what it is, it is not done. Just as when we become healthy whole adults we are not done. You see, if you take this seed, this popcorn seed, and you put it in a pan that is really really hot it is going to feel like it is about to die, because that heat could kill it, destroy it. But if it isn’t too old, the little bit of moisture inside will expand in that heat and all of a sudden it goes “POP” and it turns from this hard thing that you couldn’t possibly eat into one of my favorite foods.

It bursts forth and that shell becomes just a little bit around the bottom because the essence of it has expanded in a way that one never would have imagined if you didn’t know the secret of popcorn. This wonderful white fluffy thing is much more than the seed could have imagined. It took heat; it took dying as a seed in order to become that which it was intended to be.

And so it is with human beings. We become healthy adult human beings with a good established self-concept and a nice strong ego and that’s not the end. God wants more than that. God offers more than that. But in order to transcend this ego, this ridged sense of self, it has to die. It has to be ripped apart. And that is uncomfortable, to say the least.

Most of us have known times in our lives where we felt like we were dying. Times when perhaps we were confronted with illness, or the death of a friend or family member, or the loss of a relationship, or a divorce or losing a job where suddenly our self-identity as a spouse or an  employee is gone. Or perhaps that happened to you at retirement. When what you had been doing all your life to feel good about yourself is suddenly no longer there. There are lots of different ways in which we have what one writer calls “necessary suffering.” Times when we are confronted with pain and lose. It hurts, and we feel like we are dying, because a part of us is.

During those times, those times of struggle, which the psalmist calls “going through the valley of the shadow of death,” we are promised that God walks with us, Christ is with us, that we are not alone in those dark times. But sometimes, when we are about to experience that death of our egos, we feel like Christ felt on the cross. We may feel abandoned by God, alone. And yet it is those moments of deepest despair and lose that can be the times that burst us open so that we are able to love in a way that we never loved before. And we are able to receive love in a way we haven’t before. And our relationship with God takes one step closer to union.

Christ says that we must die to be reborn. And here you are at a church, a Christian church that follows a leader who was crucified and died. Who calls all of us to take up our cross and follow him. Christianity is not easy. Christianity is about a willingness to die to who we think we are in order that we can discover who we really are - beloved children of God.

But as long as we hold on to that hard rigid ego self-identification we can’t realize just how much we are loved, unconditionally love. So like the seed it is only through dying that we come to fullness of life.

March 3rd, 2024: Reflections on John 2:13-22 by The Reverand Hartshorn Murphy

The Cleansing of the Temple

The story of the cleansing of the Temple is such a singular event that over the centuries, there has not been a consensus about what it means. I have heard preachers say that Jesus, seeing the money changers in the Temple, lost control. That he was not in his right mind and was consumed by righteous anger because he was shocked to see commerce taking place in God’s house. I have heard preachers speculate that in this action, Jesus indicates that sometimes violence is justified if the ends are just. Others think that Jesus’ anger was that poor people were being ripped off. And still others proclaim that Jesus was offended that commerce was being conducted in the Court of the Gentiles, the place where Gentile seekers could gather and perhaps be converted to worship the true God but would be turned off by the bleating sheep and goats, bellowing cattle and squawking birds – not to mention what they leave behind.

The problem with these interpretations is this: as a righteous Jew, Jesus would have been in Jerusalem for the mandatory festivals many times before. The presence of commerce would not have been a surprise on this occasion. Secondly, the exchange rate which enabled the pilgrims to exchange unclean foreign coins for acceptable shekels, was rigorously enforced. And finally, the availability of livestock was a great convenience.

Imagine yourself a Jewish pilgrim coming from Damascus or Alexandria and just as you enter the Holy City, your sacrificial lamb stumbles and breaks her leg. Only unblemished offerings are acceptable. The availability of certified animals for offering was, if anything, considered a modern innovation that was much appreciated by most people. And while Jesus no doubt had a regard for Gentiles – those in the process of converting were called “God Fearers” – Jesus’ focus and mission was to the House of Israel. So, what’s this all about?

I would suggest that this action, like his provocative entry into the city with his followers shouting “Hosanna!” and waving palm branches, the cleansing of the Temple was not a spontaneous act or something done out of rage but rather was a pre-planned, deliberate prophetic act. If “prophetic act” is not clear, think of this as a “visual aid.” But what does it mean?

The meaning is clear in Jesus’ declaration of what it meant. Although John’s language is slightly different, Matthew, Mark, and Luke have it this way: “My house shall be called a House of Prayer for all nations but you have made it a Den of Robbers. That phrase “Den of Robbers” takes us back to the Temple sermon of the prophet Jeremiah.

First though, some context. But buckle up! We’re gonna do a “deep dive.”

The Hebrew slaves, led out of Egypt by Moses, receive the ten commandments at Mt. Sinai. They house the tablets of the Law in a container known as the Ark of the Covenant (how many of you remember the first Indiana Jones movie?)

Entering the promised land, they build a shrine for the Ark at Shiloh. There it will be held safe for 369 years, until the time of Eli. Eli was the high priest who had two corrupt sons who also served as priests. Try as he might, Eli failed to reign in his sons’ sacrilegious behavior and in 1050 BCE, The Philistines attack the city, raze it to the ground, and kill the sons who had taken the ark to the front lines of the battle seeking divine intervention. The Philistines steal the Ark away, but it causes them so much misery that, in time, they return it.

Later, Solomon builds his Temple in Jerusalem. Once completed, Solomon the King tries to enslave the men of the northern tribes to be a permanent army to defend the Temple and his reign. The result is a civil war, splitting the Hebrew nation into 2 kingdoms – the Northern Kingdom of Israel and the Southern Kingdom of Judah. This is in 922 BCE. (Are you with me so far?)

Two hundred years later, in 722, the capital of the Northern Kingdom, Samaria, falls to the Assyrians. The ten northern tribes are dispersed and forced to intermarry with the diverse peoples of the Assyrian Empire. They will be known as the Lost Tribes of Israel.

Those in the Southern Kingdom of Judah believe that this disaster befell those in the north because they failed to recognize the primacy of the Jerusalem Temple. The people of the south will develop a certain arrogance as being people of pure blood and pure worship over against the Samaritans of the north and their rival Temple at Mt. Gerizim. (Still with me?)

In 609, God’s prophet Jeremiah stands in the doorway to the Temple and calls the nation to repent. Why? Because the new King of Judea has allowed the people to build shrines to Baal at which children were being sacrificed. In Judea, foreigners were being oppressed, orphans and widows neglected, and adultery, stealing, and murder were being tolerated. But the people claimed that they were safe from God’s judgment because of the protection of the Temple.

Jeremiah cries: “Do not trust in these deceptive words: This is The Temple of the Lord, The Temple of the Lord, The Temple of the Lord.” In other words, the Temple had become little more than a superstitious talisman and the words – The Temple of the Lord said three times – a magical incantation.

Jeremiah goes on, “has this House, which is called by my Name, become – (wait for it!) – a Den of Robbers in your sight? Therefore, I will do to the House that is called by my Name just what I did to Shiloh. And I will cast out all your kinfolk, all of the offspring of Ephraim.” The offspring of Ephraim refers to the Tribes of the North devastated by the Assyrians.

A lot of history. A little confusing, no? Bottom line: Jeremiah is saying what happened to Shiloh 300 years ago, whose ruins you can still see only 18 miles away. And what happened to the Northern Tribes a hundred years ago, God will do to you if you don’t shape up. Jeremiah was arrested, but escaped death. He will live to see Jerusalem fall to the Babylonians, the Elders exiled and The Temple destroyed in 587 – and the Ark lost to history.

In this historical context, Jesus’ overturning of the stone tables of the money changers and scattering of the livestock, was a public demonstration aimed at the High Priest Caiaphas who served at the pleasure and the bidding of Rome. Jesus’ words and his actions publicly condemn The Temple elites for their oppression of the poor and vulnerable, their callous disregard for the widows and orphans and especially for their collaboration with the Roman occupation.

Jesus boldly shouts: “you are destroying this Temple but I will raise it up by purifying it!” John, writing 70 years later to his community in Ephesus, will make this story an allegory about Jesus’ death and resurrection. But like Jeremiah, Jesus answers the question: what gives us safety and protection? For the priests and elders, it was The Temple and its sacrifices. For Jeremiah and for Jesus, it was living a moral life. And like Jeremiah, Jesus will be arrested. But unlike Jeremiah, Jesus will be executed. But Jesus’ prophetic act will come to fruition: Jerusalem and its Temple will fall to the emperor Titus in 70 CE.

I grew up in what was known as a high Anglo-Catholic parish. I was an acolyte and loved getting dressed in my red cassock and white surplice. I loved being in the procession with all the incense and booming organ and chanting choirs. "Low church for my church was using only one thurible for the incense instead of two!" There were 32 candles at The Altar which had to be lit and extinguished with a certain precision. As a teenager, I thought God cared deeply about all of it. For me, and for all the membership, church was an ends and not a means.

The words of the prophet Amos were echoed in Jesus’ actions that day: “I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.

Even though you offer me your burnt offerings, I will not accept them; and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals I will not look upon. Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps. But let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” (Amos 5:21-24)

Unless our worship strengthens us for lives of compassion and charity, these stones – this beautiful sanctuary – should crumble back into the earth for they are of no worth.

What matters here is how we live out there.

 Amen.