In another life, I taught a large introductory course at the University of Arizona called Oriental Humanities. It covered the art, literature, and religions of the Middle East and India. Because it had the dubious distinction of satisfying two categories of General Education requirements at the same time, it often attracted more than 300 students. I always announced my own religious affiliation at the outset. I told the students that I was a member of the Episcopal Church and a committed Christian. However, I also wanted them to know that I would try to teach about Islam and Hinduism from an insider’s perspective, i.e., as sympathetically as I could, as an outsider to both traditions. Invariably, at the end of the course, one or more of the comments in my student evaluations would read something like, “How can she, as a committed Christian, teach as if these other religions are also true?”
That’s a real question, and one that is still very much alive today in today’s religiously plural world. Often we fall on one side of the question or the other. On one side, like the students questioning my stance in the Oriental Humanities class, we assume that commitment to one faith means that there is nothing good in other faiths, and that we must reject those who hold those faiths. On the other hand, we might think that, in the interest of tolerance, we must deny our own beliefs and focus only on what we hold in common with other faiths. Neither stance is helpful. Despite all the current political rhetoric, the real challenge for us as people committed to Christ is how can we remain grounded in our own tradition while, at the same time, showing sympathy for others and respecting – perhaps even learning from – others’ unique traditions.
If the only Scripture reading you heard this morning was the lesson from 1 Kings, you might say that there is no challenge, that we must reject all other faith traditions. Elijah has been sent to Ahab’s kingdom. In an attempt to bring the people of Israel back into covenant with God, Elijah engages in a fierce competition with 450 priests who serve the pagan god Baal. As the priests of Baal dance up and down and wail their pleas, the people stand by watching mutely while nothing happens. Then Elijah, after having upped the ante by dousing the altar three times, calls upon God to consume the burnt offering. And, of course God does! Seeing this, the people finally find their voices as they fall on their faces and cry out, “The Lord indeed is God.” Israel had a long history of flirting with the religions of the other nations around it. So perhaps it is justifiable that Scripture would portray yet another story in which God, through Elijah, seeks to again call Israel back to the God of their ancestors. Rather than wholesale rejection of other faith communities, perhaps the contest for us in this story is between apathy and commitment to God. And perhaps the lesson for us should be that, unlike the people who stood by mutely, we are called to understand our faith as a serious and demanding commitment.
Our gospel story begins to suggest what mutual respect between people of different faith communities might look like. Here we see a Roman centurion, a member of the hated occupying forces in Israel, who has yet been a benefactor of the local synagogue. The centurion’s slave is mortally ill. Seeking help for the slave, the centurion is willing to approach the Jewish rabbi, whose fame as a healer has been spreading. However, the centurion respects the boundaries between himself as a gentile and Jesus as a Jew. Therefore the centurion does not approach Jesus directly, but sends emissaries. Nor does he force Jesus to enter his house, but rather sends the message that he understands that Jesus’ healing power will work at a distance, just as the centurion’s authority does. The Jewish elders are grateful for the centurion’s respect for the Jews and his gift of a synagogue, and they willingly approach Jesus on his behalf. And, of course, the centurion’s slave is healed.
More clues, though perhaps a little less obvious, are in this opening section of Paul’s letter to the Christians in Galatia. If you think Paul is testy in this opening part, wait till we get to chapter 3! The issue here is that the majority of these new Galatian Christians are gentiles. They have not been circumcised, and they do not follow Jewish law. To many observant Jews, their way of life was extremely distasteful. After Paul had evangelized them, the so-called “Judaizers” visited them, i.e., evangelists who told the Galatians that they had to be circumcised and follow Jewish law in order to join the fellowship of Jesus’ followers. Paul is livid. For him, the gospel that he preached was an inclusive gospel, i.e., that fellowship in the Christian Way is open to all, that Christ died for all, and that God’s love extends to all. The “different gospel” that Paul rails against in this letter is one that makes the Christian way into an exclusive Jewish sect, one that “restricts, narrows, or limits the love of God to an exclusive few, i.e., those gentiles willing to live as Jews. “The ‘true gospel’ that Paul defends is one that expands the love of God in Christ to all people without exception…. Through the one particular man Jesus, the love of God embraces all the world.”1 Reiterating this argument, Paul says later in his letter to the Christians in Ephesus, that God is the father of all fatherhood, the father of the whole human family, even of the entire unseen world.
Political rhetoric aside, perhaps this isn’t so difficult for Americans to understand. Ethnic and cultural diversity is the very bedrock of our country. Even before the various waves of Europeans arrived here, there were diverse communities of Native Americans speaking mutually unintelligible languages and following very different ways of life. Once in this country, the various immigrant communities from Europe founded Roman Catholic parishes, Protestant churches of various denominations, Eastern Orthodox parishes, and Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, Reconstructionist, and Hasidic synagogues. In fact, now forty percent of all Jews in the world live in the United States. Some African slaves may originally have been Muslims. Muslims from the Middle East have been in this country since at least the mid-nineteenth century. Immigrants from Asia, especially after the end of the Asian Exclusion Act, have brought Hinduism, Buddhism, and Sikhism to this country. Near Pittsburgh, you can see the Sri Venkateshwara temple, built in 1975. In my Oriental Humanities course, I used to show a film depicting how the temple was built, with the help of Hindu priests, according to precise Hindu specifications. The first Sikh gurdwara, i.e., Sikh temple, was built in Stockton, California in 1912.
We are, and have been, a mosaic of ethnic and religious communities in this country, as are most other countries now. That is why I cringe when I hear the rhetoric calling for contraction of immigration or restrictions on the rights of Muslims or any other community. Certainly, we want to guard against terrorists from abroad, even as we remember that we have our own strain of domestic terrorism. But thanks be to God, the diverse communities that have come here have flourished here, and all of us have benefited from their courage in leaving their ancestral homes to come here. A story earlier this month in the Columbus Dispatch detailed the miraculous recovery from lung and kidney failure of Scott Hamilton of Mt. Sterling, Ohio. He was fortunate to receive the first lung-kidney transplant ever at OSU hospital. The name of the leader of his surgical team: Ashraf El-Hinnawi. What do you think Dr. El-Hinnawi’s religion was?
So, as faithful followers of the one who reached out to all people, regardless of their religion or ethnicity, how indeed do we remain faithful to our own commitment while respecting those of others? The first step, so wonderfully exemplified by Jesus’ treatment of the centurion, is to see the goodness in the other, to accept that others are as worthy of respect and compassion as we ourselves are. Consider reading Brian McLaren’s insightful book, Why Did Jesus, Moses, the Buddha, and Mohammed Cross the Road? Or consider these few simple principles. Speak honestly about your own faith and allow others to do the same. Understand what contributions different faiths have made to the religious landscape. Be critical both about your own faith and those of others. Consider what you might learn from another tradition and what questions you have about your own tradition. Most especially, open your “hands, hearts, and minds to receive the gift of the other for who the other is, finding ways to serve one another and with one another.”
Egyptian Christian Safwat Marzouk reminds us that, “When people take both their own faith and the other person’s faith seriously, when they find healthy ways to both cross boundaries and maintain them, then they can turn their differences into a source of theological enrichment. They can join together to bring healing, well-being, and peace to our broken world.”2 Are you ready to join with others in the repair of the world? Are you ready to let the gospel be good news for all, even for those who journey to God on different paths?
1. Dan Clendenin, “No other Gospel, Journey with Jesus, May 29, 2016
2. “Living by the Word, Christian Century, May 10, 2016
Showing posts with label Pentecost 2. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pentecost 2. Show all posts
Sunday, May 29, 2016
Sunday, June 7, 2015
Who Are My Mother and My Brothers?
What is a family? Perhaps you remember the popular TV show “Father Knows Best.” It aired from 1954 to 1960 on CBS. Set somewhere in the suburban Midwest, the show featured the Anderson family: Jim, an insurance agent, played by well-known actor Robert Young, Margaret, a stay-at-home mom, played by veteran actress Jane Wyatt, and their three children, Betty, Bud, and Kathy. The kids got into the usual scrapes that kids get into. Margaret was a loving, supportive mother, who exemplified the voice of reason, while father Jim always had sage advice for whatever situation the family faced. During the six years the show ran, rarely were there shouting, violence, or nasty words, nor did the family face alcoholism, dire poverty, serious health problems, or sudden death. Instead, “Fathers Knows Best” gave viewers "truly an idealized family, the sort that viewers could relate to and emulate.” One can easily imagine that, after the turmoil and losses of World War II and Korea, that idealized family was exactly the balm that 1950s America desperately wanted.
Is the “Father Knows Best” model what you think of when you hear the word “family?” In the ancient world, of course, in Jesus’ time, such a family would have been rare if not virtually unknown. Families were then – and actually still are in many parts of the world – extended families. Women married into a family headed by a senior male, in which three, perhaps even four, generations lived together in the same compound or village. In some Muslim countries, in some traditional African cultures, and in some defiant Mormon communities in this country, men may have had more than one wife. In some African cultures too and in traditional Chinese culture, one’s family also includes one’s ancestors.
Today we are at last beginning to recognize that the nuclear “Father Knows Best” family is not the only – or even the ideal – description of family. We have begun to see that there are many other ways for people to be family. For different reasons, we are beginning to see again families comprised of three generations in the same house. Two elderly women may live together as a family. A gay couple may enlarge their family by adopting children.
As we begin to accept that there are diverse forms of family structure, we may also need to accept that we have many different feelings about our own families, especially our families of origin. Think about it, what are your own feelings about your family? Was your family so loving and supportive that you totally relate to “Fathers Knows Best?” Or was your family less than ideal, perhaps even dysfunctional and abusive?
As we hear a Scripture reading like the passage we just heard from the gospel according to Mark, it’s important to recognize that we bring a host of different associations and feelings to the idea of “family,” associations and feelings that might color how you hear today’s passage. We’re now in the long growing season of Pentecost. In the first half of the Christian year, we anticipated Jesus’ birth, celebrated the coming of the Word into the human family, watched Jesus reveal his true identity to those around him and to us, walked the sorrowful road with him to Jerusalem, mourned his death, and rejoiced in his rising to life again, his ascension, and his awakening within us of the Holy Spirit.
Now, in the second half of the Christian year, we are called to grow in our commitment to Jesus. We do that by reflecting more closely on how Jesus lived and what he taught. This year, we return to the Gospel of Mark in order to deepen our immersion in Jesus’ story. As you remember, Mark was written in the late ‘60s AD. It was the first gospel to be written, and it probably represents the earliest compilation of the traditions and memories of the first generation of Jesus’ followers. No doubt reflecting the experiences of Mark’s audience, the gospel often shows Jesus in conflict with those around him, especially with the religious leaders. Often his own followers too seem to be clueless as to what he is trying to teach them.
In today’s reading, Jesus has just returned to Nazareth after performing a series of miraculous healings. Right away, before he can even finish his meal, he faces two challenges. As is often the case with Mark, one, the conflict with the Scribes who illogically charge Jesus with being in league with demonic forces, is sandwiched within the story of his conflict with his family members. Since conflict with the religious authorities will come up again before we finish with Mark, here I want to focus on Jesus’ interaction with his family members.
There are at least two ways to hear this story, depending on your feelings about your own families. If you came from a loving, supportive family, you might see the concern of Jesus’ mother and brothers as quite genuine, as evidence that they truly worried that he was becoming mentally unstable. After all, he had left his family profession of carpentry to become an itinerant preacher, and he had persuaded several men from fishing families to travel with him. Although he was not a trained physician, he had cured the sick. He had violated deeply held social and religious norms by touching a leper and healing on the Sabbath. Would we not react the same way as his mother and brothers did, if one of ours did such odd things? Did we not try to keep our children from fleeing to Canada during the Vietnam War and from becoming “flower children?” We might even see Jesus’ response to his family members – “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother” – as overly harsh, even cruel. Perhaps Jesus was suggesting that even the most loving families can be inward-looking and limited, generous with each other but unconcerned about the needs of others.
On the other hand, if you came from an abusive and dysfunctional family, and especially if you suffered psychological and physical abuse, you might be overjoyed by Jesus’ invitation to be part of his loving family, to have him for a brother, and to have a loving and gracious God as your Father and Mother. You might be delighted that now, finally, you can be accepted for who are you, forgiven all your failures, and lovingly embraced by a welcoming community.
The point of this story is that, whatever our families of origin, whatever kinds of family we now find ourselves in, we are all called to accept Jesus’ invitation to join a new kind of family, a family committed to loving God as deeply as we can and to caring for our neighbor as ourselves. Jesus calls us into a family in which our roles are not defined by blood, gender, ethnicity, sexuality, economic status, or previous failings and sins. Jesus calls us into a family that includes all: the wise and the righteous, the nobodies, the tax collectors, the prostitutes, and the sinners, a family in which we are all God’s children, and in which all of us are loved and accepted. That is the good news. That is the sign of the nearness of God’s Reign.
Oncologist Rachel Naomi Remen tells the story of a rabbi at a Yom Kippur service. On the Day of Atonement Jews everywhere seek God’s forgiveness. Instead of directly preaching on forgiveness, the rabbi walked up to the lectern with his infant daughter in his arms. She was a year old and absolutely adorable. As she smiled at the congregation, and then at her father, he smiled back and then began to preach about the meaning of Yom Kippur. The baby grabbed his nose. The rabbi gently took her hand away and continued preaching. Then the baby took his tie and began to chew on it. Everyone chuckled. The rabbi rescued his tie, smiled at his child, looked over her head at the congregation and said, “Think about it. Is there anything she can do that you could not forgive her for?”
Just then, she reached up and grabbed his glasses. Everyone laughed. The rabbi himself laughed, as he retrieved his glasses and settled them back on his nose. Still smiling, he waited for silence. When it came, he asked, “And when does that stop? When does it get hard to forgive? At three? At seven? At fourteen? At thirty-five? How old does someone have to be before you forget that everyone is a child of God?” To which I would add, how old does someone have to be before you forget that all of us are members of the same family, that all of us are Christ’s brothers and sisters?
My friends, this is the good news. All of us are God’s children, all of us have been forgiven and accepted, regardless of who we were and are, and all of us are sisters and brothers of Jesus and of one another. In this place, in this island of love and acceptance, we can begin to reflect out to ourselves and to the world, the love and acceptance we have found in God. As retired Methodist Bishop Will Willimon reminds us, “Every time the family of God gathers for Holy Communion … or a covered-dish fellowship supper, or serves up soup to the homeless on the street corner, the world looks at this odd family and says, ‘Jesus is hanging out with the same reprobates that got him crucified.’ And we say, ‘Thank God.’”
Is the “Father Knows Best” model what you think of when you hear the word “family?” In the ancient world, of course, in Jesus’ time, such a family would have been rare if not virtually unknown. Families were then – and actually still are in many parts of the world – extended families. Women married into a family headed by a senior male, in which three, perhaps even four, generations lived together in the same compound or village. In some Muslim countries, in some traditional African cultures, and in some defiant Mormon communities in this country, men may have had more than one wife. In some African cultures too and in traditional Chinese culture, one’s family also includes one’s ancestors.
Today we are at last beginning to recognize that the nuclear “Father Knows Best” family is not the only – or even the ideal – description of family. We have begun to see that there are many other ways for people to be family. For different reasons, we are beginning to see again families comprised of three generations in the same house. Two elderly women may live together as a family. A gay couple may enlarge their family by adopting children.
As we begin to accept that there are diverse forms of family structure, we may also need to accept that we have many different feelings about our own families, especially our families of origin. Think about it, what are your own feelings about your family? Was your family so loving and supportive that you totally relate to “Fathers Knows Best?” Or was your family less than ideal, perhaps even dysfunctional and abusive?
As we hear a Scripture reading like the passage we just heard from the gospel according to Mark, it’s important to recognize that we bring a host of different associations and feelings to the idea of “family,” associations and feelings that might color how you hear today’s passage. We’re now in the long growing season of Pentecost. In the first half of the Christian year, we anticipated Jesus’ birth, celebrated the coming of the Word into the human family, watched Jesus reveal his true identity to those around him and to us, walked the sorrowful road with him to Jerusalem, mourned his death, and rejoiced in his rising to life again, his ascension, and his awakening within us of the Holy Spirit.
Now, in the second half of the Christian year, we are called to grow in our commitment to Jesus. We do that by reflecting more closely on how Jesus lived and what he taught. This year, we return to the Gospel of Mark in order to deepen our immersion in Jesus’ story. As you remember, Mark was written in the late ‘60s AD. It was the first gospel to be written, and it probably represents the earliest compilation of the traditions and memories of the first generation of Jesus’ followers. No doubt reflecting the experiences of Mark’s audience, the gospel often shows Jesus in conflict with those around him, especially with the religious leaders. Often his own followers too seem to be clueless as to what he is trying to teach them.
In today’s reading, Jesus has just returned to Nazareth after performing a series of miraculous healings. Right away, before he can even finish his meal, he faces two challenges. As is often the case with Mark, one, the conflict with the Scribes who illogically charge Jesus with being in league with demonic forces, is sandwiched within the story of his conflict with his family members. Since conflict with the religious authorities will come up again before we finish with Mark, here I want to focus on Jesus’ interaction with his family members.
There are at least two ways to hear this story, depending on your feelings about your own families. If you came from a loving, supportive family, you might see the concern of Jesus’ mother and brothers as quite genuine, as evidence that they truly worried that he was becoming mentally unstable. After all, he had left his family profession of carpentry to become an itinerant preacher, and he had persuaded several men from fishing families to travel with him. Although he was not a trained physician, he had cured the sick. He had violated deeply held social and religious norms by touching a leper and healing on the Sabbath. Would we not react the same way as his mother and brothers did, if one of ours did such odd things? Did we not try to keep our children from fleeing to Canada during the Vietnam War and from becoming “flower children?” We might even see Jesus’ response to his family members – “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother” – as overly harsh, even cruel. Perhaps Jesus was suggesting that even the most loving families can be inward-looking and limited, generous with each other but unconcerned about the needs of others.
On the other hand, if you came from an abusive and dysfunctional family, and especially if you suffered psychological and physical abuse, you might be overjoyed by Jesus’ invitation to be part of his loving family, to have him for a brother, and to have a loving and gracious God as your Father and Mother. You might be delighted that now, finally, you can be accepted for who are you, forgiven all your failures, and lovingly embraced by a welcoming community.
The point of this story is that, whatever our families of origin, whatever kinds of family we now find ourselves in, we are all called to accept Jesus’ invitation to join a new kind of family, a family committed to loving God as deeply as we can and to caring for our neighbor as ourselves. Jesus calls us into a family in which our roles are not defined by blood, gender, ethnicity, sexuality, economic status, or previous failings and sins. Jesus calls us into a family that includes all: the wise and the righteous, the nobodies, the tax collectors, the prostitutes, and the sinners, a family in which we are all God’s children, and in which all of us are loved and accepted. That is the good news. That is the sign of the nearness of God’s Reign.
Oncologist Rachel Naomi Remen tells the story of a rabbi at a Yom Kippur service. On the Day of Atonement Jews everywhere seek God’s forgiveness. Instead of directly preaching on forgiveness, the rabbi walked up to the lectern with his infant daughter in his arms. She was a year old and absolutely adorable. As she smiled at the congregation, and then at her father, he smiled back and then began to preach about the meaning of Yom Kippur. The baby grabbed his nose. The rabbi gently took her hand away and continued preaching. Then the baby took his tie and began to chew on it. Everyone chuckled. The rabbi rescued his tie, smiled at his child, looked over her head at the congregation and said, “Think about it. Is there anything she can do that you could not forgive her for?”
Just then, she reached up and grabbed his glasses. Everyone laughed. The rabbi himself laughed, as he retrieved his glasses and settled them back on his nose. Still smiling, he waited for silence. When it came, he asked, “And when does that stop? When does it get hard to forgive? At three? At seven? At fourteen? At thirty-five? How old does someone have to be before you forget that everyone is a child of God?” To which I would add, how old does someone have to be before you forget that all of us are members of the same family, that all of us are Christ’s brothers and sisters?
My friends, this is the good news. All of us are God’s children, all of us have been forgiven and accepted, regardless of who we were and are, and all of us are sisters and brothers of Jesus and of one another. In this place, in this island of love and acceptance, we can begin to reflect out to ourselves and to the world, the love and acceptance we have found in God. As retired Methodist Bishop Will Willimon reminds us, “Every time the family of God gathers for Holy Communion … or a covered-dish fellowship supper, or serves up soup to the homeless on the street corner, the world looks at this odd family and says, ‘Jesus is hanging out with the same reprobates that got him crucified.’ And we say, ‘Thank God.’”
Sunday, June 22, 2014
His Eye is on the Sparrow
Why should I feel discouraged, why should the shadows come,
Why should my heart be lonely, and long for heaven and home,
When Jesus is my portion? My constant friend is He:
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
Early in the spring of 1905 Civilla Martin and her husband were visiting friends in Elmira, New York. The friends, Mr. and Mrs. Doolittle, were, as Civilla described them, “true saints of God.”1 Although Mrs. Doolittle had been bedridden for many years, and her husband was partially paralyzed and used a wheelchair, the couple “lived happy Christian lives, bringing inspiration to all who knew them.” One day Dr. Martin asked them for the secret of their “bright hopefulness.” Mrs. Doolittle’s answer was simple: “’His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me.’” Reflecting on the boundless faith of the Doolittles, Civilla sat down and penned the hymn “His Eye is on the Sparrow.” The day after she wrote it, she sent it Charles Gabriel, who supplied the music.
The song became a great favorite of Ethel Waters, the renowned jazz singer. Her rendition of it in the 1950 film “The Member of the Wedding” is still moving, and she often sang it in appearances with evangelist Billy Graham. The child of a thirteen year-old mother, Waters herself grew up in grinding poverty in Philadelphia. After a Baltimore entrepreneur discovered her magnificent voice when she was seventeen and working as a chambermaid, Waters began to gain renown as a blues artist. During the course of her career, she made many hit recordings, and she also gained fame as an actress. Reflecting her deep love of the song and confidence in God’s care, Waters titled her own autobiography His Eye is on the Sparrow.
All of our readings today remind us in different ways that “his eye is on the sparrow.” Just like the Doolittles and Ethel Waters, we too can trust that God cares for us in the midst of all of life’s challenges. We hear the good news of God’s care right in our opening collect. A prayer that is at least as old as the eighth century, the collect assures us that God “never fail[s] to help and govern us.”
Our lesson from the Hebrew Scriptures also reinforces the message of God’s love and care, even for those who have been cast out. As our green paraments and vestments reflect, we are now in the growing season of Pentecost. From Advent through Pentecost we pondered the great events in Jesus’ life. Now in this season we begin unpacking just what it means to have received the Holy Spirit and committed ourselves as disciples of the risen Christ.
Today we begin semi-continuous readings from the books of Genesis and Exodus, the first two books of the Hebrew Bible, that will carry us through the rest of the church year, i.e., until mid-November. A little back story for today’s reading from Genesis. You may remember that God had made a covenant with Abraham to make a great nation of Abraham and Sarah, even though they were childless. Sarah was impatient, and so fifteen years before the events in today’s reading, she had Abraham father a child by her Egyptian slave Hagar. Now, Sarah herself has finally given birth to a child, Isaac. But she is worried that, as the elder, Hagar’s son Ishmael will take precedence over her son. So, as we heard, she forces Abraham to send Hagar away. However, the “chosen people” are not the only ones about whom God cares. God rescues Hagar and Ishmael and makes a promise to them also: “I will make a great nation of him.” And indeed, Hagar and Ishmael flourished, and in due course Hagar arranged Ishmael’s marriage with an Egyptian woman. Today, Ishmael is regarded as the ancestor of Muslims, who indeed would agree that God has made a “great nation of him.”
Our psalm could almost be Hagar’s response to God’s care for her and Ishmael. Lest we miss the message, the psalmist reminds us of God’s care for all who trust in God. Did you hear God’s love as you recited the psalm? “For you, O Lord,” we said, “are good and forgiving, and great is your love toward all who call upon you.” As the psalmist turns to God “in time of trouble,” the psalmist does so with the confidence that God will answer prayer, and that God will “save the child of your handmaid.”
For our Gospel readings during the season of Pentecost, we return to the Gospel of Matthew. Here too we will hear semi-continuous readings through the rest of the church year. Even though Matthew comes first in the Christian Scriptures, it was actually the second gospel to be written down. Matthew dates from some time after the fall of Jerusalem in 70 AD. It was written largely for a community of Jewish Christians. In it, the evangelist’s goal was to reaffirm for these Jews that Jesus was the fulfillment of both the Law and the Prophets. Consequently, in this gospel we often hear references to the Hebrew Scriptures. We also encounter Jesus in conflict with the established religious leadership.
The section of the gospel that we just heard is part of what is called the “missionary discourse,” in which Jesus sends out his followers to begin proclaiming the nearness of God’s reign. In the first part of the chapter, which precedes today’s reading, Jesus commissioned and authorized his disciples. Now he begins to outline the challenges of discipleship – and what the evangelist reports of his instructions are as applicable to us as to them. If you are serious in your commitment, Jesus tells his friends, you must acknowledge that you are not in charge. Ultimately, all efforts to bring God’s reign nearer are in God’s hands, and we do no more than work in partnership with God. While we are to be open and transparent in our dealings, at the same time we must expect that the establishment may demonize us. We might bring about conflict among those we attempt to evangelize, and we may even alienate those near and dear to us. Daunting as it may seem, we may be called to embark on a new way of life, or to turn away from comfortable thoughts and habits, sacred places, and ways of doing things. Indeed, Paul, in his letter to the Christians in Rome, reiterates Jesus’s teaching, suggesting that we are not to remain stuck inside old ways of life, but are to be open to continual growth. And it just may happen, Jesus warns his disciples and us, that we will be called upon, as he was, to give up our very lives in order to advance God’s reign, for “those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”
And yet, here’s the good news: we are never alone in our struggles. God is always with us. Jesus forcefully reminded his hearers of God’s continual care in what we have come to call the Sermon on the Mount. Do you remember what Matthew relates of Jesus’ speech after the Beatitudes? Reminding his disciples not to worry about food or clothing, Jesus directed their gaze toward the birds of the air, who are fed by their heavenly Father, and the lilies of the field, so wondrously clothed by God. Now, on the point of sending out his disciples, having warned them of the challenges they will encounter, Jesus uses the same image of the precious birds to remind the disciples of God’s continual care for humans and for the rest of creation: “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father …. So do not be afraid, you are of more value than many sparrows.”
“His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me.” Down through the centuries, millions of Jesus’ followers have taken Jesus’ reassurances to heart, and have courageously worked to bring God’s reign nearer. Fifty years ago this month, a great upheaval, led by people of deep faith, occurred in the United States. All of a sudden, we became aware of the civil rights movement. Although the U.S. Supreme Court had declared in 1954 that so-called “separate but equal” schools were unconstitutional, it was only in 1964 that serious legislation outlawing segregation and discrimination came before the U.S. Senate. While the Senate was debating, college students in droves left their campuses, piled onto buses, and headed south to work with the Congress of Racial Equality to register voters. Most of them came in response to Jesus’ admonition to care for the “least of these.” They knew the risks they were taking, but they also trusted that God would protect them, that his eye was “on the sparrow.” Tragically, fifty years ago yesterday, Michael Schwerner, Andrew Goodman, and James Chaney, who had joined CORE to help register voters, disappeared after investigating the burning of a church in Philadelphia, Mississippi. The discovery of their bodies in an earthen dam six weeks later roused deep public outrage and likely hastened the passage of the civil rights act.
We too are followers of the crucified one. We too have committed ourselves to his cause. Can we do any less than he did? Can we do any less than the Freedom Summer workers did? Do we trust that “his eye is on the sparrow?” Can we trust in God’s care for us as we follow in Jesus’ footsteps, courageously partnering with God in the bringing in of God’s realm?
1. http://cyberhymnal.org/htm/h/i/hiseyeis.htm
Why should my heart be lonely, and long for heaven and home,
When Jesus is my portion? My constant friend is He:
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
Early in the spring of 1905 Civilla Martin and her husband were visiting friends in Elmira, New York. The friends, Mr. and Mrs. Doolittle, were, as Civilla described them, “true saints of God.”1 Although Mrs. Doolittle had been bedridden for many years, and her husband was partially paralyzed and used a wheelchair, the couple “lived happy Christian lives, bringing inspiration to all who knew them.” One day Dr. Martin asked them for the secret of their “bright hopefulness.” Mrs. Doolittle’s answer was simple: “’His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me.’” Reflecting on the boundless faith of the Doolittles, Civilla sat down and penned the hymn “His Eye is on the Sparrow.” The day after she wrote it, she sent it Charles Gabriel, who supplied the music.
The song became a great favorite of Ethel Waters, the renowned jazz singer. Her rendition of it in the 1950 film “The Member of the Wedding” is still moving, and she often sang it in appearances with evangelist Billy Graham. The child of a thirteen year-old mother, Waters herself grew up in grinding poverty in Philadelphia. After a Baltimore entrepreneur discovered her magnificent voice when she was seventeen and working as a chambermaid, Waters began to gain renown as a blues artist. During the course of her career, she made many hit recordings, and she also gained fame as an actress. Reflecting her deep love of the song and confidence in God’s care, Waters titled her own autobiography His Eye is on the Sparrow.
All of our readings today remind us in different ways that “his eye is on the sparrow.” Just like the Doolittles and Ethel Waters, we too can trust that God cares for us in the midst of all of life’s challenges. We hear the good news of God’s care right in our opening collect. A prayer that is at least as old as the eighth century, the collect assures us that God “never fail[s] to help and govern us.”
Our lesson from the Hebrew Scriptures also reinforces the message of God’s love and care, even for those who have been cast out. As our green paraments and vestments reflect, we are now in the growing season of Pentecost. From Advent through Pentecost we pondered the great events in Jesus’ life. Now in this season we begin unpacking just what it means to have received the Holy Spirit and committed ourselves as disciples of the risen Christ.
Today we begin semi-continuous readings from the books of Genesis and Exodus, the first two books of the Hebrew Bible, that will carry us through the rest of the church year, i.e., until mid-November. A little back story for today’s reading from Genesis. You may remember that God had made a covenant with Abraham to make a great nation of Abraham and Sarah, even though they were childless. Sarah was impatient, and so fifteen years before the events in today’s reading, she had Abraham father a child by her Egyptian slave Hagar. Now, Sarah herself has finally given birth to a child, Isaac. But she is worried that, as the elder, Hagar’s son Ishmael will take precedence over her son. So, as we heard, she forces Abraham to send Hagar away. However, the “chosen people” are not the only ones about whom God cares. God rescues Hagar and Ishmael and makes a promise to them also: “I will make a great nation of him.” And indeed, Hagar and Ishmael flourished, and in due course Hagar arranged Ishmael’s marriage with an Egyptian woman. Today, Ishmael is regarded as the ancestor of Muslims, who indeed would agree that God has made a “great nation of him.”
Our psalm could almost be Hagar’s response to God’s care for her and Ishmael. Lest we miss the message, the psalmist reminds us of God’s care for all who trust in God. Did you hear God’s love as you recited the psalm? “For you, O Lord,” we said, “are good and forgiving, and great is your love toward all who call upon you.” As the psalmist turns to God “in time of trouble,” the psalmist does so with the confidence that God will answer prayer, and that God will “save the child of your handmaid.”
For our Gospel readings during the season of Pentecost, we return to the Gospel of Matthew. Here too we will hear semi-continuous readings through the rest of the church year. Even though Matthew comes first in the Christian Scriptures, it was actually the second gospel to be written down. Matthew dates from some time after the fall of Jerusalem in 70 AD. It was written largely for a community of Jewish Christians. In it, the evangelist’s goal was to reaffirm for these Jews that Jesus was the fulfillment of both the Law and the Prophets. Consequently, in this gospel we often hear references to the Hebrew Scriptures. We also encounter Jesus in conflict with the established religious leadership.
The section of the gospel that we just heard is part of what is called the “missionary discourse,” in which Jesus sends out his followers to begin proclaiming the nearness of God’s reign. In the first part of the chapter, which precedes today’s reading, Jesus commissioned and authorized his disciples. Now he begins to outline the challenges of discipleship – and what the evangelist reports of his instructions are as applicable to us as to them. If you are serious in your commitment, Jesus tells his friends, you must acknowledge that you are not in charge. Ultimately, all efforts to bring God’s reign nearer are in God’s hands, and we do no more than work in partnership with God. While we are to be open and transparent in our dealings, at the same time we must expect that the establishment may demonize us. We might bring about conflict among those we attempt to evangelize, and we may even alienate those near and dear to us. Daunting as it may seem, we may be called to embark on a new way of life, or to turn away from comfortable thoughts and habits, sacred places, and ways of doing things. Indeed, Paul, in his letter to the Christians in Rome, reiterates Jesus’s teaching, suggesting that we are not to remain stuck inside old ways of life, but are to be open to continual growth. And it just may happen, Jesus warns his disciples and us, that we will be called upon, as he was, to give up our very lives in order to advance God’s reign, for “those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”
And yet, here’s the good news: we are never alone in our struggles. God is always with us. Jesus forcefully reminded his hearers of God’s continual care in what we have come to call the Sermon on the Mount. Do you remember what Matthew relates of Jesus’ speech after the Beatitudes? Reminding his disciples not to worry about food or clothing, Jesus directed their gaze toward the birds of the air, who are fed by their heavenly Father, and the lilies of the field, so wondrously clothed by God. Now, on the point of sending out his disciples, having warned them of the challenges they will encounter, Jesus uses the same image of the precious birds to remind the disciples of God’s continual care for humans and for the rest of creation: “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father …. So do not be afraid, you are of more value than many sparrows.”
“His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me.” Down through the centuries, millions of Jesus’ followers have taken Jesus’ reassurances to heart, and have courageously worked to bring God’s reign nearer. Fifty years ago this month, a great upheaval, led by people of deep faith, occurred in the United States. All of a sudden, we became aware of the civil rights movement. Although the U.S. Supreme Court had declared in 1954 that so-called “separate but equal” schools were unconstitutional, it was only in 1964 that serious legislation outlawing segregation and discrimination came before the U.S. Senate. While the Senate was debating, college students in droves left their campuses, piled onto buses, and headed south to work with the Congress of Racial Equality to register voters. Most of them came in response to Jesus’ admonition to care for the “least of these.” They knew the risks they were taking, but they also trusted that God would protect them, that his eye was “on the sparrow.” Tragically, fifty years ago yesterday, Michael Schwerner, Andrew Goodman, and James Chaney, who had joined CORE to help register voters, disappeared after investigating the burning of a church in Philadelphia, Mississippi. The discovery of their bodies in an earthen dam six weeks later roused deep public outrage and likely hastened the passage of the civil rights act.
We too are followers of the crucified one. We too have committed ourselves to his cause. Can we do any less than he did? Can we do any less than the Freedom Summer workers did? Do we trust that “his eye is on the sparrow?” Can we trust in God’s care for us as we follow in Jesus’ footsteps, courageously partnering with God in the bringing in of God’s realm?
1. http://cyberhymnal.org/htm/h/i/hiseyeis.htm
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Web of Faith
It was August, 2004. Ray Johnston lay in a coma in Presbyterian Hospital in Dallas.1 Ray had always loved basketball. In 1999 he had lettered as a walk-on point guard at the University of Alabama. However, his college basketball career ended after that first season. He went on to graduate with a degree in marketing and landed a job with a mortgage company in Dallas. In Dallas he played a lot of pick-up and, through a friend, even managed to play a summer season with the Dallas Mavericks. On August 26, 2004 a collision with another player left him with a painfully swollen leg that landed him in the hospital. By the time medical personnel diagnosed him with acute promyelocytic leukemia, a rare form of cancer, Ray’s lungs were filled with fluid, his kidneys had failed, and he was in a coma. However, when doctors told Ray’s mother that his chance of survival was one in a million, she defiantly replied, “Then you’re looking at the one that’s gonna make it.”
Ray stayed in a coma for the next ten weeks. His mother stayed by his side. Friends sent out calls: “Pray for Ray,” and congregations in Dallas and Alabama responded. Other friends vowed to forgo shaving until Ray woke up. Finally, the prayers hit their mark: on the 70th day Ray woke up. Two weeks later, Ray left the hospital with no visible brain damage and a treatment plan for the leukemia. Once in remission, Ray went on to found the Ray Johnston band and began touring the country telling his story. Ray’s cancer recurred in 2009. Through the use of an experimental drug, he is once again in remission. At thirty-four, Ray has big plans for the band, but he’s also happy to just be “smiling and breathing.”2 Is Ray Johnston’s continued survival a “miracle?” Of course it is, it’s a miracle that medical science and the prayers of all those who love Ray Johnston have helped bring about.
And it’s a miracle that would not have surprised the community who first heard Luke’s gospel. We have returned to Luke, which will give us our gospel readings from now through the end of the liturgical year. Luke’s gospel is distinctive in its emphasis on Jesus’ humanity. As you hear the various readings, try to get a glimpse of the actual man teaching and ministering to those around him. Luke’s gospel also reminds us of the importance of an inclusive community of faith that excludes no one from God’s love.
Today we have heard the first of two stories of unexpected healing, stories that are actually meant to be heard together. (When you hear the story next week of the healing of the son of the widow of Nain, I’ll remind you of what you’ve heard today.) Following his first sermon in Nazareth, his ministry in Capernaum, and his “sermon on the plain,” Luke’s parallel to the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus has returned to Capernaum, where today’s story begins.
Perhaps you noticed something surprising about this story: no one in it is alone. Jesus is surrounded by his disciples, his friends, and the women, mentioned in Luke 8:2, who travelled with the Twelve and “provided for them out of their resources.” More important, the rest of the principal characters, including those we don’t see, are also part of a web of human relationships. The invisible ill slave is a valued member of the centurion’s household. We may shy away from confronting the ancient world’s institution of slavery, conveniently forgetting, of course, how similar the modern-day scourge of human trafficking is. Unquestionably, the slave has economic value. Even so, perhaps there is also enough of a human connection between this servant and his master for the centurion, a gentile, to dare to ask the famous rabbi to heal the slave.
The centurion himself is part of a social web, of the hated Romans who ruled over Israel. As a gentile, he has no obligations to the Jews around him, all of whom must submit to their Roman masters. However, the centurion surprisingly seems to also be embedded in a web of faith, as the Jewish leaders explain, when they rationalize their bringing his need to Jesus’ attention. Perhaps the centurion was a “God-fearer,” a gentile who was attracted to Judaism because of its monotheism but was prevented by the requirement of circumcision from converting. Clearly, as the leaders stress, he was a benefactor of the local Jewish community: he “loves our people,” and he even built a synagogue. The centurion is sensitive to the realities of relations between Jews and gentiles. Anticipating Jesus’ reluctance to interact directly with a gentile, he lets the delegation of religious leaders press his case. The centurion is also part of a web of “friends,” who convey to Jesus the centurion’s wish to avoid embarrassing Jesus by forcing him to decide whether or not to risk ritual pollution by entering the centurion’s house. Finally, as the friends’ report so eloquently conveys, the centurion is also embedded in the community of those who recognize Jesus’ authority. Comparing himself with those who are under him, the centurion implicitly recognizes himself as one of those who are under Jesus, and who ultimately must seek Jesus’ favor.
It’s a challenging story. Of course, the gospel always challenges us to ask whether we are under Jesus’ authority, and whether our faith has any impact on the rest of our lives. But this story of the invisible centurion challenges us in another way: it challenges our contemporary perception that faith is a solitary endeavor. Ever since the Reformation, Christians have, for better and for worse, believed in their own ability to understand Scripture, theology, and Christian practice, irrespective of the teachings of a community. Where disagreements occurred, people have simply gone their separate ways. Witness the proliferation of denominations! In our own culture of extreme individualism, we are convinced that faith is personal and private. We “shop” for a church, we hesitate to commit ourselves to a particular community, and we don’t hesitate to leave one faith community for another when the minister or some other aspect of the community does not please us. We shy away from offering each other or receiving from each other pastoral care or spiritual guidance. Perhaps we even hesitate to pray for each other – or to let others know that we are praying for them!
That is not the life that we are called to live as Jesus’ disciples. As Ray Johnston’s story and the centurion’s story remind us, we are – or should be – embedded in a web of faith. As baptized members of Christ’s Body, we too are – or should be – members of a community that supports all its member, a community whose members willingly offer and receive help from one another and offer pastoral and spiritual care to one another. We are – or should be – a community of faith that together reaches out to serve others – even those on the margins of society, even today’s equivalents of slaves, gentiles, prostitutes, or hated tax collectors, even those whom we might not consider “worthy” of God’s love.
How might we begin doing that? I’d like to propose three possibilities. The first is that we continue to pray for those who need our prayers, especially for those who are sick. Perhaps those who have requested our prayers might make sure the rest of us know why. For example, we are currently praying for the wife of our web master. He sends me periodic updates on her condition. Right now, she does not have a clear diagnosis. Secondly, I suggest that we become more intentional about offering pastoral care. We have several members of this parish whose physical limitations, temporary or permanent, prevent them from worshipping with us. We have talked about visiting shut-ins, possibly even those in nursing homes. We have licensed Eucharistic visitors. I can always train more. Can we form perhaps a committee, or a team, that will take responsibility for helping to coordinate pastoral care?
Third, our physical plant is a great gift to the community. As most of you know, “anonymous” groups meet here almost every day. Other groups also use our facilities. Some time back, we had talked about becoming a disaster relief center. The tragedy in Moore, Oklahoma reminds us yet again how much such a facility might be needed. Parishes have responded to disasters like the one in Moore through immediate pastoral care, longer-term rebuilding efforts, and the gifts of prayer and financial support. Recently, our diocese began a relationship with the Lutheran Disaster Response of Ohio. Mary Woodward is now the Disaster Coordinator not only for the Lutheran Church (through Lutheran Social Services of Central Ohio) but also for our diocese as well. Our bishop has expressed the hope that we have at least one person in every congregation trained by Woodward to serve as a volunteer at the time of disaster. Who among you might be willing to pursue this possibility with me? During last summer’s derecho, could our building have been used by those who had lost power? Might it be available in a coming disaster?
We are not isolated dots. We are part of a web of faith. A lived faith is one that is truly part of a community, a community that supports its members and that together reaches out to the rest of the world. With God’s help, and with the prayers of the faithful, St. Peter’s can be such a community.
1. Based on “Ray of Hope,” Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit (Lima OH: CSS, 2006), 108-10.
2. http://abcnews.go.com/Health/CancerPreventionAndTreatment/experimental-drug-maverick-shot/story?id=13668311#.UaecB5z4ItA (accessed May 30, 2013).
Ray stayed in a coma for the next ten weeks. His mother stayed by his side. Friends sent out calls: “Pray for Ray,” and congregations in Dallas and Alabama responded. Other friends vowed to forgo shaving until Ray woke up. Finally, the prayers hit their mark: on the 70th day Ray woke up. Two weeks later, Ray left the hospital with no visible brain damage and a treatment plan for the leukemia. Once in remission, Ray went on to found the Ray Johnston band and began touring the country telling his story. Ray’s cancer recurred in 2009. Through the use of an experimental drug, he is once again in remission. At thirty-four, Ray has big plans for the band, but he’s also happy to just be “smiling and breathing.”2 Is Ray Johnston’s continued survival a “miracle?” Of course it is, it’s a miracle that medical science and the prayers of all those who love Ray Johnston have helped bring about.
And it’s a miracle that would not have surprised the community who first heard Luke’s gospel. We have returned to Luke, which will give us our gospel readings from now through the end of the liturgical year. Luke’s gospel is distinctive in its emphasis on Jesus’ humanity. As you hear the various readings, try to get a glimpse of the actual man teaching and ministering to those around him. Luke’s gospel also reminds us of the importance of an inclusive community of faith that excludes no one from God’s love.
Today we have heard the first of two stories of unexpected healing, stories that are actually meant to be heard together. (When you hear the story next week of the healing of the son of the widow of Nain, I’ll remind you of what you’ve heard today.) Following his first sermon in Nazareth, his ministry in Capernaum, and his “sermon on the plain,” Luke’s parallel to the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus has returned to Capernaum, where today’s story begins.
Perhaps you noticed something surprising about this story: no one in it is alone. Jesus is surrounded by his disciples, his friends, and the women, mentioned in Luke 8:2, who travelled with the Twelve and “provided for them out of their resources.” More important, the rest of the principal characters, including those we don’t see, are also part of a web of human relationships. The invisible ill slave is a valued member of the centurion’s household. We may shy away from confronting the ancient world’s institution of slavery, conveniently forgetting, of course, how similar the modern-day scourge of human trafficking is. Unquestionably, the slave has economic value. Even so, perhaps there is also enough of a human connection between this servant and his master for the centurion, a gentile, to dare to ask the famous rabbi to heal the slave.
The centurion himself is part of a social web, of the hated Romans who ruled over Israel. As a gentile, he has no obligations to the Jews around him, all of whom must submit to their Roman masters. However, the centurion surprisingly seems to also be embedded in a web of faith, as the Jewish leaders explain, when they rationalize their bringing his need to Jesus’ attention. Perhaps the centurion was a “God-fearer,” a gentile who was attracted to Judaism because of its monotheism but was prevented by the requirement of circumcision from converting. Clearly, as the leaders stress, he was a benefactor of the local Jewish community: he “loves our people,” and he even built a synagogue. The centurion is sensitive to the realities of relations between Jews and gentiles. Anticipating Jesus’ reluctance to interact directly with a gentile, he lets the delegation of religious leaders press his case. The centurion is also part of a web of “friends,” who convey to Jesus the centurion’s wish to avoid embarrassing Jesus by forcing him to decide whether or not to risk ritual pollution by entering the centurion’s house. Finally, as the friends’ report so eloquently conveys, the centurion is also embedded in the community of those who recognize Jesus’ authority. Comparing himself with those who are under him, the centurion implicitly recognizes himself as one of those who are under Jesus, and who ultimately must seek Jesus’ favor.
It’s a challenging story. Of course, the gospel always challenges us to ask whether we are under Jesus’ authority, and whether our faith has any impact on the rest of our lives. But this story of the invisible centurion challenges us in another way: it challenges our contemporary perception that faith is a solitary endeavor. Ever since the Reformation, Christians have, for better and for worse, believed in their own ability to understand Scripture, theology, and Christian practice, irrespective of the teachings of a community. Where disagreements occurred, people have simply gone their separate ways. Witness the proliferation of denominations! In our own culture of extreme individualism, we are convinced that faith is personal and private. We “shop” for a church, we hesitate to commit ourselves to a particular community, and we don’t hesitate to leave one faith community for another when the minister or some other aspect of the community does not please us. We shy away from offering each other or receiving from each other pastoral care or spiritual guidance. Perhaps we even hesitate to pray for each other – or to let others know that we are praying for them!
That is not the life that we are called to live as Jesus’ disciples. As Ray Johnston’s story and the centurion’s story remind us, we are – or should be – embedded in a web of faith. As baptized members of Christ’s Body, we too are – or should be – members of a community that supports all its member, a community whose members willingly offer and receive help from one another and offer pastoral and spiritual care to one another. We are – or should be – a community of faith that together reaches out to serve others – even those on the margins of society, even today’s equivalents of slaves, gentiles, prostitutes, or hated tax collectors, even those whom we might not consider “worthy” of God’s love.
How might we begin doing that? I’d like to propose three possibilities. The first is that we continue to pray for those who need our prayers, especially for those who are sick. Perhaps those who have requested our prayers might make sure the rest of us know why. For example, we are currently praying for the wife of our web master. He sends me periodic updates on her condition. Right now, she does not have a clear diagnosis. Secondly, I suggest that we become more intentional about offering pastoral care. We have several members of this parish whose physical limitations, temporary or permanent, prevent them from worshipping with us. We have talked about visiting shut-ins, possibly even those in nursing homes. We have licensed Eucharistic visitors. I can always train more. Can we form perhaps a committee, or a team, that will take responsibility for helping to coordinate pastoral care?
Third, our physical plant is a great gift to the community. As most of you know, “anonymous” groups meet here almost every day. Other groups also use our facilities. Some time back, we had talked about becoming a disaster relief center. The tragedy in Moore, Oklahoma reminds us yet again how much such a facility might be needed. Parishes have responded to disasters like the one in Moore through immediate pastoral care, longer-term rebuilding efforts, and the gifts of prayer and financial support. Recently, our diocese began a relationship with the Lutheran Disaster Response of Ohio. Mary Woodward is now the Disaster Coordinator not only for the Lutheran Church (through Lutheran Social Services of Central Ohio) but also for our diocese as well. Our bishop has expressed the hope that we have at least one person in every congregation trained by Woodward to serve as a volunteer at the time of disaster. Who among you might be willing to pursue this possibility with me? During last summer’s derecho, could our building have been used by those who had lost power? Might it be available in a coming disaster?
We are not isolated dots. We are part of a web of faith. A lived faith is one that is truly part of a community, a community that supports its members and that together reaches out to the rest of the world. With God’s help, and with the prayers of the faithful, St. Peter’s can be such a community.
1. Based on “Ray of Hope,” Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit (Lima OH: CSS, 2006), 108-10.
2. http://abcnews.go.com/Health/CancerPreventionAndTreatment/experimental-drug-maverick-shot/story?id=13668311#.UaecB5z4ItA (accessed May 30, 2013).
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Here are My Mother and My Brothers!
In another life, I had the privilege of studying American women missionaries in north India. After graduating from college I taught English for a year at a college in the northwestern part of India that had been founded by Presbyterian missionaries. So when I became interested as a scholar in women’s work during the heyday of American missions, i.e., from about 1870 to 1930, I naturally turned back to those intrepid Presbyterians. I learned to read the elegant handwriting of Midwestern teachers, physicians, and wives. I pored over miles of letters, reports, newspaper articles, and mission magazines. I was surprised when I read the missionaries’ condemnations of the Hindu and Muslim religious practices I had found so intriguing during my own time in India. I cheered when the writers opened clinics and dispensaries, taught girls how to read, and brought a breath of fresh air to the mostly secluded women of elite Hindu and Muslim families. And I shook my head in disbelief as one after another of the missionaries wondered why the women they visited, who seemed to find the Christian message so attractive, were unable to leave their families and be baptized. Didn’t they know anything about patriarchal families? Didn’t they realize that the patriarchal family was the basic social unit, for both Hindus and Muslims? Didn’t they understand that no one but the senior males of the family, and most certainly not the women, had any power or freedom? Couldn’t they see that if the women they befriended were to be baptized they would be shunned forever by their kin?
The hearers of the Gospel of Mark certainly understood the risks they had taken in becoming Christians in a world that despised them. Jesus too understood full well the power of the patriarchal family. Instead of following the family trade of carpenter, like all the other males in his family, he had gone off to be an itinerant preacher and healer. Even when he came back home, all the riff-raff and ne’er-do-wells, the blind and the lame, those possessed by demons, and the loose women – who knows where their husbands and fathers were – crowded around him. His family was sure he was insane, and they were moving in to silence him. At the same time, the scribes and Pharisees had begun to take notice of him, and they came down from Jerusalem to challenge and spar with him. When we catch up with Jesus in today’s reading, we hear the religious leaders accuse him of working hand in hand with demonic forces. But he roundly defeats them at their own game. He presses home the point that he is indeed from God – a running motif in Mark’s gospel – and even obliquely suggests that unlike the religious leaders, he has come to offer freedom to those who become his disciples.
Then Jesus turns back to that pesky family, those brothers and sisters and mother, who have joined the religious leaders outside the house and are trying to pull Jesus away from his mission. Surely their jaws drop when they hear what he says. Even though the hearers of Mark’s Gospel, forty years later, themselves faced persecution, perhaps what Jesus said even shocked them. Looking at the faces eagerly waiting to hear more of his teaching, Jesus declares, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.” No more patriarchal family, no more domination by senior males or by religious leaders. Jesus declares that his followers, who have been released from demonic powers, are now part of a new and different family, a family united not by blood, nor by allegiance to the eldest male, but by faith in him. That was truly a radical declaration in the ancient world!
Does such a declaration shock us? Can we hear the challenge to patriarchal structures in such a declaration? Most of us no longer live in extended patriarchal families, with multiple generations in the same house or compound, all ruled over by the senior male. To be sure we still have extended families, especially in this part of Ohio. Not a week goes by without a five-generation photo in our local newspapers, though in our culture the senior members are more likely women. However, in contrast to the ancient world, such families are increasingly rare. Even nuclear families, father, mother, and children in the same household, are less common than they were a generation or two ago. Now we have single parent families, gay couples adopting children, grandparents raising grandchildren, and even unrelated people living together as family. In even sharper contrast with the ancient world, marriage in our culture has become more egalitarian, and women have full legal rights with men.
So does Jesus’ new definition of family – “Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother” – still shock us laid back, egalitarian twenty-first century Americans? It should! As Jesus’ disciples we are still called to be part of a new and different family. We are called to be part of a family not defined by blood ties. Perhaps to the dismay of some, we are called to put our commitment to Jesus’ family above our commitments even to our own blood families. We are also called to be part of a family not defined by geography. Our heritage from the Church of England is of village parishes about three or four miles apart, each with its own vicar and local congregation. In effect our county seat parishes, each with its own distinct community, reflect that same understanding. Even today, orthodox Jews still live in close communities within walking distance of their synagogues. By contrast, we are called instead, to recognize that our family ultimately embraces the entire world, and we are called to care about our friends, our Loaves and Fishes diners, and our sisters and brothers in Cincinnati, Columbus, and even Port au Prince.
We are also called to be a family not defined by race or ethnicity. The Episcopal Church never split apart during the Civil War, but we still had segregated parishes. In this very diocese, we still have historically black parishes, whose roots go back to the time when ethnically diverse parishes were virtually nonexistent. We are also called to be a family not defined by socio-economic class. It was perhaps only a generation or two ago, when the Episcopal Church in this country was the church of the wealthy, of professionals and business people, of the managers and owners, not of working class and poor people. Is that true for this parish? Who is welcome in our parish family?
And finally we are called to be a family committed to doing “the will of God.” In this green season of growth in discipleship, all of us – not just those of us wearing a collar – are called to deepen our relationship with Jesus, to listen more intently to his teaching, and to attend to the family into which he has called us. We are called to understand ourselves as irrevocably bound together with this family and with all other Christians through our baptisms. We are called to welcome the stranger, and to love and care for each other, whoever and wherever we are.
Perhaps some of those Presbyterian missionaries might have been less discouraged by the inability of the women they visited to break out of their patriarchal families if they had known of Pandita Ramabai, a Christian activist in western India. Ramabai was born in 1858 into a Brahmin family, i.e., into the priestly and highest caste. Unusual for the time, Ramabai’s father believed in women’s education and saw to it that she was educated in both Sanskrit texts and contemporary subjects. Independent and forward-thinking, Ramabai married a man of another caste, who died soon after their daughter was born. In Ramabai’s time, most Hindus considered widows to be extremely inauspicious, and even child widows were condemned to a life spent in prayer and fasting in the back corners of their families’ homes. However, Ramabai was fortunately befriended by women of another kind of family, English sisters of the Community of St. Mary the Virgin who had founded a school and convent in the provincial city of Pune. Ramabai and her daughter thrived under the sisters’ gracious care. With their help she was able to do a lecture tour in the U.S. about Hindu women and to study education and social service in England. In 1885 she was baptized in the sisters’ mother house in Wantage, England. Just as Jesus and the CSMV sisters had welcomed Ramabai into a new kind of family, on her return to India in 1889 Ramabai herself created new Christian families. She established the Mukti, or Liberation, Mission in Pune, which serves to this day as a refuge and a Gospel witness for young widows deserted and abused by their families. She also established Krupa Sadan, a home for destitute women, and Sharda Sadan, which provided housing, education, vocational training and medical services for the needy, and she was active in the Arya Mahila Sabha, India’s first feminist organization. Ramabai died in 1922 and is venerated today by Indian Christians, who still seek to continue her work of inclusion of all into a blessed Christian family, regardless of caste, class, language, or ethnicity.
Can we do any less? Methodist scholar Will Willimon reminds us that, “every time the family of God gathers for Holy Communion … or a covered-dish fellowship supper or serves up soup to the homeless on the street corner, the world looks at this odd family and says, ‘Jesus is hanging out with the same reprobates that got him crucified.’ And we say, ‘Thank God.’”1
1. Day 1, preached October 24, 2010, quoted in Synthesis June 10, 2012, 3.
The hearers of the Gospel of Mark certainly understood the risks they had taken in becoming Christians in a world that despised them. Jesus too understood full well the power of the patriarchal family. Instead of following the family trade of carpenter, like all the other males in his family, he had gone off to be an itinerant preacher and healer. Even when he came back home, all the riff-raff and ne’er-do-wells, the blind and the lame, those possessed by demons, and the loose women – who knows where their husbands and fathers were – crowded around him. His family was sure he was insane, and they were moving in to silence him. At the same time, the scribes and Pharisees had begun to take notice of him, and they came down from Jerusalem to challenge and spar with him. When we catch up with Jesus in today’s reading, we hear the religious leaders accuse him of working hand in hand with demonic forces. But he roundly defeats them at their own game. He presses home the point that he is indeed from God – a running motif in Mark’s gospel – and even obliquely suggests that unlike the religious leaders, he has come to offer freedom to those who become his disciples.
Then Jesus turns back to that pesky family, those brothers and sisters and mother, who have joined the religious leaders outside the house and are trying to pull Jesus away from his mission. Surely their jaws drop when they hear what he says. Even though the hearers of Mark’s Gospel, forty years later, themselves faced persecution, perhaps what Jesus said even shocked them. Looking at the faces eagerly waiting to hear more of his teaching, Jesus declares, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.” No more patriarchal family, no more domination by senior males or by religious leaders. Jesus declares that his followers, who have been released from demonic powers, are now part of a new and different family, a family united not by blood, nor by allegiance to the eldest male, but by faith in him. That was truly a radical declaration in the ancient world!
Does such a declaration shock us? Can we hear the challenge to patriarchal structures in such a declaration? Most of us no longer live in extended patriarchal families, with multiple generations in the same house or compound, all ruled over by the senior male. To be sure we still have extended families, especially in this part of Ohio. Not a week goes by without a five-generation photo in our local newspapers, though in our culture the senior members are more likely women. However, in contrast to the ancient world, such families are increasingly rare. Even nuclear families, father, mother, and children in the same household, are less common than they were a generation or two ago. Now we have single parent families, gay couples adopting children, grandparents raising grandchildren, and even unrelated people living together as family. In even sharper contrast with the ancient world, marriage in our culture has become more egalitarian, and women have full legal rights with men.
So does Jesus’ new definition of family – “Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother” – still shock us laid back, egalitarian twenty-first century Americans? It should! As Jesus’ disciples we are still called to be part of a new and different family. We are called to be part of a family not defined by blood ties. Perhaps to the dismay of some, we are called to put our commitment to Jesus’ family above our commitments even to our own blood families. We are also called to be part of a family not defined by geography. Our heritage from the Church of England is of village parishes about three or four miles apart, each with its own vicar and local congregation. In effect our county seat parishes, each with its own distinct community, reflect that same understanding. Even today, orthodox Jews still live in close communities within walking distance of their synagogues. By contrast, we are called instead, to recognize that our family ultimately embraces the entire world, and we are called to care about our friends, our Loaves and Fishes diners, and our sisters and brothers in Cincinnati, Columbus, and even Port au Prince.
We are also called to be a family not defined by race or ethnicity. The Episcopal Church never split apart during the Civil War, but we still had segregated parishes. In this very diocese, we still have historically black parishes, whose roots go back to the time when ethnically diverse parishes were virtually nonexistent. We are also called to be a family not defined by socio-economic class. It was perhaps only a generation or two ago, when the Episcopal Church in this country was the church of the wealthy, of professionals and business people, of the managers and owners, not of working class and poor people. Is that true for this parish? Who is welcome in our parish family?
And finally we are called to be a family committed to doing “the will of God.” In this green season of growth in discipleship, all of us – not just those of us wearing a collar – are called to deepen our relationship with Jesus, to listen more intently to his teaching, and to attend to the family into which he has called us. We are called to understand ourselves as irrevocably bound together with this family and with all other Christians through our baptisms. We are called to welcome the stranger, and to love and care for each other, whoever and wherever we are.
Perhaps some of those Presbyterian missionaries might have been less discouraged by the inability of the women they visited to break out of their patriarchal families if they had known of Pandita Ramabai, a Christian activist in western India. Ramabai was born in 1858 into a Brahmin family, i.e., into the priestly and highest caste. Unusual for the time, Ramabai’s father believed in women’s education and saw to it that she was educated in both Sanskrit texts and contemporary subjects. Independent and forward-thinking, Ramabai married a man of another caste, who died soon after their daughter was born. In Ramabai’s time, most Hindus considered widows to be extremely inauspicious, and even child widows were condemned to a life spent in prayer and fasting in the back corners of their families’ homes. However, Ramabai was fortunately befriended by women of another kind of family, English sisters of the Community of St. Mary the Virgin who had founded a school and convent in the provincial city of Pune. Ramabai and her daughter thrived under the sisters’ gracious care. With their help she was able to do a lecture tour in the U.S. about Hindu women and to study education and social service in England. In 1885 she was baptized in the sisters’ mother house in Wantage, England. Just as Jesus and the CSMV sisters had welcomed Ramabai into a new kind of family, on her return to India in 1889 Ramabai herself created new Christian families. She established the Mukti, or Liberation, Mission in Pune, which serves to this day as a refuge and a Gospel witness for young widows deserted and abused by their families. She also established Krupa Sadan, a home for destitute women, and Sharda Sadan, which provided housing, education, vocational training and medical services for the needy, and she was active in the Arya Mahila Sabha, India’s first feminist organization. Ramabai died in 1922 and is venerated today by Indian Christians, who still seek to continue her work of inclusion of all into a blessed Christian family, regardless of caste, class, language, or ethnicity.
Can we do any less? Methodist scholar Will Willimon reminds us that, “every time the family of God gathers for Holy Communion … or a covered-dish fellowship supper or serves up soup to the homeless on the street corner, the world looks at this odd family and says, ‘Jesus is hanging out with the same reprobates that got him crucified.’ And we say, ‘Thank God.’”1
1. Day 1, preached October 24, 2010, quoted in Synthesis June 10, 2012, 3.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
When the Lord Saw Her
“I can’t believe this happened to them!”1 Sixth-grader Elizabeth Kowalsky, a member of St. Andrew’s Church in Colchester, Connecticut, had just learned of the earthquake that struck Haiti this past January. She and her friends already knew a lot about Haiti. The church had had a relationship with Haiti for many years, and its high school youth group had hosted annual “rock-a-thons” to benefit the Haitian Health Foundation. Last fall, without being asked or prompted by adults, last fall the middle-schoolers decided they wanted to do something too. “It felt like the right thing to do,” Elizabeth said. The kids decided to collect shoes and supplies for Haiti and created a project called “Flip-Flops for Education.” Word got around, and soon students in other schools were collecting shoes and money. By the end of the project, on October 24th of last year, the St. Andrews children had collected 2,000 items and $1900.
Had the St. Andrews middle-schoolers heard today’s lessons? In starting their “Flip-Flops for Education” project, could they have been wanting to follow in the footsteps of Elijah and Jesus? Could they have been led by the Holy Spirit to do God’s work? Did they see a need and act on what they saw? The story about them in a recent USA Weekend article doesn’t tell us, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they were inspired by Scripture to reach out to others without being asked. For both our Old Testament and our Gospel lessons for today give us powerful examples of reflections of God’s compassion for “the least of these.” Both of our stories highlight the plight of widows. In ancient Israel, both in Elijah’s time and 900 years later in Jesus’ time, most widows were in very desperate straits. There was no life insurance back then, and widows did not inherit their husbands’ property. Unless they had grown sons, they were dependent on the charity of their husbands’ families or other relatives. No wonder the Scriptures of both Jews and Christians condemn those who neglect or abuse widows and praise God for defending widows and their children.
In our story from 1 Kings, Elijah first encountered the gentile widow from Zarephath as she and her son were on the point of death from starvation. “Don’t be afraid,” he told her, speaking God’s words of assurance. Then he announced that God would continue to feed them all, the widow, her son, and Elijah himself. Later, when the son, lay mortally ill, Elijah again reached out to her. He prayed – fervently – and begged the Lord to restore her son. When her son was restored, the widow – remember she was not an Israelite – understood that in the healing of her son, God had come to her through Elijah’s pleading. She also understood that Elijah’s power to heal was a sign of his authority as a spokesperson for God. “Now I know that you are a man of God,” she said, “and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth.”
The story of Elijah’s healing of the son of the widow of Zarephath would surely have been in the minds of the hearers of Luke’s Gospel. And they probably would have seen the obvious parallels. The situation was similar in Nain: a widow facing destitution because of the death of her only son. As the procession of mourners came toward him, Jesus saw her. He really looked at her. He didn’t turn away. He didn’t cross to the other side of the road to avoid her and the procession. He looked at her and knew how desperate her situation was. And his response was similar to Elijah’s. His heart went out to her. “Don’t cry,” he said. However, here is where this story is a little different from Elijah’s story. Luke has told us from the beginning that Jesus is more than simply a prophet. His identity as God come among us was foretold to his mother even before he was conceived. His birth was attended by angels. At his baptism, he visibly and publicly received the Holy Spirit. When he preached his first sermon, he indirectly identified himself as the Messiah. Just before this episode in Nain, when a centurion – another gentile – asked him to heal his slave, Jesus did so. Now, without the widow’s even asking, Jesus reached out with compassion to her. He disregarded the possibility of ritual pollution by touching the bier. He didn’t need to pray to God to heal her son. He simply commanded the boy to “rise,” demonstrating that he was himself the Lord of life. Then Jesus, like Elijah, gave the boy back to his joyful mother, thus also restoring her hope for the future. And as in the story of the widow of Zarephath, the people here, the disciples and the crowd, got it. They acknowledged that Jesus was a great prophet, like Elijah. But what is more important, they understood that Jesus was more than a prophet, that indeed “God has looked favorably upon his people.”
What do we learn from these two stories? First of all we learn that God cares deeply for “the least of these.” The mission of Jesus – and ours – is about addressing real human need, and it is about compassion, compassion for all, especially the poor. As we read through Luke’s Gospel, Luke will remind us again and again of God’s concern for the “least, the lost, and the left behind.” These stories also show us that God sees, truly sees, human need, that God answers prayer, and, what is most important, that God graciously takes the initiative to heal us, irrespective of who we are or what we have done. Ultimately, by God’s grace and as a true gift, God offers us new life in Jesus.
We’ve entered the long season of Pentecost, the green season, the season of growing in discipleship, of being more and more transformed into Christ’s likeness. We will be hearing about Elijah and his successor Elisha for the next several weeks. We will be reading Luke’s Gospel through the end of November. We will have many other opportunities to ponder what God expects of us as disciples of Jesus. What can we, who seek to continue growing in Christ, apply from today’s lessons to our life here at St. Peter’s? For me, these lessons suggest three verbs: look, pray, and act. Let’s start with look. As Jesus’ disciples, we are first called to truly look at human need. As Jesus’ disciples, we cannot look away, cross the road, ignore, refuse to see. Instead, we are called to look need squarely in the face. I see a little of the need in this community in the faces of those who ask for help from my discretionary fund. As most of you probably know, I’ve fed people at the Golden Corral, put people up at motels, bought a gas cylinder, a bus ticket, and groceries, and paid water and electric bills. Those of you who have gotten to know the people who come to Loaves and Fishes, or those who take diapers from us as they gather food, also see something of local needs. I wonder how we can get closer to the other needs in this community, and not only the need for material help, but also the need for real human connection and for spiritual sustenance. What are we still failing to see? Where does Jesus want us to look next?
Perhaps we also need to pray. Of course, we always need to pray. All prayer is important, our own personal prayer, and our prayer as a community. Could St. Peter’s become known as a place of prayer, a place that actively prays for the needs of individuals? Perhaps in addition to my writing a check, I need to pray for those who seek help from us. Perhaps we need to pray for those who come to Loaves and Fishes. Perhaps we need to pray with them. Perhaps we can pray for a deeper vision of how we can respond even more effectively to the needs around us. And perhaps too we can continue to go deeper in our own contemplative prayer lives, so that as we grow in our love of God, we can better radiate that love out to others.
And finally, we need to act – or support those who act with both our goods and our prayers. In Loaves and Fishes and in our diaper ministry, we are already faithfully doing God’s work. Several of us have trained as Benefit Bank counselors and our site is officially open. More of you can train! Last week two of us met with Ariel Miller, the director of the Episcopal Community Services Foundation, to launch a new project of working with Rio Grande students in submitting on line the required federal forms for financial aid. We are also considering extending the program to local high schools. Can we involve some of you in that effort? And where else are we called to model God’s compassion? Where else can we be bearers of God’s grace?
We pray to you today, O God, that you will continue your transformation of us and of this parish. As we cooperate with you in our ongoing conversion, help us to be attentive to the wonders and miracles that you work in our lives and through us in the lives of those around us.
1 This story appeared in the April 18, 2010 issue of USA Weekend.
Had the St. Andrews middle-schoolers heard today’s lessons? In starting their “Flip-Flops for Education” project, could they have been wanting to follow in the footsteps of Elijah and Jesus? Could they have been led by the Holy Spirit to do God’s work? Did they see a need and act on what they saw? The story about them in a recent USA Weekend article doesn’t tell us, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they were inspired by Scripture to reach out to others without being asked. For both our Old Testament and our Gospel lessons for today give us powerful examples of reflections of God’s compassion for “the least of these.” Both of our stories highlight the plight of widows. In ancient Israel, both in Elijah’s time and 900 years later in Jesus’ time, most widows were in very desperate straits. There was no life insurance back then, and widows did not inherit their husbands’ property. Unless they had grown sons, they were dependent on the charity of their husbands’ families or other relatives. No wonder the Scriptures of both Jews and Christians condemn those who neglect or abuse widows and praise God for defending widows and their children.
In our story from 1 Kings, Elijah first encountered the gentile widow from Zarephath as she and her son were on the point of death from starvation. “Don’t be afraid,” he told her, speaking God’s words of assurance. Then he announced that God would continue to feed them all, the widow, her son, and Elijah himself. Later, when the son, lay mortally ill, Elijah again reached out to her. He prayed – fervently – and begged the Lord to restore her son. When her son was restored, the widow – remember she was not an Israelite – understood that in the healing of her son, God had come to her through Elijah’s pleading. She also understood that Elijah’s power to heal was a sign of his authority as a spokesperson for God. “Now I know that you are a man of God,” she said, “and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth.”
The story of Elijah’s healing of the son of the widow of Zarephath would surely have been in the minds of the hearers of Luke’s Gospel. And they probably would have seen the obvious parallels. The situation was similar in Nain: a widow facing destitution because of the death of her only son. As the procession of mourners came toward him, Jesus saw her. He really looked at her. He didn’t turn away. He didn’t cross to the other side of the road to avoid her and the procession. He looked at her and knew how desperate her situation was. And his response was similar to Elijah’s. His heart went out to her. “Don’t cry,” he said. However, here is where this story is a little different from Elijah’s story. Luke has told us from the beginning that Jesus is more than simply a prophet. His identity as God come among us was foretold to his mother even before he was conceived. His birth was attended by angels. At his baptism, he visibly and publicly received the Holy Spirit. When he preached his first sermon, he indirectly identified himself as the Messiah. Just before this episode in Nain, when a centurion – another gentile – asked him to heal his slave, Jesus did so. Now, without the widow’s even asking, Jesus reached out with compassion to her. He disregarded the possibility of ritual pollution by touching the bier. He didn’t need to pray to God to heal her son. He simply commanded the boy to “rise,” demonstrating that he was himself the Lord of life. Then Jesus, like Elijah, gave the boy back to his joyful mother, thus also restoring her hope for the future. And as in the story of the widow of Zarephath, the people here, the disciples and the crowd, got it. They acknowledged that Jesus was a great prophet, like Elijah. But what is more important, they understood that Jesus was more than a prophet, that indeed “God has looked favorably upon his people.”
What do we learn from these two stories? First of all we learn that God cares deeply for “the least of these.” The mission of Jesus – and ours – is about addressing real human need, and it is about compassion, compassion for all, especially the poor. As we read through Luke’s Gospel, Luke will remind us again and again of God’s concern for the “least, the lost, and the left behind.” These stories also show us that God sees, truly sees, human need, that God answers prayer, and, what is most important, that God graciously takes the initiative to heal us, irrespective of who we are or what we have done. Ultimately, by God’s grace and as a true gift, God offers us new life in Jesus.
We’ve entered the long season of Pentecost, the green season, the season of growing in discipleship, of being more and more transformed into Christ’s likeness. We will be hearing about Elijah and his successor Elisha for the next several weeks. We will be reading Luke’s Gospel through the end of November. We will have many other opportunities to ponder what God expects of us as disciples of Jesus. What can we, who seek to continue growing in Christ, apply from today’s lessons to our life here at St. Peter’s? For me, these lessons suggest three verbs: look, pray, and act. Let’s start with look. As Jesus’ disciples, we are first called to truly look at human need. As Jesus’ disciples, we cannot look away, cross the road, ignore, refuse to see. Instead, we are called to look need squarely in the face. I see a little of the need in this community in the faces of those who ask for help from my discretionary fund. As most of you probably know, I’ve fed people at the Golden Corral, put people up at motels, bought a gas cylinder, a bus ticket, and groceries, and paid water and electric bills. Those of you who have gotten to know the people who come to Loaves and Fishes, or those who take diapers from us as they gather food, also see something of local needs. I wonder how we can get closer to the other needs in this community, and not only the need for material help, but also the need for real human connection and for spiritual sustenance. What are we still failing to see? Where does Jesus want us to look next?
Perhaps we also need to pray. Of course, we always need to pray. All prayer is important, our own personal prayer, and our prayer as a community. Could St. Peter’s become known as a place of prayer, a place that actively prays for the needs of individuals? Perhaps in addition to my writing a check, I need to pray for those who seek help from us. Perhaps we need to pray for those who come to Loaves and Fishes. Perhaps we need to pray with them. Perhaps we can pray for a deeper vision of how we can respond even more effectively to the needs around us. And perhaps too we can continue to go deeper in our own contemplative prayer lives, so that as we grow in our love of God, we can better radiate that love out to others.
And finally, we need to act – or support those who act with both our goods and our prayers. In Loaves and Fishes and in our diaper ministry, we are already faithfully doing God’s work. Several of us have trained as Benefit Bank counselors and our site is officially open. More of you can train! Last week two of us met with Ariel Miller, the director of the Episcopal Community Services Foundation, to launch a new project of working with Rio Grande students in submitting on line the required federal forms for financial aid. We are also considering extending the program to local high schools. Can we involve some of you in that effort? And where else are we called to model God’s compassion? Where else can we be bearers of God’s grace?
We pray to you today, O God, that you will continue your transformation of us and of this parish. As we cooperate with you in our ongoing conversion, help us to be attentive to the wonders and miracles that you work in our lives and through us in the lives of those around us.
1 This story appeared in the April 18, 2010 issue of USA Weekend.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)