O Lord, graciously accept the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts that they may prepare us to forever rejoice in your kingdom. Amen.
Served three churches since ordination.
Fortunate all three have been very alike.
Loving, caring, accepting communities.
In that time have talked with; interviewed with many others. Some have not been like the three churches I have served.
Joan always says: please raise your hand if you are cold and heartless. Of course, no one would.
Gospel today gives us a picture of a church that is very different from our expectations:
no choir
no pipe organ
In fact the most miserable gathering to ever call itself the church.
It’s the disciples gathered after the resurrection.
Jesus has spent countless hours preparing for this moment:
wash one another’s feet
love one another as I have loved you
to trust
you are the branches I am the vine
to feed on his body and blood – the bread and the wine but look at them crouching behind closed and bolted doors; scarred; disheartened; and defensive.
No plan; no mission; no conviction; no nothing.
If we were to survey you today about what you look for in a church – doubtful we’d find answers like: no mission, doors bolted shut; cowering; frightened.
This Upper Room church of Jerusalem has nothing going for it. Nothing that is except
Except that when it gathers the Risen Christ pushed through the door; unbolted the lock and stood among them.
And maybe that’s the closest that any church gets to being church.
For there are many a time when we are no different from the disciples – cowering, frightened, timid, a lack of mission – a people who are more likely to get an “F” in the course entitled “Following Jesus”
This is why I like Thomas. Thomas is real. He knows he will need something more than hearsay to move out of this room. When Jesus appears he invites Thomas to touch him – the place his hands into the pain of the wounds, into the messiness of life and the many deaths we must die to be faithful to Jesus. Thomas is real. And this church pictured this morning is real because we too must die many deaths to be faithful to our Risen Lord.
However the trouble is that we are more comfortable behind the locked doors of “the way it used to be;” we are more comfortable behind the locked doors of anger and disappointment; we are more comfortable behind the locked doors of prejudice and unforgiveness.
But every once in while in spite of us; the Risen Lord slips through those locked doors and into our midst. And when he does he invites us to touch his woundedness and when we do we are empowered to acknowledge our woundedness – and when we do healing begins; mission begins; and the church comes alive.
We really can’t make church. It is a gift given to us by God in the Risen Christ. Christ’s presence among us is the gift we celebrate each Sunday. In spite of our behaviour Christ slips through the locked doors to give us peace and to show us his wounds so that we too can be healed. Christ slips through the locked doors to give us peace and to give us everything. Spirit. Mission. Forgiveness.
My prayer for Susan as she joins us today is that she will learn this about us. That at our worst we too can bolt the doors and cower in fear against the evil of the world. But at our best we welcome the Risen Christ in our midst and at our best we find in touching his woundedness we acknowledge our own woundedness and that at our best we move out into the world with spirit. In mission. Forgiving ourselves and others of our all too present humaness.

O Lord, graciously accept the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts that they may prepare us to forever rejoice in your kingdom. Amen.

Our mission statement as a congregation includes our commitment to “welcome, accept, nurture, and serve all people.” At the risk of casting dispersion on all of you sitting in church this morning, I argue that our mission statement resonates with the grumblings of the Pharisees and scribes this morning as they say of Jesus, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” I can still remember the intense conversations and deliberations that marked the writing of the mission statement. Some felt that we might have gone too far in saying that we welcome, accept, nurture, and serve ALL people.

The argument – and it was a reasoned argument – centered around the implication that we accept all kinds of lifestyles – many of which are contrary to our Christian faith. The conversation really wasn’t any different than the conversation recounted in the Gospel this morning. Jesus is attracting tax collectors – collaborators with the Roman government – and sinners – essentially social outcasts. The issue is that Jesus is sharing table fellowship with these people which demonstrates his willingness to welcome and accept sinners. Breaking bread together around the table was the act of full embrace and a critical matter for both Jesus and the early church. Earlier in Luke’s gospel, he draws a distinction between John the Baptizer who ate no bread and drank no wine – he had table fellowship with no one – and Jesus who ate and drank for which he earns the label “a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.”

The question, then, both in 2000 when we wrote our mission statement and today in 2007 as followers of Jesus, and the question the church has faced for over 2000 years, Are we called to welcome and accept sinners?

Consider for a moment what our Scriptures have to offer in answering this question.

Moses leaves the people in Aaron’s care for a few days as he ascends the holy mountain to meet God. As we enter the conversation, God is telling Moses to return to the people because they have “acted perversely; they have been quick to turn aside from the way” God has commanded them. God asks Moses to leave him alone so that his “wrath may burn hot against them and ... consume them.” But Moses intercedes on their behalf reminding God himself of his very nature and promises to the people. And God “changed his mind.”

Is this a picture of a God who calls us to welcome and accept sinners?

Paul prays a prayer of thanksgiving in his first letter to Timothy. He has been entrusted with the Gospel by Christ Jesus our Lord whom he met on the road to Damascus. This in spite of the fact that he was foremost of sinners – “a blasphemer, a persecutor, and a man of violence.” The grace of our Lord overflowed for him with faith and love convicting him that “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.” In mercy and patience, he has been made an example for “those who would come to believe in Christ Jesus.”

Is this a picture of a God who calls us to welcome and accept sinners?

In response the Pharisee and scribe’s accusation, Jesus tells two parables. They are essentially identical – the first about a lost sheep; the second about a lost coin. So strong is God’s love for the lost sheep that he leaves the ninety-nine in the wilderness while the lost sheep is sought out. A coin is lost and the woman lights a lamp, sweeps the house, and searches carefully until she finds it. Such profound love – seeking the lost – takes risk. Of course the sheep nor the coin seek forgiveness for being lost. What is central in these parables is the joy of finding, a joy so abundant that it calls on others to share in it. Such is the “joy in the presence of the angels of god over one sinner who repents.”

Is this a picture of a God who calls us to welcome and accept sinners?

Before we become too smug in our answer to this question, we may well caution ourselves about making broad and hasty judgements against the Pharisees. Their position reflects a warning firmly fixed in the Holy Scripture of their day – the Old Testament. In it there are numerable warnings about associating with evil persons, a warning that Paul takes full advantage of in dealing with moral issues in the Roman and Corinthian churches. They are warnings, however, that Jesus clearly challenges by his behavior.

What parent among us has not at one time or another warned our children about associating with other children who, in our opinion, might influence them in the wrong directions. It brings to mind that t-shirt that says, “We are the people your parents warned you about.”

You see it is easy enough to sit at a distance from the Gospel and cheer Jesus on as he welcomes sinners and outcasts and shares a meal with them and drinks a cup of wine around the table of fellowship. It is quite another thing to struggle to live in that matter. Who among us is without sin? Yet, we don’t live that way in word or deed apparently thinking that when we speak of sinners we are speaking of them – not us. Our conversation about our mission statement; our warnings to our kids; our spoken and unspoken gestures towards those we find different or morally compromised; our response to the church when it makes decisions too fully include those we consider notorious sinners – all of these suggest that it’s not easy to live in the place of Jesus – it never was and it will never be.

The point is, the Pharisees stand in a reasonable and long respected position; the arguments against welcoming and accepting sinners are reasonable and long respected positions. Jesus behavior, on the other hand, is radical and disturbing. The church that calls him Lord still finds it so.

O Lord, graciously accept the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts that they may prepare us to forever rejoice in your kingdom.

I was raised in a household where my parent’s golden rule went something like: Children are to be seen and not heard.” I always got the impression that the administration of the “rule” was more relaxed than in the homes in which my parents were raised. But rule it was and it was unusually harsh just when one felt they had a valuable observation to share.

Apparently my mom and dad had never read the book of the prophet Jeremiah. In his recounting of his call to prophetic ministry Jeremiah objects, “Truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy.” If my father had been there he’d been pleased with Jeremiah and would have responded something to the effect: You’re a good boy, Jeremiah. God, however, responds “Do not say, ‘I am only a boy...you shall speak whatever I command you.” Proving once and for all what I always suspected – and think is safe to say with my dad about 700 miles away – my father is not God.

Jeremiah’s call proves that when God calls us we can neither be to young nor to old. All these reports of an encounter with God whether Ezekiel, Moses, Isaiah, Gideon and others include this objection to the vocational call and then a reassurance from God. It seems from these stories that we can conclude that resistance is not linked so much to individual personalities as it is the very experience of standing in the presence of the Holy one and being called to be God’s servant. It seems to me that this story and so many others suggest that a feeling of humility and inadequacy are essential to a genuine call from God. And all of us, preacher and people alike, might do well to remember this each time we utter something in the name of God.

As my call to the priesthood unfolded I wondered why God would call this mechanical engineer – I was sure God had gotten the wrong address. Was I holy enough to be called to do God’s work? In seminary I continued to ask why as I explored God’s call. Yet I met others who were certain beyond a doubt that God had called them and that they had something to say to the church on behalf of God. It generated a crisis of sorts within me. However, I was fortunate to have wise friends and professors who both affirmed me and, with me, wondered about other’s absolute certainty. It continues today – less now than 20 years ago – but wonderment nonetheless – why would God call me into the priesthood and give me the sacred responsibility of leading you as rector and priest.

What is the meaning and the authority of the prophetic word and how is it delivered in modern day society? Is it characterized by a humility inherent in Jeremiah’s words: “Truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy?” In Christiane Amanpour’s special on CNN this week – God’s Warriors – we heard many people – Jewish, Muslim, and Christian alike – who claimed a prophetic word to their people. Yet perhaps because of the very nature of her report – looking into the extremes of all three major faiths – I didn’t get the impression I was listening to prophets. I didn’t hear God’s word spoken very much over the three nights but rather to the contrary their words seemed to contradict the very nature of God. Their words sounded hard and extreme lacking any compassion or mercy. Their words sounded hollow when compared to their actions – and it wasn’t one faith group more than another – all three groups seemed extreme, arrogant and bound by a self-righteous rigidness that will not allow them to hear the faith claims of the other.

Nothing new here: Jesus encountered these kinds of religious people all the time. He goes into the synagogue and encounters a women bound by a spirit for eighteen years. He heals her and she immediately praises God. But the leader of the synagogue – bound by a strict interpretation of Scripture – condemns the woman: “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured.” You hypocrites, Jesus shouts! You would unbind an ox or a donkey on the sabbath in order that they may drink, and you would condemn me for unbinding this woman and freeing her from Satan? The leader of the synagogue and his associates are hypocrites – they preach the word of God but they have no idea how to live the word of God – they have no idea of God’s compassionate and merciful nature because they are all bound up applying laws.

Jesus’ argument makes perfect sense – the synagogue crowd knew it, we know it, and people centuries from now will know it. And together we all rejoice. Such is the presence of Jesus in our lives and the in-breaking of God’s reign over satanic forces there and then and here and now. Jesus’ words set us free from all that binds us up. Jesus’ words give us the power to do good works of compassion and mercy in his name. A crisis is created in the synagogue, but if setting a woman free shatters an unhealthy peace in the synagogue or in the world; then so be it – then and now.

These past three nights of the special, God’s Warriors, unsettled me and I hope others – whether Jew, Muslim, or Christian. The religious extremists of our time – the leaders of the synagogues; the mosques; the churches – have lost any sense of humility as they proclaim the word of God. They have determined they are right and whoever may die; whoever may be bound up; whoever may be cast out just doesn’t matter to them.

On Thursday night, one evangelical Christian pastor being interviewed said about moderate Christians: “What can I say – well, they’re moderate.” You could hear the disdain in his voice but more so you could see it in his sneer. I for one am thankful that I claim the title moderate. I for one want to continue to approach my faith and my work in the name of Jesus with a humility that sets me free; unbinds me from having to know all the answers. And I will continue to approach my ministry with compassion and mercy for the outcast. I will do so with a sure confidence that even when I feel very much like a youngster in my faith journey, God will be there to touch my mouth and remind me:

O Lord, graciously accept the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts that they may prepare us to forever rejoice in your kingdom. Amen.

...let us offer you something different...

With these words we invited well over 1,000 households to be with us today as we return from summer to renew and strengthen our ministries.

I’ve been thinking! What’s different about us and why do we want to share it? I suppose we each have our answer to that question and in part those answers fuel our commitment to the mission and ministry of St. Catherine’s. On a broader scale, however, as Episcopalians we have something different to offer the world today. Our difference is found in our ability to live with ambiguity; to live with difference in opinion; to live with disagreement yet to live as one people who walk in the way of Jesus and love one another precisely because we know we are called to love not hate.

We live in a world that is increasingly intolerant of difference. No matter where we turn we are urged to conform; to be of like minds; to succumb to a theology of easy, absolute answers; I dare say urged, as subtle as it may be at times, to marginalize and hate. But my life, for one, does not lend itself to easy answers and while I can get darned mad – at my best, I’m not inclined to hate. Living as we are called to live as Christians is not easy. It is sometimes very hard.

“Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!” Jesus then talks about divisions within the family, presumably over allegiance to Jesus and his teachings. Historically, some Christians have taken these words as sanction to unleash horrors in the name of Christ. The Crusades were a brutal attempt to wrest the "Holy Land" from the Muslims, during which supposedly Christian warriors behaved in most un-Christian ways, slaughtering soldiers and civilians alike, raping, pillaging, and destroying in the name of Christ. The "Christian monarchs" of Spain, Ferdinand and Isabella, drove the Jews from Spain on pain of death if they would not convert, and this hatred of the Jews continued for centuries, reaching its pinnacle in the Holocaust. Catholics and Protestants fought one another in various European wars over the centuries, all in the name of Christ. All these Christian soldiers marched to war using Jesus' words as an excuse to hate and kill their fellow human beings.

Are we any different today? Is that really what Jesus had in mind? When we sing “I want to walk as a child of the light. I want to follow Jesus,” do we really believe that following Jesus is to unleash horror in the name of Christ: to exclude, hate and kill our fellow human beings even if it is in word rather than deed? Our brother and sister Christians who have bought into a world that often does more to exclude than to include – are they not the ones who have surrendered to the world? – the very charge they are all to quick to level against us Episcopalians? I think that Jesus was saying to his followers, "It will take real courage and conviction to follow me. Not everyone, even in your own families, will want to follow me. But if you really are my disciples, you will follow me, standing for what is right and true, no matter the consequences."

Now I am not saying that as Episcopalians we have the corner on the “right way” to follow Jesus or even an absolute knowledge of what is right and true. But I do believe we have learned; are learning; and will continue to learn how to follow Jesus precisely because of the divisions raised up between us as we confront the complexities and questions of life. These disagreements and rigorous debates have in the past and will continue in the future to help us discern God’s truth. As Americans we know that the highest form of patriotism can often be our willingness to express loyal opposition to the policies and actions of our government. It’s no different in our church. And when we are at our best as Anglicans we can disagree and still respect the faith and integrity of one another. This is the difference we offer the world.

And if we choose to hold to these values and the vision of our faith, then we will know very well what Jesus means when he talks about division, and conflict, and fire.

Nonetheless, in that direction lies life, at its fullest, and its most abundant. God loves us, and God wants that life for us, and God has made us for that life. Our calling to be the body of Christ is to carry out the work and the ministry of Jesus Christ in this place and in our generation. As St. Catherine’s we say that our calling to be the body of Christ is to “welcome, accept, nurture, and serve all people” not just those who agree with us. Part of our witness to the world is offering a real option, a different way to live. Jesus did that. The way Jesus lived forced a choice upon everyone who met him. Remember, Jesus did not grab people by the throat and say, “You’re a jerk—and if you don’t accept me as your Lord and Savior you are in deep trouble.” Instead, he offered himself; he spoke of the Father; he told the truth; he lived with absolute integrity; he struggled with the questions of life.

If we want to walk as a child of the light; if we want to follow Jesus, it does no good for us, or for the church, to sit on the sidelines and shout to the world out there that it is “bad, bad, bad.” Nor does it do much good to tell “them,” the folks out there, exactly what they should do to clean up their act. Instead, we are called, as was Jesus himself, to transform ourselves; and to show and to tell the world what it looks like, and how it is different, to live as we are created to live, by a God who loves us, and wants for us the best that can be. This is the mission and ministry to which we are called at St. Catherine’s: to transform our lives.

That is what is behind all of these tough lessons. It is the call to that transformation: a wholeness and completeness and new life that living as we are created to live can bring. It is the call to share, not good advice, but new lives, with a world that is dying for the lack of exactly that. It is a challenge, and it is hard. But it is the way of life and the way of hope. As we begin a new school year; as we begin a new season of ministry together:

Let us build a house where all are named, their songs and visions heard
And loved and treasured, taught and claimed as words within the Word.
Built of tears and cries and laughter, prayers of faith and songs of grace.
Let this house proclaim from floor to rafter
All are welcome, all are welcome, all are welcome in this place.

Preached at St. George’s Episcopal Church,  New Orleans

O Lord, graciously accept the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts that they may prepare us to forever rejoice in your kingdom. Amen.

My first church out of seminary was a small, rural mission in West Tennesee. It was a small congregation with average Sunday attendance around 40ish and on
Easter and Christmas maybe 60. The good news was that the sanctuary sat only 75 people comfortably so that it always looked like we had a good crowd – good for both the morale of a young – yes I was young in those days, I have pictures to prove it – and for the morale of a mission congregation that had been about this same size forever.

For its size St. Thomas the Apostle taught me more about being a parish priest than they might think. They knew that Joan, Katie, Matt and I would likely stay no more that a couple years. But they threw themselves into loving us and training me. When I arrived I met a young woman, Diane, whose mother, I soon discovered was dying of lung cancer. Her mom was not an Episcopalian and it didn’t matter – Diane wanted me to pray for her – not now and then – she wanted persistent prayer – every day. St. Thomas was a small congregation and so I had the time. Each morning I would meet Diane at her mom’s home and we would kneel by the side of the bed and pray for healing for her mom.

Over a few months her mom got progressively worse, hospice was invited in, and it was clear that in a few days or weeks, she would die. I found myself kneeling before that bed day in and day out praying for healing – and, well there is no other word – feeling like a fraud. I was praying for healing with a women who – in my mind – was not going to be healed but to the contrary die.

I’m not one to have experienced the supernatural in my faith – but two times in my life when I needed to know God’s presence somehow God has communicated to me. One day as I stood by that bedside I was particularly distraught about not only the imminent death of this woman but about what in my mind were my ineffective prayers. As I knelt that day by the bed I could hear a voice and feel a hand on my head. I heard – “pray for her – I will heal her.” I knew then that my definition of healing was far too limited and that in God’s kingdom all are healed and made whole on the last day.

Since that day I’ve learned that the single most important element of prayer is our persistency – not our consistency. God knows what we want before we even ask and we don’t have to explain it to him – we have to bring it to him over and over again. Not because God needs to hear it but that we need to hear it. I learned this during our visioning process at St. Catherine’s and learned a healthy dose of it during our recovery from our fire. Whenever we persisted in prayer – God showed up – not always with the answer we thought we wanted but with something better. Indeed our gospel this morning compares prayer to the relationship between parents and children, Jesus asks “What father among you will give his son a snake if he asks for a fish, or hand him a scorpion if he asks for an egg? If a child asked for a snake or a scorpion, the good parent would not give it to the child. God does not five us everything we ask for, only the good things we ask for or need.

One other thing I learned for Diane and her mother and from my subsequent congregations. We are all a part of our prayer. The Lord’s prayer begins with the words “Our” Father not “My” Father. Listen to the words of scripture as we sang them in our sequence hymn. “Ask and it will be given to you.” Ask whom? “Seek, and you will find.” Seek where? “Knock and it will be opened.” Knock where? Too often we say, “God is the answer,” and then we try to set things up as a me-and-Jesus vertical line. My experience is that it does not work that way.

What would it be like if we all realized that we have to be part of this prayer, that if we’re part of this family then we need to be the ones who are asked, and we going to be the one who are sought out by the needy, and we are the one who must open the doors. What would it be like if we really opened our heart and our doors not only to people in need outside the church, but to each other, inside the church, giving and receiving the same kind of love Jesus modeled for us? If we can say that this really is who we are, then we’re working out what this Gospel means for us people of God who happen to be Christian, who happen to be Episcopalians, not all of us living in this place but certainly all of us working together in this place.

I first stood in this sanctuary in April, 2006. It was filled with scaffolding. Yet the scaffolding could not obscure neither the beauty of this space nor the heart of the people of St. George’s. We have now been partners in mission and ministry for 15 months. These months have been marked by their trials and tribulations and they have been marked by great joys and determined accomplishments. Whether good times or not such good times these months have been marked by persistent prayer – together as the people of St. Georges and the people of St. Catherine’s most of whom have been to either church. The two most visible incarnations of that persistency in prayer is first and most importantly next door to us as your new Rector and his family move in and prepare to serve you over the coming years. The second, of course, is our presence in this beautiful sanctuary this morning. I wrote to you on the day of your dedication that while we as the people of St. Catherine’s could not know in its entirety the sense of loss and depth of pain you have experienced as the people of New Orleans and this parish church. Yet we know something of them from our experience of fire and the process of rebuilding. We share this in common.

I want to suggest to you this morning that along with your other partner parishes we have been part of your prayer. We have joined together as family. We have been, are and will continue to be the ones who are asked, and we have been, are and will be the ones who are sought out by the needy, and we are the one who must open the doors. You – supported by your partner parishes – have an opportunity to discover what it might be like to open our hearts and our doors not only to people in need outside the church, but to each other, inside the church, giving and receiving the same kind of love Jesus modeled for us? If we can say that this really is who we are, then we’re working out what this Gospel means for us people of God who happen to be Christian, who happen to be Episcopalians, and partners together for the continue recovery of the great city of New Orleans.

You have been through much, but because of your’s and countless other’s persistency of prayer God has blessed you. Most likely not always in the ways that you might have wanted to be blessed – that this tough thing about blessings – they don’t always live up to our expectations – and we can thank God for that. Much lies in the future to be accomplished. A new day dawns on Wednesday as Fr. Jim arrives in the parish office. As you anticipate new beginnings I stand before you today to commit myself and the people of St. Catherine’s to you and to Fr. Jim. We will stand by you in persistent prayer and continued presence, to help you open the doors that you want to open; to open our hearts to you and to the people we can serve through you in this city, and to model and share the kind of love Jesus has taught us to share.

Now one last story. When Joan and I interviewed at St. Catherine’s. We noticed many things. Chief among them was their tradition of holding hands during the Lord’s Prayer. We weren’t really sure if we liked that tradition. But we thought we’d learn more about it once we arrived in Marietta. We went on a little vacation before arriving in Marietta (I hope Fr. Jim and his family have had the same opportunity) and we found ourselves in a black Caribbean Anglican Church. When they arrived at the Lord’s Prayer they reached out and took our hands. It was a profound moment and neither Joan or I had dry eyes. God had spoken to us about St. Catherine’s. However, unlike St. Catherine’s when they arrived at the doxology of the prayer – “For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory…” – they raised their arms in the air. It was a powerful experience. And I want to share it with you today. We celebrate today -- in the words of a prayer in the Book of Common Prayer – “the setting forth of thy glory” in this last Sunday of interim time; anticipating the coming of a new Rector and the continued relationship between two fine parishes. So let’s stand and join in the Lord’s Prayer and when we get to the doxology – now I want you to trust me on this – let’s raise our arms to God and God’s glory.

O Lord, graciously accept the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts that they may prepare us to forever rejoice in your kingdom. Amen.

I have a small suitcase B I think in suitcase terms it's a 22 inch suitcase I use this suitcase for virtually all of my travel no matter how far or how near my destination and no matter how many days or weeks I travel. It's gotten to the point where Joan and I kid one another about how big a suitcase we need when we travel. It's become something of a contest to see how long and far we can travel with our small suitcases. It's fun but far from serious.

The truth is, however, it's the rare trip where one of us doesn't return home concluding that we'd packed more than we needed. If I could just get into that mind set before I leave rather than discovering my over packing after I've lugged the suitcase all over God's good creation. I don't know that my salvation is in any way tied up in how much I pack for a trip to Chicago, but Jesus seems to imply this morning that what my salvation is tied up in is my sense of need and the baggage whether material or emotional I need to carry about in order to meet those needs.
When the seventy return from their mission they are well they are ecstatic. They tell Jesus of all they've done. They revel in their new found power even over the evil spirits. He responds by affirming their power and telling them that nothing will hurt them. I find comfort in his reassurance. It comforts me to know that I can go out into the world leaving all that defines me behind both materially and emotionally. I can take a risk to meet people where they are and nothing they can say or do to me will make a difference. They cannot hurt me. I guess the real truth is that I can only hurt myself by not going.

And then to Jesus' final point. Our place in the Kingdom is not assured by our power. Do not rejoice in your power, Jesus reminds us, but rejoice in the fact that because you were willing to offer yourself in Christ's name regardless of the reception people give you your name is written in eternity. The assurance that our name is written in the heavens may not make many house payments or fund a nice vacation, but it will give us that which we are instructed to give away today Peace.

O Lord, graciously accept the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts that they may prepare us to forever rejoice in your kingdom. Amen.

Our marriage journey group met Friday night. Our lesson plan had us talking about forgiveness as a central tenant in successful marriages. For a variety of reasons we never really got to the lesson as our curriculum proposed it, but we did talk about the nature of forgiveness. Each of us had a little different perspective on forgiveness. I suspect those perspectives are shaped more by our experiences in life than by any theological argument. I did, however, hear two common themes in our conversation. We forgive because we must do it for our own well being. And, we forgive because we are forgiven ourselves.

Our scripture today tells two stories about this nature of God to forgive. Who among us does not know the story of King David and Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah, one of his officers? David commits adultery with Bathsheba and God is displeased with this man chosen to lead God’s people. God sends the prophet Nathan to confront David with a story. The story – supposedly about another man – enrages David and he pronounces death upon the man. And then Nathan holds up a mirror and says to David, “you are the man.” David is stirred to a complete confession and Nathan proclaims that his sin is put away. He is forgiven. This story like the parable of the Prodigal son tells us of God’s profound capacity to forgive unconditionally. David confesses; Nathan reports his sin “put away.”

We struggle as western Christians with the idea of a God of amazing grace. We suppose that we earn everything else exercising the American gospel of “pulling ourselves up by our boot straps. Such theology argues against unearned grace in American society. For the Jews this “earning God’s grace” was done by keeping the food regulations and by maintaining personal righteousness through good works and by keeping the Law. As Christians, however, we are called to live our lives, as Paul writes to Peter in Galatia, through faith in God and God's Son, Jesus, that forgiveness and salvation are provided. If forgiveness and salvation are accomplished through keeping the Law, then Jesus died in vain. Forgiveness, as the heart of the Christian Gospel, is illustrated in the story of Jesus at table with Simon. It was the custom in those days for a visiting rabbi to preach a sermon. So Jesus preaches to the invited guests on the inside and to others who have gathered outside. Jesus probably preached on the forgiving love of God that goes out unconditionally to all people. There is a woman listening on the other side of the wall who is moved to tears. She runs and kneels at Jesus' feet and washes them with her tears. She breaks open a valuable vial of perfume and pours it over Jesus' feet. She kisses his feet in gratitude for his message of forgiveness. Simon is shocked at her behavior and more so that, knowing who she is, Jesus has allowed this to happen. Jesus interpreted the woman's acts as evidence of gratitude for forgiveness already received, even as Simon's lack of appreciation was evidence of little forgiveness received. So the story does not teach that those who love much are forgiven much, but that those who are forgiven much will love much. This is the heart of the Gospel: God comes to us on God's own initiative with free forgiveness, and when we realize this and accept it, gratitude overflows in extravagant deeds of devotion. We forgive because we are forgiven. The woman knew what forgiveness meant in her life. Simon, armored in self-assuredness, was not conscious that he needed saving from anything. Each of us stands as a sinner in need of forgiveness before our God. As the Good Shepherd who knows us by name and knows our needs even before we can express them, God’s loving grace is showered on us without needing to earn it and certainly not deserving it. It is so easy to be like Simon, or the older brother in the story of the Prodigal Son. It is so easy to put ourselves above others because we consider our "actions" to be better than those of others. Perhaps you have met someone like Simon; come across him at church or at work; sat beside her at a meeting -- or even seen him in the mirror? Maybe we aren’t aware in our lives of the profound grace of forgiveness given to us day in and day out. It’s pride, you know. “The pride which keeps us from forgiving is the same pride which keeps us from accepting forgiveness,” Frederich Buechner writes. But, when we do become aware of and grateful for this wonderful gift God has given us through Jesus, then we can only seek to serve God as our devotion and commitment grow. Our prayer this morning in our General Confession is in effect asking God to help us do something about the pride that keeps us from forgiveness. May it not just be words, but our sincere desire to amend our lives and to seek forgiveness, and, with heartfelt gratitude, realize that we are forgiven and accepted just as we are. And as good stewards of all that we are and all that we have, may we always be willing to forgive as we are forgiven. It’s hard work but the payoff is a taste of the kingdom of God.

O Lord, graciously accept the words of my mouth and the meditations our hearts that they may prepare us to forever rejoice in your kingdom.  Amen

Can you remember a time in your life when something very good or something very sad happened?  What did you do when you heard the news?  Wasn't your first impulse to call someone up, to tell about it?  Will we ever forget the experience of 9/11 or the loss of the shuttle Columbia.  I vividly remember the day the space shuttle Challenger blew up in 1986.  I got the first hint of a problem when I saw large crowds gathered around TV's in the airport at Detroit as I changed planes on the way to Montreal for business meetings.  Later, the pilot on the plane to Montreal confirmed the horrible news!   By the time I arrived in Montreal that afternoon, I watched with horror the tape of the explosion on TV.  Beyond the horrible grief and sadness, I remember feeling so alone in my hotel room -- there was no one with whom to share the horror and grief.  The next day at the office we spoke at length about the tragedy.  No one gathered in the office could bring those astronauts back, but they could give the next best thing, the assurance that I was not alone in my horror and grief.

It takes very little for me to remember the grief and separation I felt in 2001 when on 9/11 I found myself in Connecticut away from my family and from St. Catherine=s.  The only comfort that day was to be with other members of this congregation who were feeling exactly the same.  I=ll never forget the feelings of separation as Hazel and I planned the liturgy for that evening by phone.

Marriage ceremonies (like Susan and Doug=s yesterday afternoon), baptisms, funerals, even the Eucharist itself are all ways that religion gives us for taking what are essentially private events and giving them a public expression, so that we are not left alone on our emotional mountain peaks or deepest valleys of life.   

Religion is not a private affair between an individual and God.  The Christian faith is the call of God through his son Jesus Christ to each of us to become part of a worshiping, celebrating community.  And that is why I wonder about a person who tells me, I am a Christian but I don't need the church."  Religion is community.  From the opening of Genesis chapter 1, verse 1 to the book of Revelation chapter 22, verse 21 -- religion is about being together with one another.  Religion is the way that you and I learn to relate to each other and to be a part of each other's life in truly human ways.

The word religion comes from the same Latin root as the word "ligament."  It means "to re- bind."  Religion is to take a fragmented, broken people and rebind us together in the name of God and specifically -- for us Christians -- to do so in the image of God's only Son -- Jesus the Christ.  Religion is far more than a set of intellectual statements or doctrines that some are so found of fighting over.  Religion is the community, the family through which we learn what it means to be human, and in which we are reinforced in our desperate attempts to do what it is we believe to be right.

This morning members of the religious community of Jerusalem attempt to pin Jesus down as to who he truly he is.  Tell us plainly, they demand, "are you the messiah, the Christ?"  He   refuses to answer them because they apparently wouldn't believe him even if he did plainly tell them.  They have witnessed the works of Jesus, but yet they still do not believe.  "My sheep hear my voice", he says. "I know them, and they follow me."  His challenge to them is clear.  Those who have ears to hear and eyes to see will know who I am.

What I hear in these words is that faith -- although a complex and divine mystery -- does not come to those who stand back, arms folded, demanding final proof, waiting to be convinced.  Like the religious leaders in the portico, for those who stand back and refuse to enter into the flock; into the community -- for them final proof is never enough.  But for those who risk entering the flock, for those who risk giving their lives to one another -- they will hear the shepherd's voice.

Jesus says to the religious leaders -- and to you and I! -- that religion is more than a commitment to series of laws.  Religion is community.  We are the sheep, Christ is the shepherd.  We are, together, a flock!  And through this flock of sheep gathered as St. Cat=s we learn to see the world with new eyes.  Through our commitment to being a religious community; to being bound together one to another, we come to see life in new ways -- in religious ways.  We hear his voice as he speaks through those who surround us.  He knows our name through those who know us in community.  Through this flock we come to know certain truths that have no scientific or logical basis. 

We come to know that the birth of a child is something wondrous, worthy of great celebration, and that the death of a child is a scar of a lifetime; that the elderly man or woman in a nursing home has a right to enjoy life and not be left alone to quietly await death; that there is sometimes nothing more important that we can do but visit a sick friend or comfort someone who has been hurt by life; that in the laughter and joy of a wedding and reception or a picnic together we can discover more about God in creation than any sermon can tell us; that in a living room we find comfort and relief from the pains and sorrows of our lives; that pulling weeds together on our knees opens the doors of our hearts for one another; for Christ to enter.

I can't prove to you that any of these statements are true -- even if you demand that I tell you plainly.  I can only have faith that when we are bound together in a Christian community we learn to see the world in a new way, we learn to accept these truths without requiring absolute proof.  And the other thing that I know is that when we live together in these ways one of the lives whose specialness you will come to believe in will be your own.

O Lord, graciously accept the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts that they may prepare us to forever rejoice in your kingdom. Amen.

Today is Christ the King Sunday: the last Sunday of the Church year. And as we celebrate it, Christ stands before Pilate and says: “My kingdom is not of this world ...For this I was born and for this I have come into the world, to bear witness to the truth." There is Pilate representing THE kingdom of the world -- the Roman Empire. An Empire known for its ruthless power and the willingness to use it to keep only the interests of the Empire.

The paradox is that while Jesus seems powerless before Pilate, he has power and dominion beyond Pilate's wildest imagination. "Are you the king of the Jews?" Pilate's concern is not a religious concern anymore than Herod the Great's concern was religious when he told the wise men to return and disclose the location of the baby so that he, too, could go and worship the new born king. No, Pilate's question is political: how much of a threat to my power, will you, Jesus present? Pilate's question is really this: "Are you just a harmless dreamer or are you a threat to the social order?"

The question confronts us today. We Christians (over 20 centuries) have cleaned Jesus up so much that he is no longer a threat to anyone. We've dressed him in fine white linens placed a lamb in his arms and installed him in our stained glass windows where he'll be out of the way and harmless. Our Jesus is no longer a threat to our kingdoms because we've put him in his place. Is he the king of our souls -- challenging us to do justice, and to love mercy and to walk humbly before God and each other? Or is he just a harmless dreamer preparing us for some eternal life not part of our world today. If we, like Pilate, can be assured that Christ's kingdom is not of this world and without serious challenge to this world, then the status quo is not threatened. We, like Pilate, gazing upon Jesus might well say "I find no fault at all in the man."

We've allowed -- indeed encouraged -- the church to become a reflection of what Pilate hopes for Jesus. "Are you just a harmless dreamer?" How much of a threat to our power, the kingdom of this world, will we allow Jesus to have in our lives? If you don't believe me get in this pulpit and preach a sermon on the blight of racism and sexism. Cry out for the poor and marginalized in this country and the power structures that assure they will never break the chains of poverty. Preach a sermon the choice of peace over war or challenge the prevailing wisdom concerning illegal immigration. Believe me you’ll hear about it! That's none of the Church's business. We don't come to church to hear you push a social agenda. We don't want the church to challenge our kingdoms.

Jesus answers Pilate: "My kingdom is not of this world..." And Pilate's heart must of have leapt. He must have hoped Jesus meant that he was not concerned with this life, only with the life to come. After all, if Christ and his church are not really interested in questions of justice, or concerned with how people are treated or mistreated, then the kings and kingdoms of this world really have nothing ultimately to fear. Pilate did not want Jesus to challenge his kingdom and when reasonably assured that Jesus was indeed just a harmless dreamer, he declared "I find no fault at all in the man." This is, in effect, what we do when we disconnect our Sunday morning experience from the rest of our lives and resist anyone who suggests otherwise.

But Jesus’ answer may be a whole lot simpler than we make it out to be. Maybe Jesus was saying that in the midst of the kingdoms of this world, there is a kingdom of justice, truth, goodness, and peace that stands in judgement of worldly kingdoms built by humankind. To those who intimidate, or are dishonest, or deceitful. To those who look only for the way of expediency. To them, Jesus says there really is a way of grace and righteousness -- if we but just look, listen, and act. This kingdom is the kingdom of God and its ruled by God's righteousness.

To the Pilate's of the world Jesus says open your eyes. There is a kingdom at work in this world powered by mercy and grace. The Christian life in this world is not an ungoverned life, a life without standards. As Christians we live under standards -- but standards that reflect truth and light. Christian life is not easy or painless, not without struggle and striving and suffering. But Christian life is never without the promise of Jesus to be with us in patience, faithfulness, gentleness, and modesty. May his kingdom reign in this world and the next.

O Lord, graciously accept the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts that they may prepare us to forever rejoice in your kingdom. Amen.

Nobody would have been surprised to see the blind beggar along the way in Jericho. Even today as you stop for lunch in Jericho you’ll find beggars attempting to catch your attention and a bit of your money. Seeing the poor and the blind begging for help was a common thing – and a current thing on the street corners of the Atlanta metro area. Even today street people seldom make the headlines. In fact its most likely because of this invisible nature of the poor, the blind, and the hungry that Bartimaeus cries out to Jesus for help.

Those traveling on the way with Jesus have other ideas. They try to silence Bartimaeus. They believe, after all, that they are on a important mission – a mission that will only be delayed by a stop to answer this man’s call for healing and a handout. They were, you see, on the way with Jesus.

It is on the way last week that the disciples argued last week about who was the greatest.

When they come to Jericho, Bartimaeus is sitting by the way. He is not yet "on the way," but by the side of the "way". He is an outsider. However, our text ends: Jesus said to him, "Go; your faith has made you well." Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.

In their eagerness to be on the way; in their rush to push Bartimaeus aside the disciples do not fully understand -- or see the way of Jesus, but the healed/saved blind man does. This contrast between Bartimaeus and the disciples is also illustrated by answers to Jesus' question: "What do you want me to do for you?" which he asks James and John last week and Bartimaeus today. The two disciples want positions of honor. The blind man wants to see. This question underlines the importance of getting our deepest desires straight. What do we want Jesus to do for us?

There is a sharp contrast between a blind beggar who recognizes Jesus and those who are on the way with Jesus but fail to see his real mission. Those who were following Jesus did not see that the way they are traveling will lead to the cross. Clearly the followers of Jesus who had eyes to see and ears to hear could not see or hear the gospel message. They did not understand that Jesus was on the way to Jerusalem, and his mission and ministry was one of love and compassion for all human beings.

Can we see or hear? Do we understand the message? I wonder! There are plenty of experiences in today’s world that seem to indicate that we are more interested in securing our positions of honor be they in the community, the world of politics, the church, or even in our homes. As a people we too often seem more worried about power and prestige than serving. If we look only on those experiences than we have to conclude that we can’t see or hear or understand.

However, two separate and unrelated conversations this past week reminded me that there are other experiences that indicate that we do see or hear or understand. Both conversations had to do with St. Catherine’s in general and in particular our profound and deep care for one another. We are a community of people who care enough about one another to stop by the way in so many different ways. We are a people who do not hesitate to stop by the way to offer a meal, a listening ear, sincere prayers, transportation – the list is endless. And we are a people who will react to these words with a humbleness that belies the deep and abiding faith that undergirds our deeds.

People like Bartimaeus will always be there along the way, and the world will too often encourage us to disregard them and turn our attention back to ourselves. Today’s gospel message can leave little doubt as to where Jesus stood on the question. What do I want Jesus to do for us?

I want Jesus to continue to open our eyes to see the needs around us and to give us the strength and courage to answer those needs as servants more concerned for the needs of the world than about our personal and corporate positions of power and importance.

As community of faith help us Lord to continue to claim the words of Bartimaeus when you asked him “What do you want me to do for you.” Let us with faith and courage answer you Lord, We want to see!

O Lord, graciously accept the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts that they may prepare us to forever rejoice in your kingdom. Amen

My stewardship statement is that all that I am and all that I have is from God. There is nothing in my life – including my life itself – that is not a gift to me from God. Therefore, stewardship to me is about responsible management of all that I have and all that I am in the name of God in Christ Jesus. The writer of the Letter to the Hebrews believes the same but chooses different language. God wants to be in relationship with me – and with you. And God has sent his only Son demonstrate that desire. I may never be able to fully explain or fathom what God has done for me in Christ, but without doubt the work of Christ is worthy of our gratitude, thanksgiving, and celebration.

The Gospel of Mark adds yet another perspective. The Pharisees are not seeking Jesus’ advice about divorce, or for that matter marriage either. They are after his blood. But Jesus does not fight his opponents by exchanging rule for rule; law for law. The divine intention in creation is that in marriage, two should be one, and should be for ever. Jesus states this principal so clearly that many – up to and including today – respond, “You cannot be serious.” But Jesus is serious, just as serious as when he insist his disciples give away all that they have or amputate offending limbs.

What does this have to do with stewardship? I say everything! Stewardship is not just about giving back to God, but it is about what we do to fulfill the whole purpose of God in the world through the relationships God gives us.

This work includes the work of relationship. In the Genesis story God looks upon creation of man and says for the first time in 6 days – this is not good. Creation wasn’t finished yet. And as long as man lived in isolation, the creation of a complete human being had not been accomplished. The story is not about the roles of men and women. The story is about what it means to be a human being. The story is not saying that to be complete one must be married or that married people are the only whole people. What the story is saying is that human beings are created to be in relationship. We can only grow most fully into the image of God when we are in relationship; when we are community. And these relationships are a gift from God. God created woman so that man would not be alone, but in relationship.

I believe that our relationships; our community are gifts from God for which we are called to be responsible stewards. This responsibility begins for many of us in our primary relationship – our marriage. In my own marriage we have struggled to be good stewards of the resources God has given us – our time, our talent, and our treasure. Joan and I have always had a strong relationship, but like many young couples juggling many demands we have struggled to be good stewards of our relationship. We couldn’t be the best stewards of our time and talents all by ourselves and our church was there to support us. Whether it was parishioners helping us raise our children, deal with the time pressures of two wonderful children and two demanding careers or Fr. Davis counseling us to take the time to work on our marriage, the church provided the resources to show us the way and to give us tools to build up our marriage and our relationship with our children.

We have struggled with money, too. I remember the time when Joan managed our finances and gladly returned the job to me because it was a time when we weren’t the best stewards of God’s gifts. The church helped us learn and to accept that everything is God’s and we are the stewards and, as Joan reminds me constantly, we are called to be stewards of 100% of God’s gifts not just 10%. It took coming to this realization to invite us to be tithers – not in any sense in response to some law – Biblical or otherwise – but rather as a measure of the gratitude we had for God and for how we have come to know him through the faith community – St. Elisabeth’s, St. Thomas, Grace Church, and, now, St. Catherine’s. It was not easy to become tithers. It took many years. We did it slowly and proportionally. We decided to increase our percentage of giving each year until we reached ten percent. Some years we increased by a whole percent or more; some years by an embarrassingly small amount – but we increased.

Today we are tithers and its not easy – only easier. I am constantly tempted to use God’s gifts in other ways. But each year in October, there is no question, we add up our gross salaries for the coming year and multiply it by 10% and that’s our pledge. Faith Builds! and, now, Faithful Mission come on top of that pledge. In all this time – now probably 20 years – we have seldom not been able to do what we needed to do and most times what we wanted to do. Does God bless us because we tithe? I don’t think so. But tithing has opened our eyes to see what we truly value in life. And what we value are the rich blessings we experience in relationship as a couple, as a family, and with the many friends we have throughout the church.

Joan and I believe that God’s love and His blessings are made incarnate in this faith community through each and everyone of you. And our way of being good stewards of the relationship we have with you is to work hard – to offer our time and our talents – to build community because we have come to know God through you. And, we hope you will come to know God in the same way. For the two of us being in relationship with one another and with you is what it means to be most fully a human being. Why wouldn’t we want to be the best stewards of this remarkable gift from God?

In the midst of the terrible tragedy in the Amish community this past week, there is a man giving his time and talent to be a spokesperson for a community who is not used to having this kind of media attention. He said on Thursday, "I asked various Amish friends what message do you want to communicate to people around the world and they said, 'We want them to understand how rich and deep our friendships and family relationships can be, and while we don't have insurance and we don't enjoy many modern conveniences, we have the richest treasure in the world and that is brotherly love.'"

In the coming weeks you will be asked to commit your time, talent, and treasure to this community of faith – first as a pledge of time, talent and treasure to our mission and ministry and to the operating budget. Second you’ll be asked to make a three year commitment of treasure to the Faithful Mission campaign to reduce our debt and to allow us to continue our singular focus on our life together and in the world. I hope you will welcome your caller. They are doing this work because they believe in St. Catherine’s and the power of relationship in community to change our lives and the world. Why wouldn’t you want to speak with them?

May God continue to richly bless St. Catherine’s. And may we be good stewards of our abundant blessings.

<> O Lord, graciously accept the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts that they may prepare us to forever rejoice in your kingdom. Amen.

The question in the Gospel we just heard is aimed not just at Peter, but all of us. Let me offer my own answer to the question asked by Jesus, "Who do you say I am?" I declare that Jesus is king. He is king of all, but in particular he is my King. But what sort of king? He is not a king in the usual sense. He is a different sort of king. After all, a king is supposed to be distant, wealthy, and powerful. But Jesus as king overturns these expectations. A king, we say, is distant. But this Jesus is a king of a different kind. He comes, of his own accord, to the sinner that I am, and knocks firmly on the door of my heart. He comes not once, but often, always knocking on that door. This king comes to me in times of crisis and in times of joy. This king comes to me Sunday after Sunday as we celebrate the Eucharist. We say that a king must be wealthy. He must have for his own gold and jewels, castles and palaces, fine horses and elegant clothing. But this Jesus is a king of a different kind. And he calls each of us to be different. His birthplace is a stable. His palace is the hillside. If I am to catch a glimpse of him today, then I must look in the right place: among the poor, the rejected; the sick, the powerless, the hated. It is there that the king will be found. He is there today as he was 2,000 years ago. Perhaps my greatest temptation is not that I will insult my king, reject him, blaspheme him to his face, but that I will simply overlook him. For no longer Jesus’ his uniform a robe, sandals, long hair. Now he appears as a weary woman raising her kids alone. He appears as an old man dying slowly and alone. He appears as somebody who leaves an expensive home and commutes daily in an expensive vehicle to work, suffocated by success, numb to their inner emptiness. In each of these disguises King Jesus appears to me. A king, we say, must be powerful. He must sit secure upon his throne. He must be confident in who he is. But Jesus is a king of a different kind. He lays aside the mantle of his all-powerfulness, and drinks from the cup of human experience even down to the dregs of our suffering, sorrow, and death. There's no calamity I have known or can ever experience which remains unknown to him. He knows me and every one of my dark inner rooms because they are places he has walked before. Strange to say, it is by letting go of all power that all power comes to him. The king dies a disgraceful death. He's an outcast, a failure, abandoned and forsaken. No royal burial awaits him. Instead, there is begging for the corpse by a friend, a borrowed tomb, hasty burial. But it is through this death and this one alone that the world is reborn and the gates of eternity are thrown open. Is this Jesus a king? Yes, but a king like no other. His giving up control tells me that I do more good when I give than when I grasp, when I allow myself to be a river of peace rather than a blowtorch of anger. His relinquishment of control tells me that the only game that matters is won already, and when the results are tallied, the winning team will be The Holy Fools and not The Wise of This World.

Jesus’ resurrection holds for me the hope that the pain and the hurt of my life will not have the final say, but that his love will be mine forever. Who do I say that Jesus is? Jesus is king. He is my king. Not distant or wealthy or powerful in the way that ordinary kings are. But still, like other kings, Jesus asks for obedience. He looks for me to be loyal. He asks that I do my duty. The duty I owe him, our Catechism says, is to work, pray, and give for the spread of his kingdom. Jesus asks each of us: "Who do you say that I am?" Is Jesus your king?

If he is then we can face the difficulties of faith, and what faith asks of us. We can offer ourselves regardless fo the public reception we receive, or the popularity of our efforts. We can stand ready to resist peer pressure or the prevailing culture when our faith calls us to live a different life. We can seek to remove the obstacles that come between us and the love of God, even when that means real sacrifices that hurt. We can do our best to make sure our actions and decisions reflect our faith. We can look beyond appearances to the reality fo God’ s love in the world and the challenges we must face as we accept God’s love. We can participate in Jesus’ generosity and compassion as we sacrifice ourselves in love every day. We share his love as we walk his way – the way of the cross.

O Lord, graciously accept the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts that they may prepare us to forever rejoice in your kingdom. Amen.

Jesus told us last week that the kingdom of God is like the mustard seed. It “is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs. . .” I suppose what Jesus leaves out of the parable is that the “growing up” of this kingdom of God takes a bit of time. And during that time the smallest of seeds becoming the greatest of all shrubs experiences both the good and the bad of the world; both the storms and sunshine.

The vivid details of this weeks gospel recounts one of those stormy times. It is evening, after a full and exhausting day of teaching. Jesus’ decision to cross to the other side is the only way he and his disciples can leave the crowd. The disciples are all fishermen and so they are very aware of the sea of Galilee’s reputation for storms. As the wind and waves fill the boat with water, the disciples become fearful. They are sinking, and they really might drown! In terror they turn to Jesus who, calmly asleep on a cushion in the stern of the boat, is apparently unaware of their plight. They waken him with the words we often address to God: “Do you not care?”

For centuries the church has interpreted this Gospel as the church herself being tossed about by the storms of the world in which we do ministry. Indeed this is the very reason why the roof of a church (including ours to some extent) appears to be a boat hull turned upside down.

I want to continue that interpretive tradition today. Indeed if the church is the mustard seed planted on earth – and I believe it is – and we are growing into the greatest of all shrubs bringing the kingdom of God to fulfillment – then it must be true that we are tossed about by the winds and waves of the world – the storms of life.

The main function of this story as it first circulated among the common folk seems to have been to testify to Jesus as the ruler of all nature. Yet, in its present setting in the Gospel of Mark the story addresses the modern day community of believers who Jesus addresses with his words. “Why are you afraid? Can you not yet trust the God you see in me?”

I confess that I want to say to my Lord this day, “I am afraid, Jesus! Give me the faith to see in the events of our current storms to trust the God I see in you.” The disciples may be afraid not just by the tossing and rolling of the boat. They may be afraid of what lies ahead of them on the far shore of the sea of Galilee. This boat ride is more than a physical crossing of the sea. They are being challenged to “cross over” to the Gentile mission, despite the turmoil this movement stirred up in the early church, for they are leaving behind the known of the Jewish world and moving towards Jesus’ first mighty work in pagan territory.

I am fearful of what lies ahead of us as the Episcopal Church after the 75^th General Convention which ended Wednesday. I am not fearful because of any action they took or did not take. I am fearful because of the way it appears to me we’ve treated one another at this convention – the 1100 people or so at the convention; the 2.3 million Episcopalians in the US and the 77 million Anglican around the world. The storm that assaults our boat – the Episcopal Church – the winds and waves that crash about us and make me fearful is a storm of arrogance. The church – at some levels – seems polarized into two groups who assume to know the mind of God in Christ. One side presumes to know all that God has to say about justice and reconciliation. The other side presumes to know all that God has to say about everything else. And both seem absolute in their convictions.

And say what you will about the Episcopal Church – this is not who we are. We believe there is a middle way and we’ve struggled to live into this way in spite of its ambiguity. As a church we have always led our brother and sister Christians in the area of justice and reconciliation. Indeed after General Convention, 2003, I said

Our church has never shied away from disagreement or controversy. From the days of slavery, to the Civil War, to the civil rights movement, to the ordination of women, the introduction of new Prayer Books and now to this day, the Church has struggled to seek the mind of Christ on issues that provoke deep and painful disagreements and conflict. In each case, the Episcopal Church has been threatened by schism and called apostate by many within and outside this body of Christ.

What concerns me about our current storm is not the subject matter but the absolute certainty that characterizes our conversation (and I use that word rather loosely in the present climate) about the actions of General Convention, 2003, the Windsor Report, and our response to the Windsor Report. The storm that tears at our sails and threatens to capsize our boat is not human sexuality; but rather power expressed as absolutism. “We are right and you are wrong.” both sides seem to say!

It is this absolutism that drove the extremes of the church to “join” forces this week to defeat a resolution that would have asked us to “to exercise very considerable caution in the nomination, election, consent to, and consecration of bishops whose manner of life presents a challenge to the wider church and will lead to further strains on communion.” One side voting against it because it’s exclusionary tone went too far. The other side voting against it because its exclusionary tone did not go far enough.

What is needed in our church right now is less absolutism and more humility. A humility to acknowledge that no one person, or group, or network of churches has the absolute truth. In the words of our Presiding Bishop, we need courage and a dose of humility to take “a stance of restraint in order that something larger can happen.”

I do not presume to know without doubt the mind of God on the issues of sexuality, justice, or reconciliation. I am a faithful and intelligent Christian and I can read and interpret Scripture with competence, but that does not mean that you and I will agree or that my interpretation is right and yours wrong. I believe that faithful, caring, God fearing, and Bible reading Christians can have differing opinions concerning the current debates and that neither is absolutely right nor absolutely wrong. The assumption that God revealed himself fully and for all time in the word of God we call scripture denies our faith that Jesus Christ is the incarnation of the God who was, who is, and who will be forever and ever. Our God is alive and our God continues to reveal himself to us. And, I suggest we all pack for the boat, because we will probably be asked to cross over” to new and disquieting missions, despite the turmoil this movement stirs up in the church. Like the disciples we too are being asked to leave behind the known world and move towards Jesus’ continuing mighty work in unchartered territory.

I am not worried about any of this. What worries me is that the language of debate; the language of written position; the language of informal conversation has become so polarized and absolutist that it threatens – this storm threatens – to tear at the very fabric of our boat; our church. It is a church (all 77 million Anglicans strong) that I love as much as anyone can love an inanimate body. But then it is the body of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

And so with a voice filled with fear, I cry to Jesus today, “I am afraid. “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” Don’t you care?

In times of tumult and grave danger, in times of anxiety and hopelessness, in time of sadness and depression, a natural and understandable human reaction is to wonder whether or not there is a God, and if so, whether God is even aware of my problem. We cry out to God in the midst of our storms, “Don’t you care?” We try to wake God up to take care of us. At such times today’s text speaks to our human condition. It pictures Jesus in the boat with his disciples, present with us and concerned for us even when we don’t perceive his care. Perhaps we need to sit quietly before the text.

Silence

Perhaps in our quiet we will suddenly find Jesus speaking to the storm outside, also addressing the storms within when he says, Peace! Be still!” Over the heads of his first disciples he says to us in our frail boat (this beloved church), “Why are you afraid? Can you not yet trust the God you see in me?” The word to the storm that rages around us becomes for us a voice from the whirlwind.

Who then is this?

O Lord, graciously accept the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts that they may prepare us to forever rejoice in your kingdom. Amen.

A hole in the roof is everything. We might sum up our texts today with these simple words.

Friendship, forgiveness, and power – at first glance – would appear to have little or no relationship. Th texts today suggest that we might take another look at this assumption. Think for a moment of your best friendships. The beauty of friendship is in its power to forgive, to reconcile, to give a sense of security and well-being. A good friendship and the experiences it offers can lead one to praise God. And so the texts today ask us to reflect on the character of our friendships, how we view the church, and how both lead to hearts filled with joy and praise. A hole in the roof is the essence of friendship.

In Isaiah the people have returned from exile – an exile caused by their sinfulness. They experience divine forgiveness in being returned to the land promised to their ancestors. God wants to provide a new beginning – if only they will allow it. If only the people will open themselves to the divine friendship of God. “Behold,” God says, “I am doing something new.” God is forgiving, not punishing. God is restoring God’s people; reconciling God’s people to their land. God’s actions are a hole. A hole in the roof of the covenant creating access among friends to a loving, healing God.

The gospel places us at a scene unlike many in Scripture. The crowd around Jesus is so great that the sick have no access to him for a blessing. It is the friends of the man who make possible the healing access to Jesus. They go out of their way to get the man close to Jesus – even if it means climbing on the roof and making an opening through which they lower him to Jesus. Imagine the scene! And their faith is rewarded. The healing takes place as a direct result of their actions. “When Jesus saw their faith” he healed the paralyzed man. The power of true friendship makes possible the healing. A hole in the roof is everything.

Yet the Pharisees have a power issue. Jesus, according to them, has no power to forgive sins. Only God forgives sins. What they miss is that God is saying something new in Jesus. God is saying something new about the power of human love and relationships.

What a sight. A bunch of buddies who love this man so much that going to any extreme to bring their friend to the feet of Jesus is not out of the question. It is as much their faith in Jesus and the power of their love for one another that puts the hole in that roof. It is as much their faith in Jesus and the power of their love for one another that heals the man paralyzed. These friends make the moment of God present for t heir sick companion.

Could it be that God is again “doing something new?” Could it be that God is showing us the power of relationship; the power of friendship to restore God’s people; to reconcile God’s people to each another? Could it be that in this act God is showing us that the power to forgive sins is shared by God with those who radically share themselves with each other?

Through this story it seems that we are invited to open ourselves to a new vision of sin and reconciliation. This is the essence of the sacrament of reconciliation. It is the church, a community of friends, going out of its way to make a way for me a sinner. Punching a hole in the roof and lovingly lowering me down through the stuff of everyday life to have access to God that I may get what I need to praise God with my entire being.

The power to forgive sins is not so much my power or Sherry’s power but the power of this community of faith that embodies God’s love and trusts God to heal. This Gospel asks us to reflect on our friendships and to ask ourselves if in fact they are moments of grace and power that enable a closer relationship with God. If our friendship are indeed sacramental then they will lovingly deliver us to the feet of Jesus where we too will hear the words, “You sins are forgiven,” leading us to the praise of God.

A hole in the roof among friends is everything.

O Lord, graciously accept the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts that they may prepare us to forever rejoice in your kingdom. Amen.

I had occasion to speak this past Friday with my first Bishop, Alex Dickson, the first Bishop of West Tennessee. Alex is now retired and very much a part of a movement in the church with which I disagree. Yet our conversation was pleasant and graceful. One thing I remember about him was that he had (and I suspect still has) one sermon. No matter the occassion he had a way of preaching this sermon. Based on John’s Gospel, he would remind his listeners that Jesus says he is the “way, the truth and the life.” Alex used this scripture to emphasize his view of the exclusivity of Christianity. I grew to feel a certain disdain for the scripture even as I acknowledged that, indeed, Jesus was the truth in my life.

As I reflect on today’s Gospel it begins to help me see something about truth that Alex’s sermons never helped me see. For you see there seems to be a difference between truth as a “what” and truth as a “who.” And clearly Jesus in his visit to the synagogue at Capernaum is expressing that difference by his very presence.

The people of the Capernaum synagogue find that they have run right smack into the truth. Their encounter with Jesus leaves them awestruck. In contrast to their usual teachers, he speaks and acts with an authority that is undeniable. What do these people learn from hearing Jesus? What difference does it make for them that he expels an unclean spirit from one of their number?

Because of who Jesus is and what he does, they realize, perhaps for the only time in their lives, that truth is personal. Like my first Bishop, their teachers are always passing on to them the venerable opinions of past masters. They are accustomed to hearing what one great rabbi or another said about this issue or that.

But that particular sabbath day Jesus appears in their synagogue, and they find that the truth is not a "what," an inheritance left over from the past, something they must keep stored away. They experience the truth as a "who," a living, breathing man whose face they can recognize and whose actions they cannot control.

This is the “truth” that I am willing to stake my life on. But in order to put my life on the line with this truth of Jesus something within me has to die. That something is the belief that I can control the truth. For if the truth is a "what," there's reason to expect that you or I or all of us together can somehow master the truth, that we can bend it to our purposes. But if truth is alive, if truth is personal, if truth stares back at us, then this expectation seems groundless.

Truth is personal. We see truth in its absolute form in the person of Jesus Christ. Once he taught in the Capernaum synagogue. Now he reigns in glory. But this same Jesus appears in a host of other places also. No matter who we are when we hunger for truth, we hunger for Christ. No matter where we are on our journey to God, when we discover truth, we discover Christ. Some know to call him Christ, others do not, but in each case his reality remains. We know Christ is present in the Eucharist, but that is not the only place to find him.

The truth is personal. The truth is also communal. The truth never remains a private matter, something we keep to ourselves. We cannot have a private truth like we have a private toothbrush. Yes, each of us has a unique perspective on the truth, one that reflects our character and experience, yet by itself that perspective is not valid. Our different unique views of the truth find their validity when they encounter one another and are taken together.

Jesus encounters those people of Capernaum in their synagogue. This is a public place where study and discussion and worship regularly occur, a place where people sense that they are a community and sense that they are accountable to one another. It is within this network of relationships with all its strains and tangles that they encounter truth in Jesus. They experience him in company with one another. And once they have been shocked out of their wits, they seek one another's help to make sense of what has happened. They do not keep silent, but start to talk among themselves. They wonder about it together.

If we are to provide the education we each deserve, then we must help each of us to see that truth is communal. We should discover what it means to belong to a community of learners, a community that extends far enough to include every one of us. A community where each person contributes and receives because each has a unique perspective on the truth and none holds a monopoly.

Bishop Dickson is right to proclaim Jesus as the truth. What we must remember is that truth is about who Jesus was; what he said and what he did. And to fully know that truth we must each encounter that truth as lived out in the community of faith. Adults, youth and children alike are accountable to one another as we wonder about Jesus and his truth – together.

O Lord, graciously accept the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts that they may prepare us to forever rejoice in your kingdom. Amen.

I find the phone most annoying. Ask Ginney, she’ll tell you. It has this capacity to ring all the time and at the least at all the wrong times. I am amazed at people glued to their cell phones, carrying on conversations while they grocery shop or exercise or Christmas shop. Isn't there such a thing as being to much in contact?

This week in the office there was one day the phone would not stop ringing. The next day I told Ginney put everyone in voice mail unless it is an emergency. The phone did not ring for me the entire morning – until I said to Ginney okay you can put my calls through.

Calls from God are like that you know -- they never come at a convenient time and they nearly always interrupt us from our planned activities. They always come in the midst of a day planned or a tough work assignment or just a time of relaxation. They come when we least expect them. They come when we are least prepared to accept them. The call of God makes us stop what we are doing and more than likely take a new path -- one we might not have considered taking before the call. Calls interrupt the course we are on and send us in new directions. Calls move us off dead center.

The truth is life – no matter how much we may desire it – can never remain on dead center. To be regarded as life, it must move. And it can only move forward. And so calls have a way of announcing a future. Calls have a way of promising something greater in our lives. Samuel hears the voice of God mistaking it to be the voice of his teacher Eli. When Samuel finally responds he hears of a new future. Yes, it's a future filled with punishment for Eli and his sons for they have not followed God's commands, but it is also a future filled with promise as Samuel becomes a prophet of the Lord to his people Israel.

Jesus walks beside the sea and finds Philip fishing. He calls him to follow. Philip finds Nathanael and calls him. The disciples leave home and family and occupation to follow an itinerant preacher. How could they possibly know what lay ahead? Nathanael, of all the disciples, expresses his concern at such a move. But after meeting Jesus he is astounded and converted by Jesus. Jesus assures him that there is more to come; this encounter is the beginning of greater things in Nathanael and the other disciples' lives. Jesus promises a future filled with greater things.

Are we ever to old to hear a call? I don't think so! I often say to Joan, I’m too old to learn new things – can’t I just be satisfied with what I know already? And God seems to say, No you can’t!

At any stage and at any age of our life, we are always being challenged to be more than what we are. We are being called to outgrow our past and our present. We are reminded that there are untapped dimensions in our lives; that before we die, to be full and complete people, we must continually respond to the call of God. That's what the Scripture is telling us.

We celebrate this weekend the life of Martin Luther King, Jr. I can’t imagine our world without his obedient response to God’s call. He was a prophet of peace and justice who in obediently following the call of God led us to become a new nation under God. He once said of this day

I'd like someone to mention that day that Martin Luther King, Jr., tried to give his life serving others. I'd like somebody to say that day, that Martin Luther King tried to love somebody. I want you to say that day, that I tried to be right on the war question. I want you to be able to say that day, that I did try to feed the hungry . . . I want you to say that I tried to love and serve humanity. Yes, if you want to say that I was a drum major, say that I was a drum major for justice; say that I was a drum major for peace; I was a drum major for righteousness . . . I want to leave a committed life behind.

Perhaps among the many things we can say about Martin Luther King, Jr. – including that he gave his life serving others – the greatest is that he showed us how to live a committed life. Most generations do not get to live with a prophet, but we did in living with Martin Luther King, Jr. He heard God’s call, he responded and in so doing gave the greatest gift we can give – our all – our life for the sake of others.

<> The point of all of this is, our world needs prophets. Our families, our businesses, our government, our society, our churches, we need prophets in our world. God makes us an offer -- seize wealth, or fame, or material things -- or seize the ability to express what is noblest and deepest within you. The world needs you. This church needs you. We need you not merely to catch fish, but to catch people in the unconditional love of God. The truth of the matter is that the voice of God comes to us all at any stage and age and asks us to go forth as prophets into a hungering and broken world.

This church needs you. God needs you to carry the Word into the world. When the voice of God comes to you and calls you. Respond! The voice of God asks you and me as with Isaiah, "Whom shall I send? Who will go for me?"

The Scripture prompts us to answer, "Here I am, Lord; send me."