Sermon for 1.15.17

Scriptures for today are Here.

Long ago, when I was a young junior accountant working for a major accounting firm, the brightest spot of our working day, for me and the other junior accountants, was when we would head out to lunch. We had several favorite restaurants, one of them a fair hike to the other end of downtown Houston. On the way to this restaurant, we always passed a particular street corner that one street evangelist had chosen as his own. He would stand there and yell about the coming apocalypse, pointing at people and calling them to repent. And his favorite line, which in his mind somehow made perfect sense, was, “Queen Esther saved the Jews!” Now I had grown up going to Sunday school, but somehow missed the story of Queen Esther, and now that I know it, I still can’t really fathom what he was talking about and what connection it has to salvation or the apocalypse (for one thing, notoriously, it’s one of two books in the Bible that doesn’t mention God). But every time we headed that way to lunch we’d hear the same line, screamed with force and conviction – we needed to repent because “Queen Esther saved the Jews!” – to the point where it became a joke, and anytime we wanted to explain something that made no sense in our workplace (and that was definitely a Catch-22 kind of workplace), we would all start laughing and calling out, “Queen Esther saved the Jews!”

The thing about it is this: if anyone needed evangelizing, it was me at that point in my life. Yes, I’d grown up in the church, I’d heard the stories of Jesus, I’d loved the idea of a savior who could calm the storm and heal the sick and give his life because he loved me so much. But by my mid-20s, I’d forgotten all that. I had devoted my life to my personal self-interest – to advancing in my career and making more money and leaving all my competition behind me in the dust. If anyone needed to meet Jesus, it was me – to remember that he loved me, to remember what was most important in life, to repent of the empty and unfulfilling direction my life was taking and reorient to the most important things in life – love and caring for God and for other people. I needed an evangelist – but yelling at me to repent because Queen Esther saved the Jews did not address my needs, to say least. That kind of evangelism was way too easy to resist. The kind of evangelism I needed was someone who would care about me and my rapidly shrinking heart, who would help me get in touch with what had always been most important to me, who would help me see that what would bring meaning to my life was not success in my career, but abiding with Jesus.

What is evangelism? At heart, it’s bringing good news to people – good news of salvation, of reorienting one’s life, of a relationship with God that will bring deeper, even ultimate meaning to human life, that will transform people from inside out. Evangelism is not beating people over the head with your ideas. Evangelism is not knocking on people’s doors and demanding whether they know where they’re going when they die. Evangelism is not convincing people to pray a particular prayer that acts as some kind of magic spell that will allow them to get into heaven. Evangelism is not yelling a catch phrase over and over, like Queen Esther saved the Jews! Evangelism is simply sharing good news of something that makes a difference in your life with someone you care about. And today’s gospel is one of the best examples of evangelism there is.

Today’s story is the first time we hear Jesus’ voice in John’s gospel. John begins his gospel with his own version of the Christmas story – which has nothing to do with Bethlehem or shepherds, and everything to do with the Word of God, who was one with God from before time began, taking on human flesh and coming to dwell on earth. Then, like the other three gospels, John tells us the story of another John – the Baptizer, who appeared in the wilderness and began preaching and baptizing. And then, like in the other gospels, Jesus shows up – rather quietly and unassumingly, just mingled in with the other folks listening to John the Baptist preach. In John’s gospel, we don’t hear the story of Jesus’ baptism – instead, we hear John the Baptist testifying about what he saw when he baptized Jesus – the Holy Spirit descended on Jesus and remained with him. That’s an important word, remain, and we’ll come back to it. And by that sign, John the Baptist understood that Jesus was the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of world, and he started sharing that news with everyone.

John the Baptist understands who he is and why he is there – and his ministry, beyond preaching repentance and baptizing, is to point to Jesus and share what he knows, tell people what he has seen, urge people to follow Jesus, not himself. The second time he does this, a couple of his curious disciples follow Jesus. In the other three gospels, the first words of Jesus are words of power or prophecy. In John, Jesus’ first words are a question: What are you looking for? This question falls flat in English – but in Greek, its what are you seeking? What’s important to you? What’s missing in your life that you are hoping to find? It’s the question that evangelists yelling about Queen Esther or demanding that we repent to avoid flames of hell never ask – what is really important to you?

It’s a question we all should be asking ourselves, as individuals, as families, as a congregation: what are we seeking? What holes, what empty spaces are in our lives and in our communities? What is it we really need, not just our physical needs but our emotional, relational and spiritual needs, at the very foundation of who we are? The first key to evangelism is finding out what people are actually seeking, caring about what’s missing, understanding how a relationship with God can help.

The disciples answer Jesus’ question with a question – Where are you staying? Like most things in John’s gospel, this is a question with many layers. “Staying” in Greek is the same word as “remaining” – meno – and it appears five times in this passage: twice in speaking about the Holy Spirit remaining on Jesus, three times in talking about where Jesus is staying. And the same Greek word appears at numerous other crucial points in John’s gospel: after Jesus miraculously feeds the crowd with bread, he tells the people not to work for food that perishes, but for food that remains for eternal life; he promises that he will abide (remain) with those who abide in him; he says that wherever he stays or remains, people have the opportunity to believe.

So when the disciples ask where he is remaining or abiding, they are asking not about his motel or where he’s pitched his tent, but about where the Son of God is. Where can we find you? What can we do to be with you, to abide with you, to receive the gifts you are giving, this bread of life that remains for eternal life? Where can we go to remain, abide, stay with the Lamb of God? And that’s the real question, isn’t it? The question is, what is the meaning of life and how can we find it? If God has come to abide with us in Jesus, how can we abide with him? If we are truly abiding in the presence of the Lamb of God, how does that change us and how does that call us to act in the world? I am convinced that abiding in the presence of God, in prayer and worship and in our thoughts and beliefs about the world and in the actions we take as a consequence, transforms us from the inside out. It fills the empty holes in our souls, it reorients us toward the things of ultimate significance, it gives us love to share with others.

And that’s the key to evangelism, which is the calling of every Christian. Evangelism begins with noticing – as John the Baptist noticed Jesus and saw the Holy Spirit remain on him; as the disciples noticed John the Baptist’s words and decided to follow and discover more; as Jesus noticed the disciples and invited them to come see. Evangelism begins with noticing where God is in our lives, how God has transformed us. It means thinking back in our own story, remembering key moments of God’s presence with us. So:

  • I remember a moment in my life at the altar rail, when I was deeply troubled, but had a sudden overpowering sense that God was there with me.
  • I remember the baptism of my daughter, feeling the presence of a loved one who had died recently, and realizing this was a moment of deep holiness that tore open the curtain between heaven and earth.
  • I remember witnessing a miracle of healing, realizing God had used me as God’s agent, completely unsought and undeserved.
  • I remember standing in the middle of a stunning view of creation, feeling tiny in a vast landscape, yet realizing God was with me in my very smallness.

You have moments like that too, moments you’ve known God was present without a doubt. Those moments are the reason you continue to seek Jesus, continue to look for the ways he can fill you with the bread that remains to eternal life. The first step in evangelism is to notice where and when God has been with you.

The second step of evangelism is speaking. Supposedly St. Francis said preach the gospel at all times, if necessary use words – well, I don’t like that saying. For one thing, St. Francis never said it. And certainly our lives should speak our values, but I believe words are necessary for people to know why. Francis devoted his life to preaching with words, John the Baptist pointed way to Jesus with words. Speaking the gospel with words doesn’t require any theology or argument – it’s simply sharing how your own story has transformed you, telling your own story.

The third step in evangelism is to Invite – as Jesus said to the disciples seeking ultimate meaning – just come and see – come and spend some time, come and experience what it means to be in presence of God, come and let God’s love seep into you from a community devoted to sharing God’s love. And as Andrew went and found his brother Simon and invited him along to share the experience with him – changing the world as Simon became Peter, the rock on whom Jesus built his church – We can’t change people, it’s God who changes people and fills the empty places in their souls – but we can invite people to discover what’s changed us.

Queen Esther saved the Jews? Well, maybe. That’s a pretty exciting adventure story if you read it in the Bible. But more exciting is this: Jesus loves us. Jesus saves us. Jesus wants to abide with us, and us with him, to eternal life. That’s good news.

Sermon for 1.8.17

Scriptures for today are here.

obrotherWhy was Jesus baptized, and what does his baptism mean for us as baptized people? One of the all time great baptism scenes in movies shows us one particular theology and idea about what baptism means: O Brother, Where Art Thou. The three escaped convicts, led by George Clooney, are walking through the woods when suddenly mysterious figures, adressed in white, begin to appear. They are singing a classic gospel song and walking down to the river. The convict Delmer says, “Appears to be some kind of a congregation.” They watch as one after another of the white-robed owiokw walks into the river and gets dunked by the pastor. Delmar gets inspired. He goes running down into the water, pushes his way to the front, and in his dirty brown clothes, gets dunked. As he comes up out of the water, he shouts out, “Well, that’s it, boys, I been redeemed. The preacher done washed away all my sins and transgressions. It’s the straight and narrow from here on out, and heaven everlasting’s my reward.” George Clooney says, “Delmar, what are you talking about? We got bigger fish to fry!” Delmar says, “The preacher said all my sins been washed away, including that Piggly Wiggly I knocked over in Yazoo.” George Clooney says, “I thought you said you was innocent of those charges.” Delmar says, “Well, I was lying and the preacher said that that sin’s been washed away too! Neither God nor man’s got nothing on me now. Come on in, boys, the water is fine.”

This classic scene, comical as it is, shows us one understanding of baptism: it’s the washing away of sins, our assurance of forgiveness and heaven everlasting. And if you read about John the Baptist, it seems pretty clear that he agrees that that’s what baptism is all about. Matthew tells us that John appeared in the wilderness, preaching one important message: Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near. He knows that God is doing something new; he seems to echo the prophet Isaiah in the Old Testament reading today: See, the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare. In preparation for the newly arriving kingdom of heaven that he knows is near, he cautions everyone to repent and be cleansed of their sins, adapting a Jewish cleansing ritual that is used for many different purposes.

His message is tremendously popular, and people flock to him from all the towns – but when he sees Pharisees and Saduccees among them – that is, powerful people aligned with the Temple, he shouts out, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.” He has no respect for the Temple and its monopoly on the whole mechanism of forgiveness – animal sacrifices that allow a person to be forgiven and restored. We’re not sure why he has no respect for the Temple and thinks people associated with it are snakes – especially because his own father is a priest – but he presents the people with a new, more direct way to be forgiven – simply come to the Jordan River, confess their sins, and be cleansed and forgiven and restored to new life.

The problem happens when in the midst of all the people lined up for baptism, John sees his cousin Jesus. Now apparently John knows perfectly well that Jesus doesn’t need to be forgiven of his sins – either he’s known Jesus’ identity since birth, since Luke tells us they were cousins, or he simply recognizes who Jesus is the second he looks into his face. A baptism for forgiveness doesn’t apply to Jesus – so why does he do it? Jesus says it is necessary to “fulfill all righteousness” – fulfill being a favorite word of Matthew’s – in Matthew’s view, Jesus has fulfilled the law and the prophets, he is the culmination of everything that has come before in Israel. And we see how he fulfills all righteousness as he comes up out of the water, sees the Holy Spirit descending on him like a dove, and hears an affirmation of his identity: This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.

As Christians, we believe that Jesus was always God’s Beloved only-begotten Son – this isn’t the moment when he becomes the Son of God. Yet it seems that growing up as a human, he might not always have known it – Jesus had to learn gradually who he was, by prayer and studying Scripture and worshiping in the ways of the Jewish people – and that this moment of baptism may be the crowning moment of a lifetime of learning – the moment when he truly hears and understands his identity. And it’s a crucial moment. Because Matthew tells us this is the beginning of Jesus’ earthly ministry. If he lived a quiet life as a carpenter in Nazareth before, his baptism changes everything. Beginning with what happens directly afterwards: the Spirit leads him into the wilderness to have that sense of identity tested and tempted, as the devil says to him: IF you are the Son of God, command these stones become bread. And it’s a question he will face also at his trial, as the high priest questions whether he believes he is the Son of God, and he refuses to answer. And again on the cross, as passers-by taunt him, saying, if you are the Son of God, come down from the cross. And it is only at his death that the centurion in charge of his execution finally recognizes the truth Jesus had known ever since this moment when he emerges from the waters of the Jordan River: Truly this man was God’s Son.

This sense of identity and belovedness as God’s Son is crucial to everything Jesus does throughout his ministry. It is the basis for his ministry as Messiah. And so for Jesus, his baptism is not about forgiveness of sins and cleansing for new life: instead, it’s about identity, affirmation, belovedness, commissioning for ministry.

So back to the question I started with: why was Jesus baptized, and what does that mean for us as baptized people? For us, baptism is about forgiveness of sins and reconciliation with God – but it’s about much more than that too. For us, baptism is our adoption into the family of Christ – our recognition that God loves us so deeply and so completely that God will never let us go. Delmar and the boys in O Brother Where Art Thou might have believed that baptism was primarily about forgiveness of sins, and been comforted by that. But for many of us, baptism can, should bring a profound sense of comfort in our own belovedness, our own adoption, our own identity as children of God. It’s said that Protestant Reformer Martin Luther, in his darkest days of rejection by the church, used to go around saying, “I am baptized.” – reminding himself that no matter what went wrong, he would always be beloved.

For us, we may not be imprisoned in castle, at risk of being burned at the stake for heresy. Yet we live in a world that constantly calls our identity as God’s Beloved into question in profound ways. From the first time we were picked last for the Dodgeball team in PE, to the first time we were bullied on the school bus, to the first time we struggled through Math class, to the time we didn’t have a date for Homecoming, to every time our parents reflected imperfectly God’s love for us: we hear the message in our society that we are not good enough, not worthy of being beloved. In Anne Lamott’s book, Operating Instructions, she tells how her friend, Father Tom, lists the 5 rules of our society:

  • #1. You must not have anything wrong with you or different about you.
  • #2. If you do have something wrong or different about you, just get over it as soon as possible.
  • #3. If you can’t get over it, you must pretend that you have.
  • #4. If you can’t pretend, you shouldn’t show up at all.
  • #5. If you are going to show up, if you insist on it, at least have the decency to feel ashamed of yourself.

We internalize these messages, we begin to feel that we are not worthy, we think maybe we would be worthy if we were a little bit better, a little bit smarter, fit in a little bit better to the expectations of people around us, and our own expectations of ourselves. We have setbacks in life and assume it’s God telling us we’ve messed up. Sometimes this personal feeling of unworthiness turns into attacks on others – I might be unworthy, but look at that guy over there who is so much more awful. We make ourselves feel better by making others feel worse.

When the fact is, none of that is necessary. We are Beloved. Our God has said so. There is no question about it. We are worthy because we are Beloved. No exceptions. As Richard Rohr says in his book, The Immortal Diamond: “Life is not a matter of creating a special name for ourselves, but of uncovering the name we have always had. Our name has always been Beloved.” We have always been beloved, and our baptism, like Jesus’ is an affirmation of that fact. Nothing can ever change our belovedness; as Paul says in his letter to the Romans: Nothing can ever separate us from love of God. We are God’s children.

And so for us, as for Jesus, baptism is our assurance that God loves us, recognizes us as God’s children, and nothing – no sin, no error, no unworthiness – can ever change that fact. And for us, as for Jesus, our baptism is also a commissioning for ministry. Resting in the assurance of our belovedness, we can then move through this world, sharing that belovedness with others. In our families, in our workplaces, in our schools, we can recognize that we are beloved – and so is everyone else we meet. The person we meet might be different from us, but they are God’s beloved too. And when, in our Baptismal Covenant, we promise to “seek and serve Christ in all persons,” and “respect the dignity of every human being,” we are recognizing their belovedness, and sharing our own belovedness with them – the belovedness we were assured of in our baptism. As Delmar says – Come on in, boys, the water’s fine.

Sermon for All Saints 2016

Scriptures for today are Here.

Earlier this year, I decided to take up a new hobby: knitting. Now, I have never been a crafty person. But I came to a point where I felt that I was spending all my time with words – reading, writing, talking, praying, preaching, teaching. So I decided to learn to do something that engaged a whole other part of my brain. I took a class, I bought some yarn, I started learning. And as it stands now, my family has been deluged with knitted scarves and hats – I mean, we live in Phoenix, but maybe they’ll wear them someday! But I get great satisfaction out of watching something tangible and beautiful take shape before my eyes, something my own hands have made.

What we all know about material that is knitted together is that all the parts are connected – if you press over here, the cloth over there will be affected. What I didn’t realize until I started knitting things myself is that a knitted thing is really just one long, patterned sequence of slip knots – every stitch is connected to the one above it, below it, to the left, to the right – every stitch is connected to every other stitch, so that if one unravels, the whole thing falls apart. Something that is knitted together is composed of many vulnerable, individual bits, that all together become strong, warm, beautiful, useful. Because the whole is much stronger than the sum of the tiny parts.

I don’t know whether the person who wrote our collect for All Saints – the prayer that we said at the beginning of the service – was a knitter or not, but now that I’m a knitter the collect is much more meaningful to me this year than it has been before. It begins, Almighty God, you have knit together your elect in one communion and fellowship in the mystical body of your Son Christ our Lord. In Jesus, we are knitted together into one whole cloth – Jesus is the thread that binds us together, we are the stitches that stay strong as long as connected. The cloth of the church of Jesus is an interconnected network of people and churches, saints and sinners, that stretches back through the ages and forward to eternity, and every part of that cloth is dependent on every other. If you touch one part, the whole is affected; if one bit falls apart, the whole cloth begins to unravel – we are dependent on each other and on Jesus, the one who knit us together into one Body, the communion of saints.

Today in the church we celebrate All Saints’ Day – the day that celebrates the fact that we are bound together with every Christian in this church, and every Christian who has ever lived, in an unbreakable cloth knitted together by the love of Christ. During the week of All Saints, we remember three kinds of saints. We remember great heroes of the faith like Francis of Assisi, people who were leaders and martyrs and examples for all time of how Jesus asked us to live. We also remember all those who have died in faith, who are now in the arms of God’s mercy, and we rejoice for that mercy which is our destiny also. All Souls’ Day, Nov. 2, is the day when we pray for all the dead and give thanks for the love they have given us, which will always bind us together with them. And third: we remember that all of us are saints – every single one. If we are baptized (like Beckett Moyer will be in a few minutes), we too have been knitted into the communion of saints; we are holy and sacred members of Jesus’ family, and the Bible calls us saints.

But sainthood can be confusing, especially if we think that a saint is someone who lives a perfect life. And especially when we look at today’s gospel as an example of the perfect life of a saint – Luke’s version of the Beatitudes. Matthew’s gospel is much softer and more accessible for a lot of people. But in Luke’s gospel, the Beatitudes are hugely challenging: Jesus says “Blessed are the poor,” and “Blessed are the hungry,” and drives the point home with “Woe to you who are rich” and “Woe to you who are full now.” Given that most people in this country enjoy a standard of living far higher than most people in the rest of the world – this is very challenging stuff. If we are rich by the standards of the world & world history – and middle-class Americans surely are – then should we give up on being saints, resign ourselves to eternal perdition?

Well, no – we misunderstand Jesus if we think that in this gospel he is laying down the rules we have to follow to get into heaven – God’s grace does this for us. It’s already been done. What Jesus is doing is way more radical than that: he is calling each one of us who are baptized children of God, otherwise known as saints – to join him in his quest to live out the kingdom of God right here on earth. To live as saints right here and now. I firmly believe that God has a special calling for each one of us, a special way he asks us to live out our sainthood right here in this life.

You know the old saying: if you were arrested and put on trial on charges of being a Christian – would there be enough evidence to convict you? Jesus wants us to live our lives to show evidence of our sainthood every day. And yet, in the world we live in, that is exceedingly hard to do. We live in a world that values possessions, money, success, achievement, more than almost anything else – certainly more than sainthood and connection to God. We live in a world where people brag about how busy they are, and where our busy-ness consumes our lives so that we fall into bed exhausted each night with no time even to think about God or about how God might be calling us. We live in a world that feels more anxious and fearful by the day – as the divisive election season we are in surely demonstrates, to people on all sides of the political spectrum.

I think it’s to people like us that Jesus is talking today. He is saying, why are we filling ourselves w worries that take all our time, energy, and attention? And forgetting that it is God who truly can fill us up with the joy of heaven? St. Augustine said: “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless till they find their home in you.” Someone else said it more simply: We have a God-shaped hole in our hearts. We try all kinds of things to fill that empty hole – possessions, busyness, worry, politics. But ultimately, only God can fill that hole.

And this gospel today – blessed are the poor, woe to those who are rich? I think it’s telling us that God’s kingdom is an upside-down world, where wealth, power, satisfaction, achievement can be misfortunes that separate us from God by encouraging us to believe that our own efforts are enough to get us whatever we want, without regard for others around us. And it’s telling us that good fortune instead comes in the shape of self-emptying that reminds us that true blessing comes from God alone. Good fortune – blessing – comes in recognizing that no matter how wealthy and powerful we are, being knit together with every other believer means that we are part of them and they are part of us. We are called to care for each other – rich or poor, black or white, and yes, Republican or Democrat.

Which means that Christian sainthood recognizes that we are knitted together into a colorful, interconnected whole, the Body of Christ that calls us to rank the welfare of our neighbor just as highly as we rank our own good fortune. To devote our time, money, resources to the well-being of others, and to God’s mission. To do the hard work – the really hard work – of loving our enemies, praying for those who abuse us, doing only good to those who do bad things to us. To participate in our work, our families, our communities – as if everything we do affects the common bonds of our life as an interconnected, knitted-together whole, as if every action we take affects every other part of the colorful cloth that Jesus has knitted together.

And in a time of a divisive election, I do think that Christians have a special vocation. I can’t tell you how to vote on Tuesday – knowing that faithful Christians can come to different conclusions on that. But part of our calling as Christians is to pray for our divided country. So Nativity’s sanctuary will be open all day Tuesday for prayer, and Wayne and I are offering prayer services at noon and 5:30.

Our calling as Christians is to care for those around us, whether we agree with them or not, and to respect and learn from those with whom we disagree. To work, on the day after the election, for reconciliation in this divided country, so that we can come together to confront the problems that face us. To build up each part of the Body of Christ so that no part is weaker or more stressed than any other, but so that all of us support each other. Because we are saints of God, baptized in Christ Jesus into the promise of everlasting life, and God has knit us together into a colorful, beautiful, interconnected, interdependent, cloth, which is the Body of Christ.

Sermon for 10.16.16

Scriptures for today are Here.

Bob Dylan won the Nobel Prize for literature this week – a surprise, unconventional win. Hearing about his win reminded me of a cell phone I had years ago, back when they first let you choose a song for your ringtone instead of just a ringing sound. On my phone, there were about 10 songs to choose from, and being a priest, I thought it was funny to choose Dylan’s song, “Knock, Knock, Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.” To be honest, like a lot of Dylan songs, I actually have no idea what that song is about. But what it reminded me of was one of my ordination vows – all Episcopal priests take a vow to “persevere in prayer.” And that song has always reminded me of the poor widow in this parable in today’s gospel, banging on the door of the unjust judge, demanding justice till she got it. When I vowed to persevere in prayer, I believed that’s what I was vowing to do – to bang on God’s door without relenting, praying without ceasing, asking and demanding and challenging God to bring justice and healing to this world.

But I’m not sure about that any more. Because there are some odd things about this parable, and for me it takes some work to understand it. Here is an unjust judge, who neither fears God nor respects anyone else. Lacking love of God and love of neighbor, which Jesus says are the two great commandments all of us should follow, the natural result plays out in his treatment of others and his abuse of power in this world. This judge has no interest in granting justice. He’s in it for himself. He doesn’t care about whatever request the widow is bringing before him.

Which is a real problem in the Bible, because all through the Bible, both Old & New Testaments, but especially in the gospel of Luke – widows are code for the poorest of the poor, the most vulnerable and the most defenseless people there are. And therefore, for the Bible, widows and the other two classes of people often named alongside them – orphans and aliens – are the most to be protected, the most to be helped and supported. Because in the upside-down land of the Kingdom of God, those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted. The Bible says so over and over.

Another thing to understand is what “justice” means in the Bible – not what we often mean, which is punishing the guilty – but something more like fairness, like building a world where everyone can live with abundance and no one is poor or oppressed or lives without respect or regard for their needs. That’s what Jesus describes when he talks about the Kingdom of God – a world of perfect justice. Jesus’ message seems to be clear – for this poor widow demanding justice, it is her persistence that gets her case finally heard. The judge says, in our English translation that we heard today, “Because this woman keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice.” Literally, in Greek, she’s not just bothering him, she’s giving him a black eye – hurting him personally and professionally, ruining his reputation, embarrassing him in front of others. So to protect himself, he finally gives in to her demands.

So – Is this how we’re supposed to act toward God? Is God an unjust judge who can’t be bothered to listen to us unless we get so embarrassing that God finally has to send us away? Is God like an inattentive parent who finally gives the kid a cookie just to make him be quiet?

Well, no – the argument isn’t that God is like that – the argument Jesus makes here is, if the unjust judge could finally grant justice, how much MORE would God, who is NOT an unjust judge, grant justice to God’s children, whom he loves and cares about? If we read this parable as an analogy, then God is the just judge who will listen to all the unfortunate widows who come before him demanding justice. Our persistence in prayer will mean that God will listen to us.

Well, but immediately some problems present themselves. Doesn’t God already know about whatever problem we’re bringing before him? Isn’t God motivated to love and grant justice to God’s beloved children, with or without our persistence? Is prayer some sort of test, where if you do it enough, you ace the quiz and get an A?

And furthermore, no matter how much we pray, isn’t there an incredible amount of suffering and injustice in the world that hasn’t yet been relieved? Isn’t God supposed to care about every sparrow and every grain of sand (another Dylan song, but Dylan is quoting the Bible)? What’s God up to, up there? Why isn’t God listening to all our prayers? And what does prayer accomplish, anyway?

I was listening to an interesting interview on NPR the other day that helped me. (Unfortunately I didn’t catch the name of the interviewee, so I can’t give proper credit.) The interviewee was a psychologist, a family counselor, who said that during this election season, he has seen a noticeable increase in unhealthy, hateful, angry, immature behavior between married couples. The interviewer said, you mean when couples disagree on the election? The psychologist said no, they may be in absolute agreement on the election and the candidates – and it makes no difference which candidate they’re supporting. The problem is that this election has made a lot of people angry at whichever candidate they’re not voting for, or some issue, or some group of people, and so people on both sides of the election are carrying around a low level of anger.

In the same way, if something happens at work that makes you angry, or on the way home someone cuts you off in traffic and you’re still on edge about it when you get home, you are more likely to snap at the kids, or the dog. He says the same thing happens if you’re driving, and either you hear some news on the radio that gets you riled up, or you are listening to a song you love and you start singing along at the top of your voice. Then suddenly you look down and realize you’re going 15 mph faster than you should, or you find you’re tailgating the car in front of you. That’s because the excitement of the song or bad news or whatever got your heart beating faster and your muscles tensed up, and it moved you from adult brain into your emotional brain. And when you are in your emotional brain, you react to things emotionally, you lose some of your adult judgment, you start tailgating or you snap at the kids or you have blaming, angry, emotional arguments with your spouse. He says that low level of anger many people are carrying around has caused them unconsciously to lash out at people around them in immature ways.

The interviewer asked, how do you correct this if you realize it’s happening to you? The psychologist said, you have to consciously move yourself from your emotional brain into your adult brain. Your adult brain is where you act in mature ways. Where you control your emotions, where you keep your anger where it belongs and don’t direct it at your spouse and kids, where you move into the area of nuanced understanding and mature judgment and values. So how do you lift yourself into your adult brain? He says you do it by thinking about your values, by making plans, by thinking about things in complex ways, by asking yourself, this thing I’m angry about, what can I do personally to make this better?

Which brings me back to prayer. That, I think, is exactly what prayer does for us. Prayer lifts us away from our emotional brains into the realm of values, of nuanced judgments, of caring about our neighbors and loving God – the exact things the unjust judge was unable to do. Prayer connects us with something greater than ourselves; prayer requires us to think about what God wants from us and not just what we want from God. Prayer reminds us of God’s demands for justice and compassion.

Prayer changes us. As Kathleen Norris writes in her book Amazing Grace, “…prayer is not asking for what you think you want but asking to be changed in ways you cannot imagine. To be made more grateful, more able to see the good in what you have been given instead of always grieving for what might have been.” Or, as Frederick Buechner said years ago, persistence in prayer is a key, “not because you have to beat a path to God’s door before [God will] open it, but because until you beat the path, maybe there’s no way of [God] getting to your door.”

Which is maybe reversal of everything we think about prayer: maybe prayer is not a matter of us knock, knock, knocking on God’s door – maybe prayer is a matter of opening the door to the God who is always knock, knock, knocking at our door. Maybe God is the one banging on our doors, demanding to be allowed in.

Maybe God is actually the poor widow coming to us continually, demanding justice. It’s not out of reach to believe it. We do tend to automatically put God in the “powerful” slot in these parables, and read them allegorically so that we think God must be the judge. But remember that God is the one who came to us in Jesus, a poor peasant in an insignificant country who was incredibly vulnerable to the unjust powers of this world from the day he was born, who was ultimately given a humiliating and painful slave’s death on a cross.

So maybe this parable means the opposite of what we think it means – maybe God is the poor widow and we’re the unjust judge, and God is banging at the door of this unjust world and asking us to take action to help the poor, the vulnerable, the oppressed, those without power.

Years ago, I remember seeing a cartoon: a man is praying to God about the world’s suffering, begging God to do something, saying, God, why haven’t you acted? God replies, that’s funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing.

So maybe we should read this parable in both ways. Yes, we should pray because God will hear. And yes, Jesus is telling us to persevere in prayer because that is what opens our minds and hearts to God’s action in our lives. Prayer is what takes us into the higher parts of our brains and our hearts, taking away our fear and anger, our tendency to lash out at those we love when we’re upset, helping us live with calm and compassion and love. As we pray, as we continually open our hearts to our God, we open a pathway for God to come to us: Knock, knock, knocking at our doors, asking us for justice, and giving us strength not only to love our neighbors, but to bring justice to this world, so that we and all our neighbors can live with abundance.

Putting our Trust in God, Not Money

The Acts 8 Movement is asking this week: How has financial giving affected your spiritual life?

Well – I want to share with you a small miracle story. It may not sound like a miracle to you, but it changed my life and my husband’s, and showed us the power of trusting in God.

Before I was a priest, I worked for ten years as a CPA. Tom was also a financial professional – an actuary. Between the two of us, we had loads of financial savvy, and as rising young professionals, we had a nice house in the suburbs of Houston, two very young children, and bright futures ahead of us. What we didn’t have was much in the way of churchiness. We’d had our children baptized, we drifted into a church in Houston from time to time, but you couldn’t call us committed Christians. We certainly didn’t give any money to the church – we figured that was a job for the older, richer people in the congregation.

All that changed when we moved to Arizona. My husband was offered a transfer for no additional salary, but a good upside potential, so I quit my well-paying CPA job, decided to stay home with the kids for a couple of years, and we settled in for life in somewhat reduced circumstances. We bought a house in Arizona and put our house in Houston up for sale.

What we didn’t anticipate was that the Houston house would take so long to sell. We loved our house and assumed everyone else would, too. But apparently they didn’t. The house sat, and sat, and sat. In the meantime, we were living on one salary, making two house payments, and watching our savings dwindle away to nothing.

But in Arizona we joined a church. Not because we got any more religious when we crossed the state line, but because I figured after leaving all our family and friends behind, the church was where I would be able to meet some people. You know, if you show up there, they have to let you in. And we did meet people – a wonderful group of families our age who became like family to us. Because they were involved in the church, we got involved in the church – which led us to God, and eventually led me to become a priest, but that’s another story.

This story is about financial giving. And the thing was, this church that we loved was doing a big capital campaign. But we couldn’t give a dime, to that or to the regular operating fund, because we were strained to the breaking point and watching our savings dwindle away. The leaders would do appeals, and we would just shake our heads sadly, because we just couldn’t afford to give, not with first one offer on the Houston house falling through, and then another, while our bank balance melted away toward zero.

One day, as we heard another appeal in church, Tom and I looked at each other, and said in unison, “It’s time.” We got out the checkbook and wrote a check to the church from our savings account, equal to one house payment on the Houston house. We were one month closer to zero on that savings account.

There was a church picnic that day, so we didn’t get home till about 2:00. In those quaint old days before cell phones, as we walked into the house, trailing our hot, tired children, the phone was ringing. It was an offer on the Houston house. It was a better offer than either of the others, and this one stuck – the house sold, and we were able to get back on our feet.

That may not seem like a miracle story to you, but it did to us. Because we were savvy financial professionals, and we knew it made no sense to contribute money to the church when we were struggling financially. We knew that our job was to conserve our cash, and save for our children’s education, and put away something for retirement – not foolishly give to God’s mission in this church that had come to mean so much to us.

Giving to the church would make no sense. But we did it anyway. And we were blessed. I know this story might sound like “prosperity gospel” theology, where contributing money to the church gives you even more money in return. And I don’t by any means think that happens to everyone, nor do I think that God’s rewards usually come in the form of riches.

But the thing is, for us, sitting there in church, we heard the voice of God at the same time, calling us to do this absurd thing. And God showed us that he was there, blessing us right through it. In fact, in writing that check, we made the decision that our money was not going to be our savior. Against all our training, against all our professional backgrounds, against common sense, we determined that we would put our trust in God instead. And we’ve never looked back.

Every year since then, we’ve increased our giving. Every year, we’ve given out of prayer and thanksgiving and faith in the God who has given us everything we have. Every year, we have found our giving to be joyful. Every year, we have had more than enough to meet our own needs, and make generous gifts outside the church as well. Every year, we have put our trust in God just a bit more.

You see, in our rational, capitalistic world, we Americans are trained to think that our achievements bring us money, and our money will save us. In my Christian faith, I’ve found the opposite. Christ will save us, and it’s our willingness to accept his love that brings us wholeness, and faith, and salvation, and the joy of giving for the sake of Christ’s mission in this world.

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Sermon for 9.4.16

Scriptures for today are Here.

I believe it was the great preacher and Episcopal priest Barbara Brown Taylor who said, “After reading a great deal about Jesus, I have come to the conclusion that he would not have made a very good parish priest.”

After all, it’s my job to convince you how great it is to be part of this church and part of the Christian faith – we’re warm and friendly! We have great music! Our Sunday school programs are terrific! You’ll love it! You’ll benefit from being a part of it! Whereas if today’s gospel is any indication, Jesus apparently made strong efforts to scare as many people as possible away. Today, he’s not talking about the benefits of discipleship, but about the costs.

Of course, the benefits of being a disciple are eternal and infinite – elsewhere Jesus says things like “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” And, “God so loved the world that he gave his only son, so that all who believe in him should not perish, but have eternal life.” In Christ, we have conquered death and we have the promise of life eternal.

But what’s this all about in the gospel today? I mean – hate your father and mother? Go around carrying a cross – which would not be at all metaphorical for the people listening to Jesus – it was an instrument of torture and execution? Give away all your possessions? Raise your hand if you’ve done all 3 of those things! No? Me neither! Somehow this Christianity stuff suddenly doesn’t look very attractive.

So what’s going on here? Well, first of all, this gospel certainly points to the danger of proof-texting: that is, taking one verse or one passage of the Bible, quoting it to other people, and treating it as an immutable and eternal rule for life. People love to do that, either to bludgeon other people who they believe aren’t following the right rules, or to argue that Christian faith is crazy. Jesus says hate your father and mother! Sorry kids, that’s the rule!

The fact is, you can’t understand a passage of the Bible out of context – you need to look at the whole body of Scripture to be able to understand what it’s saying. Jesus said plenty of things to contradict these sayings today – he said, for instance, that the gospel is all about love – Christians aren’t supposed to treat other people with hatred.

To understand what he’s talking about, you need to understand something about the language he is using and something about the context of this story. So first of all, the language – Jesus spoke in Aramaic, a Semitic dialect similar to Hebrew, but the gospel writers wrote it down in Greek, and we have it translated into English. All of these translations involve making decisions about what words to use, words that might not carry the same ideas in the different languages and cultures you’re dealing with. In Aramaic, when Jesus talks about hating father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, even life itself – he is setting up a contrast with what he wants us to understand is most important – being his disciple. He is saying you need to love all these people and things – because the gospel is all about love – he has said that plenty of times – but love them less than him.

Our lives are intended to be oriented completely toward the God of love. When they are oriented toward the God of love, as our first priority, the love we give to other people naturally flows out of the love we share with God. Loving God comes first – all the other loves in our lives come second.

Second – this passage shows us Jesus talking about the costs of discipleship. He wants his followers to understand that the grace of God comes to us free, but not cheap. In the words of Lutheran theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who gave his life to oppose the Nazi regime, there’s no such thing as “cheap grace.” He said, “Cheap grace is the grace we bestow on ourselves. Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness wo…repentance, baptism without church discipline, Communion without confession…Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate.”

Too often in the modern world, he believed, we accept the benefits of grace without thinking about the costs. The benefits are easy to see: a loving church community, healing, comfort, prayer, even social acceptance – eternal life, for God’s sake – but Bonhoeffer didn’t always see the grace of God changing people, making them anew.

If we’re honest about it, we are sometimes not all that different – we think a lot about the benefits of Christianity – a meaningful fellowship, eternal life. But it’s a bit harder to think about what that commitment might cost. Yes, the grace of God comes to us merely for the asking – we are saved by God’s grace before we ever earned it or deserved it – God gives us forgiveness we don’t deserve and eternal life we could never earn. But Jesus asks for commitment as our response to him – full-time commitment.

That’s because he’s on his way to Jerusalem, where he will pick up his cross and carry it to his own place of death, and give his life so we can live. The closer he gets to Jerusalem, the more crowds gather around and follow along. They’re watching a spectacle like they’ve never seen before – people being healed from lifelong illnesses by his touch, people being fed by the thousands. As he marches toward Jerusalem, people are saying he’s the Messiah. Many of them probably think he’s going to Jerusalem to start a rebellion against the Romans, many of them hope for advancement and high positions in the new kingdom they think he’s going to set up. The disciples are actually arguing on the way about who will have the most power in his kingdom.

And in the middle of this circus, here is Jesus, knowing they have it all wrong. They’re talking about the benefits – he wants them to understand the cost. He knows that he is going to suffer, and he knows that many of them will too. And he is probably exasperated with the thrill-seeking crowds who act like they’re watching a three-ring circus. He wants them to come down off the bleachers and join in the action themselves. The cost will be different for each of them, Jesus says – but if they truly want to be his disciples, being a disciple has to be the most important thing in their lives. More important than family obligations, which were everything in that world. More important than possessions– the pursuit of wealth and advancement that we spend so much time on has to mean nothing compared to following Jesus. More important than life itself – for some of his followers, they literally will give their lives for their faith; for others, they will simply dedicate their lives to spreading the good news of Jesus and doing his ministry. For every single one, picking up their cross and carrying it will mean figuring out how to commit themselves deeply and completely to God’s kingdom.

And what does that mean for us? I think it means that for each one of us, we need to ask what carrying the cross is going to mean in our lives. What does the cross mean? Eternal life, the love of God brought to earth, freedom? How does that change us?

Following Jesus, if we do it right, should make big difference in how we live and act. What that difference is, each one of us is going to have to figure out. We’re going to live that commitment out in every single decision we make every single day. The author Annie Dillard said, “How we spend our days is how we spend our lives.” The accumulation of a lifetime of decisions becomes the meaning of our life. What’s clear is that a true commitment to the cross and to becoming a disciple of Jesus will affect everything about how we live and work and make decisions and own property and care for the world around us.

For an example of the changes Jesus brings, look at our New Testament lesson – Paul’s letter to Philemon. What’s going on here? We have an entire letter from Paul to his friend Philemon, a Christian Paul is writing to from prison. Philemon is a wealthy property owner and he owns a slave named Onesimus. Strictly speaking, Onesimus isn’t a name, but a label – it means “useful.” But Onesimus is useless to Philemon right now, because he has run away from his owner and come to Paul. With Paul, he has become a Christian and like a son to Paul – and to Paul, he is very useful. Paul sends him back to Philemon with this letter begging Philemon to do the right thing. Either free Onesimus, or welcome him back as a brother instead of a slave, or send him back to Paul. It’s not clear exactly what Paul hopes will happen – but Paul wants Philemon, based on his newfound Christianity, to understand that the old categories of master and slave don’t apply any more. Onesimus is to be loved as a brother – which is what he is.

In other words, no matter what decision Philemon makes, his Christian faith has changed his life – has changed his treatment of what he would consider his property, has changed the ordinary decisions he makes as a citizen, has changed his relationships with the people around him. If followed through to natural conclusion of freeing not just Onesimus but all his slaves, his commitment to Jesus will change the very way he lives and does business.

Those same questions apply to us too. Following Jesus changes everything. It changes the decisions we make. It changes how we do business. It changes how we treat other people. It might require us, like Philemon, to look at other people we think of as lower class, different, not as deserving as we are, realizing they are brothers and sisters. It might require changes in how we use our possessions, how we live our commitment to love. Because if we are Christians, we are citizens of God’s kingdom first – citizens of every other kingdom and commitment second. Christian faith is not a Sunday commitment. It’s a full-time commitment to carry that cross all the time, to let it change our lives and our selves.

So for each of us, if we’re going to make a commitment to Jesus, we need to ask: What is that cross we need to pick up? What is that change we need to make? We need to look at what we say – are we building people up or tearing down? We need to look at how we do our work – are we operating with love and integrity, or are we thinking about gain and self-advancement? We need to look at how we love – because love is the meaning of the cross, and Jesus says, pick up your cross and follow me.

The costs are real, but the benefits are immeasurable – through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Sermon for 6.19.16

Scriptures for today are Here

Today is Father’s Day, when we give thanks for the gift of fatherhood in all its forms. I’ve been blessed with two terrific fathers in my life: my own father and my husband, father of my children, and it’s one of the great joys of life to have watched these two wonderful men in action, and benefited from their love.

On Father’s Day we can remember that Jesus prayed to God as “Father.” Not because God is male in any way – Bible says God created human beings in God’s image, both male and female – God transcends gender categories. But because God as Father is a symbol, a way of describing God’s love for this world. And the family relationship we all establish with God at our baptism makes us all beloved, all one in the family of Jesus Christ. The symbolic Fatherhood of God gives us an example of the loving care we are called as Christians to offer in this world to make this world a stronger, better place.

But the world is not always a loving, caring, good place to be, is it? Our gospel today gives us one example of how we humans treat each other. Jesus and his disciples sail across the Sea of Galilee to the country of the Gerasenes, that is, non-Jewish people, Gentiles, outsiders. They get out of the boat in a foreign country on the other side of the sea. And they’re met by this wild man with no clothes, possessed by an unclean spirit or a “demon” – which is a category we modern people often don’t understand. The idea of demon possession indicates that the person’s behavior is not his natural way of being. Some outside force has caused him to be not himself, in a way that surrounds the person with evil, makes his life unbearable.

Whatever possessed the man, we would probably diagnose it as some sort of mental illness today; they diagnosed it as a spiritual illness back then – either way, it’s something that’s not his fault and he can’t control it. We can’t really say what exactly it was, but what we see in the gospel is that the people of his town absolutely don’t know what to do with him. We can imagine that they’ve focused a lot of time and attention on him because his behavior has been so troubling – we can imagine that his status at any given time has been talk of the town, that huge energy has gone into controlling him. They’ve tried chaining him up (an unhealthy and unloving response to a terrible situation), he breaks all the chains – he’s gone to live among the tombs, wearing no clothes. If he’s not actually dead, he’s dead to them. They’ve written him off as the ultimate outsider.

And from the point of view of these good Jewish disciples just arriving on a boat from across the sea, he’s unclean in every possible way –if they associate with him, they will be unclean too. He is unclean because he is a Gentile, he is unclean because he is possessed by an unclean spirit, he is unclean because he is living among the dead, he is unclean because he is living near a herd of pigs. He has been driven out of town by his own people, excluded and uncared for. He is an outsider among outsiders, a horrifying person for the disciples to meet.

The evil that surrounds him is not only his demon possession, but also the reaction of his family and friends to chain him, exclude him, drive him out. They have truly demonized him, and in a lot of ways you can’t blame them. They’re at their wits’ end, they have no idea what to do with this man.

But Jesus changes all that – he drives out the unclean spirit, whatever that is, he brings healing to the man, restores him to his right mind and his proper place. And the people of the town are terrified and ask Jesus to leave – not because of the loss of a valuable herd of pigs – but because Jesus has come in and upset their whole society. He has set a man free from his chains, he has made it necessary for the town to welcome back the outsider as one of them. They have to think up a whole new way to live with him now. Jesus has brought healing, but he has also brought crisis. Jesus has required not just this man, but the whole town, to reconcile and begin a new way of life.

Which is what Jesus always brings: healing, restoration, reconciliation, a new way of life, as we see in our New Testament reading today: Paul’s great declaration of freedom in Christ: “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” There will be no demonizing, no outsiders, no subservience in the church of Jesus Christ.

Paul is dealing with a situation in the church in Galatia where people are pointing fingers and putting labels on each other – some people are arguing that only Jews can become Christians, others are saying that all are welcome. The argument comes down to whether the gospel depends on human categories, or whether Jesus calls us to break down barriers and welcome the outsider. Paul comes down forcefully on the side that says that all are welcome, there are no requirements except that a person be loved by God – which is all of us. He says Christ did not come to accentuate divisions that already exist between people, but to break them down.

He uses the picture of what happened at ancient Christian baptisms, when a person would come out of the water and be clothed in new white clothes: “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourself with Christ.” You are a new person, he says, you have come into a new birth, the old labels and allegiances no longer apply. Jew or Greek, he says – racial divisions don’t matter; slave or free – who wants to hold you in captivity doesn’t matter; male and female – the gender roles that society might want to construct around you don’t matter. We could add, gay or straight, black or white, Republican or Democrat. These things do not define us – what defines us is our relationship to Christ.

And that relationship is based on belovedness: we are loved. That love of Christ sets us free from all labels, free from all human divisions, free to come together with people we disagree with and work to make this world a better place, free to accept a new identity in Christ. In Christ, we are set free from the divisions of this world. In Christ, we come together as one.

Which is so very important for us to hear in this time of division and fear, isn’t it? It’s been a difficult week, here in America – if you’re like me, your heart has been broken by the news of another massacre, this time in a gay bar in Orlando. It’s not the first time a minority group has been targeted. It comes almost exactly a year after a massacre in which 9 African-Americans were killed inside their own church in Charleston, SC. We Christians grieve along with God’s children who were victims in these terrible events, and we open our hearts to the suffering of their loved ones.

But, like almost every time this happens, the country is convulsed with conflict once more about what to do to prevent such attacks in the future. This one had every kind of controversial element you could think of, it was a perfect storm of controversy: a Muslim claiming allegiance to ISIS, the victimization of gay people who are often targets in our society, the fact that most of the victims were also Latinos, a perpetrator who had abused his wife and was never prosecuted, the use of a type of semi-automatic weapon that has been controversial for years, the ongoing conflict between political parties that can’t seem to agree on anything, can’t even sit down and talk about solutions.

It’s the kind of event that can cause us to retreat into our separate political camps and all start arguing over where the blame really lies, while not taking action to prevent such crimes because we can’t agree on what to do. In the words of the Bible, we say, How long, O Lord? How long will events like this keep happening? How long will people keep hurting and dying because of the radical fringe actions of a few? How long until peace comes?

And yet at heart, there is so much we can agree on. All of us are frightened by the idea that some criminal or terrorist, possessed by a mental or spiritual illness, could take our lives, or the lives of people we love, at any time. All of us know the vulnerable, like people enjoying a night out in Orlando, or schoolchildren in Newtown, or people just going about lives in other places from Charleston to San Bernardino to Virginia Tech, should be protected so they can lead safe, happy lives.

We don’t know the solution right now, but we need to discover it together – pointing fingers at each other isn’t helping.

And what we do know is that 49 people should be waking up this morning and going about their lives, instead of dead for a week with their families collapsed in grief and planning their funerals.

What we do know is that nine people in Charleston, South Carolina, should be in church this morning.

What we do know is that 20 children and six teachers in Newtown should be spending this Father’s Day with their fathers, starting their summer vacations, with their parents worried about nothing more than how to keep their energetic spirits busy all summer.

What we do know is that 32 people at Virginia Tech should be graduating from college and thinking about how to start giving back to the world.

What we do know is that this world spends way too much time living among the tombs, surrounded by death.

When the will of God for our world is not death, but resurrection; not grief, but wholeness; not division, but reconciliation and restoration and healing and bringing people together as one.

What we know also is that Christian love and humility asks us not to demonize each other, not to drive each other out and exclude each other as not worth talking to, but to respect each other and learn from each other and act together with love and concern for the weakest and most vulnerable among us.

Because Jesus came to heal divisions, to cast out demons, to overcome evil, to defeat death, to make this world into a better place.

So that this world, instead of a place of evil and death, can grow into a place of life and health, a world that reflects the love of God, our loving Parent. Amen.