I Love to Tell the Story

“I love to tell the story of unseen things above, of Jesus and his glory, of Jesus and his love; I love tell the story because I know ‘tis true, it satisfies my longings as nothing else can do. I love to tell the story! ‘Twill be my theme in glory – to tell the old, old story of Jesus and his love.” Perhaps some of you remember this old hymn. It’s not in our hymnal, although it is in the Lutheran and Presbyterian hymnals, and doubtless others.

I do love to tell the story of Jesus and his love. That’s what preachers do! Really, most preachers have only one sermon, and in one form or another, it’s the story of Jesus’ love and its impact on us. And it’s a supremely important story. There would be no church without it. It’s that story – of their sense of the continued presence and love of the risen Christ – that led Jesus’ first followers to leave their former lives and establish new communities in Jesus’ name.

But there are also some other important stories to tell, stories of change and transformation in people who have been touched by God and by Jesus. In our psalm for today we hear the story of a familiar kind of change and transformation. At first, the psalmist is feeling satisfied with the good life (“I said in my prosperity, ‘I shall never be moved’”). Then bad things happen (“you hid your face and I was dismayed”). Instead of falling into deep despair, the psalmist begins to argue with God (“Will the dust praise you or declare your faithfulness?”). Finally the psalmist chooses to trust that God will hear his plea (“Hear, O Lord, and have mercy on me, O Lord be my helper”). The result? The psalmist’s despair is turned into joy and gratitude (“Therefore my heart sings to you without ceasing; O Lord my God, I will give you thanks for ever”).

Our Gospel reading from the last chapter of John’s Gospel – what some have considered an epilogue to the gospel – tells us of another kind of transformation, here of Peter. In all the gospels Peter is clearly the leader of the first band of disciples who gather around Jesus. And he is the first to give voice to their growing sense that Jesus is God’s anointed one. Yet Peter is often impulsive and clueless. He speaks without thinking or says the wrong thing. Remember “Let us build three booths” after the disciples experience Jesus’ transfiguration? Or “Get thee behind me Satan?” Worse, when Jesus is arrested, Peter denies three times that he even knows Jesus, and he is nowhere to be found when Jesus is executed. Here on the beach in Galilee he seems depressed, perhaps even regretful. You can hear him sigh, “I’m going fishing.” Then the real miracle happens: Peter recognizes Jesus standing on the shore. Fed by Jesus’ presence, Peter is able to emphatically answer Jesus’ questions: “Lord, you know everything. You know that I love you.” With Jesus’ final “Feed my sheep,” Peter is transformed into a true leader of the fledgling community, a true pastor, who will end up giving his own life for the sheep.

Paul’s transformation from persecutor of the earliest followers of the Way to evangelist to the gentiles is perhaps the most dramatic story. Although he never knew Jesus in the flesh, Paul had a vision of Jesus’ presence so vivid and so immediate that all he could say was, “Who are you, Lord?” Led into the city, he fasted and prayed for three days, until Ananias acted on his vision and took the risk of going to Paul. Having received his sight, Paul was baptized. And then without any seminary education or homiletics course, he immediately began to preach: “He began to proclaim Jesus in the synagogue, saying, ‘He is the Son of God.’”

Are these stories too far-fetched for us? We generally don’t have altar calls in the Episcopal Church. Yet some people do have dramatic, spiritual experiences. Someone may kneel at the altar rail and have such a deep sense of God’s presence that life is changed forever. Another person may look around them, perhaps at other people, perhaps in a natural setting, and know beyond the shadow of a doubt that God exists. Others are gradually transformed as they are gently drawn into the heart of a vital faith community. And God may want to work other kinds of transformations in us. Not many of us actively persecute our opponents. But could we be on the wrong path in other ways? Perhaps we are selfish, headstrong, stubborn, consumed with our own desires, caught in addictions, and blind to the needs of others. Consider: the person who goes after that promotion so single-mindedly that their marriage falls apart, or their family suffers; the angry young person who can recite all their parents’ mistakes while forgetting everything their parents did right; the person so self-absorbed that they are unable to express love for their spouse or family; the chronic complainer; the enabling spouse who allows another’s alcoholism to destroy a family; the person who disdains those of other faith communities; partisan political leaders without a sense of the common good who are unable to compromise. Do you see yourself in any of these examples? Was there a point in your life where you finally knew you needed to do things differently? When you finally saw the light?

What was the light that finally helped you to see life differently? Was it a friend, or a partner, or a child who took the risk of telling the truth? Did you wake up in the middle of the night and finally feel the emptiness in your own soul? And where was God in that change? The mystics teach us that God often initiates transformation. Sometimes God acts directly. Jesus showed up on the beach. God graced someone with a life-changing sense of God’s presence at the altar rail. Mostly God acts through others. In retrospect, we can often see that God gave the friend, partner, or child the courage to speak the needed word. Even without the blinding light, we might also admit that God opened our ears, or our eyes, or our hearts, to finally accept the truth and begin the hard process of change.

Now, here’s the hardest question of all. Can we share our story of conversion and transformation with others? Peter surely did. The stories from the book of Acts show us a Peter who is a skilled and convincing preacher, transformed by his relationship with the risen Jesus. Ii Acts we also see a Peter who is not afraid to go to the house of the gentile centurion Cornelius and preach the gospel, and a Peter who can help broker the compromise between those who would keep the Way of Jesus a sect limited to Jews and those who like Paul were ready to spread the good news to all, Jew and gentile alike. Paul also told his story, probably many times. We hear it again in his own voice in Acts 22, and he also alludes to it in the beginning of his letter to the Galatian Christians. One wonders how Peter and Paul felt telling their stories. Did their retellings make Jesus present to them again more deeply?

How about us? Can we tell the story of our life-changing experiences of God’s reality, of how we came to believe in the risen Christ and his love for us? Can we talk about how God continues to work within us, continues to change and transform us? “Not me!” you might say. Yet telling your own story can be a powerful experience for both the teller and the hearer. If you feel comfortable writing, one way to begin reflecting on your story is to write it down. You might begin by prayerfully reflecting on your life, especially on the places where you experienced a deeper kind of conversion or transformation. When and how did it happen? Who was the change-agent? Where was God? You can also review your day or week, in writing or in meditation, with the same questions in mind. Where was God in my day? How did I experience God’s transformative power and love in this day? Who or what helped me see God more clearly?

Perhaps we can also begin telling our stories to each other. With whom might we share our story? Are we embarrassed to do so? To whose story might we listen, and where? Can we listen to another’s story attentively and respectfully, listening for how God might be at work in another person’s life? Doesn’t telling our own story or listening to that of another deepen our understanding of God’s great love for us? My sisters and brothers, I know this: telling our own story is a powerful tool of evangelism. Do we want to strengthen the bonds within this community? Do we want it to be a vital cell in the body of Christ? A good way to begin is to share our experiences of God’s work among us. I invite you to ponder with me how we may begin telling our stories.

I love to tell the story of Jesus and his glory. I also love to tell the story of lives transformed by God’s grace, of the risen Christ at work in the people around us. “You have turned my wailing into dancing; you have put off my sack-cloth and clothed me with joy.” Is that your story too? If so, shout out your joy!

It's Still Easter

It’s still Easter! Of course, it’s still Easter tide in the church and will be until Pentecost on May 27th this year. It’s also still Easter in our Gospel for today – although Jesus and the disciples seem to be keeping very late hours. And what a tumultuous day it has been! It began at early dawn as a group of women went to Jesus’ tomb, found it empty, and met two men in dazzling white clothes who assured them that, just as he had promised, Jesus had risen. Although no one believed the women when they went to tell the other disciples, Peter ran to the tomb, looked in, and was amazed. Then Jesus caught up with two of disciples walking to the village of Emmaus, about six miles from Jerusalem. Although they didn’t at first recognize Jesus, he explained to them how God had delivered on all the promises God had made in Scripture. Since it was evening, they invited him to stay with them. When he took bread, blessed, broke, and gave it to them, they recognized him. When Jesus vanished, the two disciples leapt up and ran back to Jerusalem, to tell the eleven and their friends what had happened. Late as it was, Jesus came among them again. He still had more to tell them – even on this first day!

It’s not easy to make sense of all the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ resurrection appearances. The Gospels clearly don’t agree on what or how it happened that Jesus was alive again after his execution. Our reading last week from the Gospel according to John suggests a slightly different series of events from Luke’s portrayal of that first Easter. Certainly resurrection was and is hard to get our minds around. Yet, if we look at the resurrection accounts, especially those of John and Luke, we find that they are remarkably similar in what they tell us. Notice that in Luke’s account of the Easter evening meeting in Jerusalem, Jesus offers the disciples the same assurance of forgiveness and reconciliation that he had offered in John’s account. “Peace be with you,” he greets them, as he miraculously enters the room. He offers the disciples confirmation, even proof, that he is not a ghost but a truly, living body, by commanding them to look at him and even to touch him. Did they need further proof that he was not ghost? He told them he was hungry and ate a piece of fish. Then, just as he had done with the depressed disciples on the long walk to Emmaus, he explained how all that God had promised in the Scriptures had now been fulfilled in his resurrection. And, finally, and perhaps most importantly, he commissioned his friends to spread the good news to others reminding them that, “You are witnesses of these things.”

The disciples don’t speak in Luke’s account of this late night meeting with Jesus. Nevertheless, as Luke tells us, Jesus’ appearance among them unleashed a barrage of emotions in them. Hearing his greeting of peace, they were “startled and terrified.” When Jesus reassured them that he was not a ghost, invited them to touch him and ate with them, the disciples were joyful and yet also incredulous. After Jesus explained the Scripture to them, perhaps the disciples were enlightened. Perhaps they were now ready to take the risk of beginning to spread the good news about Jesus, to “proclaim repentance and forgiveness of sins” to people of all nationalities and ethnicities.

Or maybe not. Perhaps that one encounter with Jesus wasn’t enough to dispel all their fears and to equip them as preachers and proclaimers of the good news. Surely they must have continued to have questions. Perhaps even some of the same questions we might have. What kind of a body did he really have, that the disciples could actually touch it? Why did the disciples at first have trouble recognizing Jesus, even though they had spent so much time with him? How could he just come and go as he pleased, turn up in different places at will, even walk through walls? How did he know what was troubling them, so that he could respond to their questions? And hardest of all: was that really Jesus whom they encountered? Surely, Jesus’ disciples and friends struggled with these questions long after the late-evening meeting described in our Gospel reading. After all, it took the original witnesses to Jesus’ resurrection years to come to grips with these questions: nearly thirty years for the writer of the Gospel of Mark, perhaps forty or fifty for the writers of Matthew and Luke, almost sixty for the writer of John’s Gospel.

We could ask our own questions ad infinitum. And scholars much more learned than I have written tomes, examining every point of the resurrection stories. While I have deep respect for Biblical scholarship, in the end we are not called to be merely intellectually convinced that Jesus was raised. Rather we are asked as followers and disciples of Jesus to put our faith in those original witnesses, to trust those who followed them, to look for evidence of Jesus’ new life in ourselves and our faith communities, and to share with others what we have experienced, the things to which we are witnesses. Yet we know that developing trust, recognizing the signs of Jesus’ work among us, and risking sharing our faith with others are all hard work. Conversion, new birth in Christ doesn’t happen overnight. Anglican priest David Runcorn tells of a woman who described the realities of spiritual birth. “Any woman knows,” she tells us, “that birth is long and slow, very painful and very messy. You expose the most embarrassing parts of yourself and are so vulnerable that you are past caring. If that is what real birth is like, then why should spiritual birth be any different?”1 If you still have doubts and questions about the resurrection, you’re in good company. Resurrection is a reality that takes us decades to realize fully in our own lives. Even so, we have God’s promise that Jesus continues to come to us, to reassure us, to teach us, to equip us to carry out his ministry in the world, and to transform us.

Our Gospel stories suggest that there is a way that that transformation happens most effectively in our lives. And that is when we remain in community with each other. Notice that in almost every resurrection story recorded in our Gospels, Jesus comes to a group of disciples: the women who heard the angel’s proclamation in Mark’s account, the group gathered behind locked doors in John’s account, the women whose outlandish tale of the empty tomb was considered nonsense, the pair on the road to Emmaus, and, finally, this gathering of the eleven and their companions. It is in community with each other that Jesus is most likely to come to us, to reassure, enlighten, and commission us, to transform us from spectators of the events of Easter into participants in them.

“You are witnesses of these things,” Jesus reminded the disciples, as he sent them out to proclaim the good news to all nations. To whom are we called to be witnesses? Now you might think that I am about to launch into another plea for evangelism at this point. Mission on the other side of the red doors is important, to be sure. Inviting friends and relatives to worship with us is also important, to be sure. However, I’ve been thinking about our parish as a Christian community, as a place where as a body we may witness to each other. It has become more and more clear to me that maturing as Jesus’ disciples and companions and growing in our ability to appreciate and share the good news of life in the risen Christ take place most often and most effectively in groups. It is in community that we share insights with each other, encourage each other in faith, and witness to each other of our day to day experiences with Christ. It is in community that we let others in on the struggles we have had with grasping the meaning of new life in Christ. It is in community that we pose our questions about Scripture to each other, and it is in community that Jesus helps us to see the relationship between the truths of Scripture and our own lives.

Which brings me to St. Peter’s. You have heard me preach a lot about mission and ministry to others. Our participation in the Common Ministry program is helping us understand better who we are, so that we can be better and more effective ministers to those among whom God has placed us. However, I also believe that God has called us to be more intentional about the kind of community we have internally, about what our in-reach is, if you will. Besides Sunday worship, what holds us together as a community? How are we nurturing and supporting each other? How are we witnessing to each other? I challenge you to reflect with me, to help us all find those ways in which we can share the doubts, sorrows, and joys of Christian life more intimately with each other. Are we willing to grow – as a body – in our ability to witness to each other?

If we are, then perhaps we can pray wholeheartedly, O God, we give you thanks for the gift of resurrection life. May we know in our lives, both as individuals and as a parish, that the crucified one is alive and comes to us: turn our doubts and disbelief into awe and wonder, until we all rejoice together in the glory and presence of the risen Lord.2
______________________
1. Quoted in Donald Runcorn, Rumours of Resurrection (London: Darnton, Longman and Todd, 1996), 2).
2. Based on David Adam, Traces of Glory (Harrisburg, PA: Morehouse, 1999), 67.

I Was Blind But Now I See

What kept the disciples from recognizing Jesus? What finally enabled them to see him? After they recognized him, what did they do? This familiar but challenging Gospel story always raises some difficult questions. And then, as I pray today’s collect, and ask God to “open the eyes of our faith,” I have to ask the same questions about us. What keeps us from recognizing Jesus “in all his redeeming work?” What enables or helps us to see him? And finally, after we’ve recognized him, what do we do, we who like the two on the road to Emmaus claim to be his followers, what do we then do?

So, what kept the disciples’ “eyes from recognizing” Jesus? Hadn’t they been close enough to him, that they would instantly know him? As those two dejected disciples plodded along to Emmaus, they surely wondered what had happened to all their hopes that the Messiah had come at last. Perhaps they had followed him sure that he was the righteous king destined to free Israel from the Romans. Hadn’t they been there waving their palm branches when he came into Jerusalem? Before he was executed, he had said something about rising again. And the women – if you can believe anything that women say – had said that they saw him alive this morning, but, really resurrection? Surely these disciples found the whole idea beyond belief. Their hopes dashed, what could they do but try to get on with their lives and put the whole experience of following Jesus behind them?

Sound at all familiar? Are we anything like those disciples? Perhaps we too are disappointed with our lives, our families, our friends. Things just haven’t worked out the way we expected. Maybe we have physical disabilities that make it impossible to sense Jesus’ presence. Or perhaps we let the busyness of our lives or our concern for material goods crowd him out. Do the events that bring us grief – poverty, injury, illness, divorce, death – help us to shut him out? Perhaps we too find the whole idea of resurrection, that Jesus could still be alive, beyond belief. Death, yes, we know it well. Good Friday we can easily accept. But Easter and resurrection, no way! Actually, perhaps some of us even find the whole Bible hard to believe. Aren’t the Gospels just stories – two thousand year old stories at that? Where’s Jesus when we really need him to help us understand all the stories?

So what helped the two disciples to actually recognize Jesus in their midst? As they walked along, perhaps the explanation of the Scriptures that this mysterious stranger offered them gave them a hint that there was something different about him. They heard his reminder that God had created the world, that God had delivered the Israelites from slavery in Egypt, that God had made a covenant with them through Moses, that God had sent the prophets, and that God’s Messiah was to be a suffering servant and not a triumphant military leader. What’s more important, they engaged in real conversation with him. They spoke with him, asked him questions. They heard what he had to say, they didn’t just read about it some dusty tome.

Can we relate to those disciples’ experience? Many of us have a deeper sense of Christ’s presence when we prayerfully study and read Scripture. It’s important to study together the history and form of all our Scripture texts, to understand the narratives of which they are a part, and the communities for which they were written. And it also happens that when we read Scripture slowly and meditatively, in the quiet spaces of our lives, sometimes a story will catch us unawares. Sometimes a psalm will exactly express what we are feeling at a particular moment. Sometimes a word or phrase in a reading will “shimmer” or speak to us. Sometimes a sermon will “cut” us “to the quick,” as Peter’s sermon did, and we see our lives in a whole new light. In all those times, we can trust that Jesus is truly present to us.

And yet, even after the Bible study, the disciples still had not recognized Jesus. So they generously offered him a meal and a place to stay. As he joined them around the table, they saw him do exactly what he had done when he fed the five thousand, and what he had done in that last meal with them: “he took the bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them.” And then, finally they recognized Jesus! As they received his broken Body in the bread, they knew that Jesus had truly risen, that he was truly present to them, and that he would continue to be present to them, not as a mere memory, but as a living, breathing reality, whenever they broke bread and drank wine in that same way.

And so it is for us, by God’s grace. Whenever we come together for the Eucharistic meal, whenever we receive the sacrament of his Body and Blood, we realize that Jesus is as truly present to us now as he was to those two questioning disciples. Like them, we too are on journeys, we too may wonder where our lives are going, and where God is. And in the midst of our journeys, Jesus meets us too. One writer has used the image of a rendez-vous for the sacramental meal of bread and wine. The French word literally means “present yourselves.” In 21st century English its meaning is more nearly “meet together at a particular time and place.” At every blessed rendez-vous, we too can experience Jesus’ presence. As we present ourselves to him, we too can feel yet again the joy of being at table with him, we too can thank him for keeping his promise to be with us forever.

After they recognized Jesus, what did the two disciples do? They didn’t stay in Emmaus! Even though it was late and getting dark – they weren’t on Daylight Savings time back then – they ran back to Jerusalem. They ran seven miles, to tell the other disciples about what had happened. Having finally understood the plan of salvation, having gotten a blessed glimpse of Jesus’ “redeeming work,” and having realized without a doubt that Jesus was truly alive, they ran to share that good news. Hearing that Peter had also seen Jesus alive again, they joyfully shared with the others that they had seen him and recognized him “in the breaking of the bread.”

And when we have seen him “in the breaking of the bread,” what do we do? If we gain a deeper understanding of Jesus’ work through Scripture, do we keep that understanding to ourselves? If we truly experience his presence with us in the Eucharist, do we forget all about that experience, that rendez-vous with him, as soon as we go out the door? My friends, there’s one more lesson for us to learn from the disciples’ experience on the road to Emmaus. And that is that the Christian life is a shared life, a life lived in community with others. Yes, there have been hermits and solitaries, yes, some of us spend periods of time apart in prayer and in silent retreats, but at its heart Christian life is meant to be lived in community. And so we test our experience of reading the Bible with others. More importantly, we gather with others to meet Jesus in the Eucharist, letting our experience of his presence with us bind us not only to him but also to each other. And then we run to tell others, with both word and deed, of the joy of our sight, as we seek to draw others into his gracious community of love.

Ultimately, seeing Jesus and experiencing the reality of his presence, whether in solitude or community, are gifts of God. We cannot compel God’s gifts, but we can be more open to them, we can find ways to be more receptive to Jesus’ presence with us. We can come together with others and use our intellects to break open the powerful stories in Scripture of God’s redeeming work in Jesus. We can let our own lives be illuminated by those stories. Then we can sit at table and break bread with Jesus and each other. We can recognize with our hearts the truth of what we saw with our intellects. And we then can ponder the stories from our own lives, when our eyes were opened. Was it when someone welcomed us? Was when we opened our own hearts, doors, lives to strangers who brought unexpected blessings? Was it when we looked out on the world with eyes of faith and saw reflections of God’s love in all around us?

Lord, that we may know you in the breaking,
in the break of day, in the breaking of hearts,
and in the breaking of bread,
help us to know that you are risen indeed,
and that you are with us in the holy communion.
May your church ever proclaim your presence,
and know that you travel with us on the road we go.
Teach us, Lord, to abide in you,
that we may know that you abide in us….
Lord, abide with us,
and we will abide in you.1

1. David Adam, Clouds and Glory, Morehouse (Harrisburg, PA: 2001), 63.

Risky Business

“Say what, Lord? Did I hear you right?” Ananias was dumbfounded. He had just had a vision in which God told him to go to the house of a certain Judas on Straight Street and seek out Saul of Tarsus, to lay hands on him. Ananias was terrified. “Lord,” Ananias said, “not this man. He has been persecuting us, and even now, he has the authority to arrest us all.” “Nevertheless,” replied the Lord, “you must go to him. He is my chosen instrument who will spread the good news about me to both Jews and Gentiles.” Although Ananias felt as if he were literally risking his life, he threw caution to the winds, went to Judas’s house, and laid hands on Saul.

Saul was surely God’s chosen instrument. He himself had had a terrifying encounter with the risen Lord on the road leading into Damascus. Struck blind, he waited for three days for Ananias to come and lay hands on him. No doubt Ananias was also there when Saul became a member of Christ’s Body in baptism. After that, Saul, or Paul as we know him from his Latin name, became a formidable preacher, founder, and letter writer who laid the foundation for the rapid spread of the Gospel among Gentile communities. However, Paul wasn’t the only instrument in this story. Without Ananias, would Paul have become such a great preacher and evangelist? Without Ananias’ ministry, quite possibly Paul’s ministry would have died on the vine. Fortunately for the church and for us, Ananias overcame his fear and headed for Straight Street, ready to face whatever the Lord had for him there. Let’s look for a minute at what Ananias did. First of all, he overcame his personal prejudices. Despite Saul’s reputation, Ananias was willing to embrace him in the Lord’s name, and even managed to call him “Brother Saul.” He also dared to believe in transformation: he believed that, despite what Saul had been, it was possible that the Lord had really transformed him into a preacher of the Gospel. What is most important, Ananias overcame his personal fears and trusted the Lord’s words to him. He was able to take a great risk.

Ananias was hardly alone in risking his own personal safety in order to follow the Lord’s call. Our Scriptures are full of the stories of those who risked their safety and security to follow God’s call. How about Abraham? He was comfortably settled in Ur of the Chaldees when God told him to pack up and go to the land of Canaan. God even promised him that, although Abraham and his wife Sarah were childless and over seventy, that their descendants would be as numerous as the stars. How about Moses? He was hiding out from the authorities working as a shepherd for his father-in-law when God told him to go to Pharaoh and persuade him to let the Israelites leave Egypt. Worse, at the edge of the Sea of Reeds, God told Moses to lead the people right into the water! How about Mary? She was betrothed but not yet married, and she hadn’t slept with her fiancée yet, when the angel Gabriel announced to her that God wanted her to bear God’s son, who was to be the savior of his people. And Jesus? As they left the upper room that last night, didn’t he know that the religious and civil authorities were out to get him? Shouldn’t he have said to his followers, “We’re out of here folks. If we move fast, we can get away before they find us.” Instead, he fulfilled his destiny and went to Gethsemane. Even Peter. He kept his promises to Jesus to feed Jesus’ sheep, risking his life and ultimately following his Lord to a martyr’s death. How did they all do it? Quite simply, they trusted God, they set their faces in the direction they believed God was asking them to go, and they went.

And what of us? Can we follow in the footsteps of Abraham, Moses, Mary, Peter, and Ananias? In this post-9/11 world we think that we can ensure safety and security through better surveillance and a “war on terror.” But, my friends, following God’s call has always been risky. Saul was only the first of many persecutors of the early Christian community. Until well into the fourth century, it was a crime to be a Christian in the Roman empire! During the Reformation, non-conformists, to the Roman Church, or even to the Church of England for more than two centuries, faced legal and social discrimination. Today in Palestine, Iraq, Iran, India, China, and parts of Africa, followers of our Lord face imprisonment or even worse. Perhaps, for us, the risks that we are asked to take to follow our Lord pale in comparison to the risks taken by Christians in other countries. But there are still risks, even if they are only risks of time, talent, and treasure!

There are no certainties in this faith life, there is no safety and security when God has your cell phone number. When once you have heard God’s call, when once you are a member of the Body of Christ, all you can do is set your face in God’s direction and go. On April 20, 1964, when Apartheid in South Africa was in full sway, Nelson Mandela proclaimed his commitment to an inclusive, democratic, and free society. It was, Mandela said, “an ideal which I hope to live for and achieve. But if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die.” After twenty-seven faithful years in prison, Mandela lived to see his vision fulfilled. Six years ago, I was like Abraham, happily ensconced in my position as dean. Then the Lord said, “Give up your academic career, go to seminary, and become a priest.” “Say what, Lord? Did I hear you right?” And like Ananias, I screwed up my courage and went.

There are no certainties in this faith life. There is only what Roman Catholic social activist Dorothy Day called “precarity,” precariousness, or rather faith in God and dependence on God, despite God’s call to what seems wildly risky business. Parishes too face “precarity.” God is always calling us out in faith, always calling us out to take risks so that the Gospel may continue to be proclaimed. United Methodist Bishop Robert Schnase suggests five ways in which parishes, if they want to flourish and grow, are called to take risks. I’d like to suggest what Schnase’s strategies might look like in our context. First, a parish is called to practice radical hospitality: reaching out in genuine welcome to all in our community who yearn to hear the good news of God in Christ and listening deeply to hear what people’s needs actually are. Second, a parish is called to embrace passionate worship, worship that really connects us to God, that enables us to enter into the mystery of God present to us in Word and Sacrament. For us, especially, passionate worship also includes worship that unites the best from both our rich liturgical tradition with the rich variety of contemporary liturgies. Third, a parish must engage in intentional faith development. Our education as Christians wasn’t completed when the bishop laid hands on us in confirmation. A vibrant and healthy parish constantly engages in formation and offers to its members opportunities to grow and mature in faith. Later this year, I will challenge you to join with me again in just such transformative education. Fourth, we must be about risk-taking mission and service, we must engage in mission that stretches us as a parish. We must look hard at our gifts and abilities and the needs of the community and the world, and ask ourselves where they intersect, where we can continue fulfilling our baptismal promise to “seek and serve Christ in all people.” Finally, we must practice extravagant generosity. Among other things, extravagant generosity means letting God have first claim on our resources – all our resources. Historically for Christians extravagant generosity has meant the tithe, giving one-tenth of one’s income back to God. At the very least generosity means intentional, proportional giving, intentionally dedicating a portion of our resources to God and to mission, in gratitude for everything God has given us. When we put first in our lives our obligations to God, including our obligations to give of our resources, our whole relationship to God and to the people around us radically changes. These are all risky behaviors, but they are all the risks that a parish needs to take in order to grow and flourish.

There are no certainties in this faith life, neither for individuals nor for parishes. The only certainty is that we are called to go where God leads us. We are all called to screw up our courage, head for Straight Street and lay hands on a former persecutor. Ananias, we see you heading out the door. By God’s grace, we’re right behind you.