Holy Name 2020, January 5, 2020

Numbers 6:22-27; Psalm 8; Galatians 4:4-7; Luke 2:15-21

Names, Given & Earned

Why is a name so important? It’s how we identify each other – and ourselves. I bet the very first humans millions of years ago called each other something like “Red” or “Limpy” or a Seven Dwarf’s description, like Sleepy or Doc. Hopefully not Dopey. We call these nicknames.

Now, we are a bit more sophisticated, connecting our names with relationships or what we do. David Johnson. Sam Carpenter. Jack London.

The name we have on our birth certificate or Baptismal record are given to us, not our choice; neither is our family name. Like them or not, that’s it. We can be named after Biblical figures, heroes, athletes, or famous historical figures. Or we were named for a parent or grandparent.

What do we do when we don’t like our name? We give ourselves a new one. Our neighbor’s son went through Bobby to Bob to Robert, and now Rob. We could use our middle name if we like it better. My Catholic friends chose saints’ names for their Confirmation and use them.

When Rebecca began our Women of Grace and Beyond Group, she asked us our names and where they came from. Even in a small group, we had very different stories to tell. Nevertheless, we had no choice when we were named.

Sometimes we get a new name, through adoption or marriage. Or a nickname. Even in the Bible there have been name changes: Abraham, Jacob, Peter.

All we can do is live into the name we were given. Grow into it. Earn what has been given to us, with the good and bad that goes along with it.

But what about the names or labels we get as we grow up and live our lives? The identities we earn or work for. We choose most of those.  We are known by our careers, our nation (or island), our sports teams, our hobbies, our politics. Our roles in families, our other relationships. Sister, Hippie, US Marine, Leader, Helper.

Is our label or our name a plus or a minus? That would be up to us.

Our son Alex found that out the easy and the hard way about what is given and what is earned. He was a Boy Scout. Alex was too laid back to really work on being an Eagle, but his friends all made it and started pressuring him to finish on time. He made it two weeks shy of the deadline, his 18th birthday. He did all the work, including his leadership project and the badges, but it was more push than actual desire.

Then, a week after he became an Eagle Scout, he designed, ordered, and sold the school’s swim team t-shirt. In other words, he grew into the Eagle name after receiving it rather than while he worked on it. He didn’t earn it as a reward, he grew into it.

That’s us here. Christians. We were baptized, probably long ago, probably as infants. We didn’t earn or deserve the identity or name of Christian. We were given the gift of belonging, like in a family. We were expected to grow into what that meant. The fact that we are here in this place shows that we want to keep that identity. We want to keep growing into our Christian name. It is a life-long journey.

What do we think that means? Follow what Christ told his friends to do, duh. Love God, love neighbor. Do things “in the Name of Jesus”. Pray for our own spiritual well-being and connection with God.

The big Christmas gift we receive is the message that we are given our Christian name before we have earned it. And we are constantly given chances to grow into it.

Doing things in the Name of Jesus implies calling on the power and authority Jesus had. He used that power and authority, not for his own benefit, but for the welfare of us all. For healing, for encouraging his twelve disciples to spread his message of love as far as the known world stretched.

Our Eucharist, a meal we share with the disciples and Jesus, gives us the power and authority to do what we can. Pray in Jesus name, act as he would towards our neighbors.

To grow into being a member of Jesus’ family is a different path for each one of us. Last year I vowed not to speak ill of anyone, not criticize or call people insulting names. I’ve been pretty good, and this year I am adding to that vow. It is a little thing, but in our present national climate, I think that it is important. I don’t really respect everyone the way I should, but I pray for them.

We say love our enemies, pray for the environment, defend and feed and clothe our neighbor. As long as it I a general phrase, we can pray it easily. But when we grow into our name as a Christian, we see the individuals in our own lives where those generalities become real.

I’ve lived into my names. I lost them on my first Mothers’ Day when I got a t-shirt that said “Alex’s Mom”. Where was Nancy Dorothy Hartmeyer Wynen? But that new label was one I still try my best to live into. The schools I went to and the titles I collected don’t tell my whole story either. But Christian is the one that keeps coming back as my guide to living.

Think of how many of our holidays are “start-overs”, times to reset our priorities. The beginnings of Lent and Advent, New Year’s Day, every Sunday when we hear that our sins are forgiven and we can try again to lead a holy life. And continue to grow into our Christian identity.

December 29, 2019

Christmas 2

Matthew 2:13-15, 19-23

Grace Church

Christmas Eve has been magical for me as long as I can remember. As a tiny child nestled next to my father and mother — my father’s wonderful baritone voice, my mother’s silence — as she often said, she couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket and me, singing the carols and mesmerized by the choir — listening to separate voices and the harmony — it was a night of wonder. We were once again on a journey: it was magical, lyrical, mystical — just the perfect night — holy and pure but, alas, it does not last, for soon, all too soon the mood changes.

First, we are awakened on Christmas Day to the remarkable prologue of John who raises the bar, forcing us to confront more than the beauty and wonder of that holy night. John pulls us away from sentimentality into the great “why” of this story and we must look at ourselves. We are not simply observers of the mystery; we must choose, we must say “yes, Lord” or “no, Lord” — we are called to see not simply a baby in a manger but the man hung on the tree — we are called to accept the Word of God, not just the words we find easy. And we must hear that humanity is as likely or more likely to reject the gift of God’s self, choosing instead our own way, our own path.

And now today, we wake up to a new day and a new year on the horizon and new challenges, and even peril. In a sense on this Sunday after Christmas — we leave the wonder of that holy night and in the true way of real life, we are now faced with a challenge. Today it all changes: Take the child and flee! The party is over. Joseph — the chosen father of the child not his, must once again act. Joseph becomes the one critical factor in Matthew’s telling of the birth narrative — Joseph is the one with vision and courage. This Sunday we leave behind the lyrical narrative and poetry of Luke and step into Matthew’s gospel. While Luke seeks to convey a universal message, a true story told in orderly fashion, Matthew is concerned with origins, identity and legitimacy.

Who is this child? Today we hear from that other birth narrative. Matthew is spare in telling the story. He lacks the poetry of the songs of Elizabeth, Zachariah, Mary and Simeon. He lacks the exquisite detail of that most holy night — the journey to Bethlehem, the inn, the stable, the shepherds and heavenly host singing glory to God. As I said last week, Matthew begins with a genealogy — the book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham and the rehearsal of the “begets”.

We rarely hear this story and by the time we get to it, the tree and lights are on their way out, the gifts have been unwrapped and the after-Christmas shopping is done. But this story and the visit of the wise men kings that precedes it, is critical to the mystery of Christmas and we often miss an odd fact. It is connected to this notion of origin, identity and legitimacy. So much is made of Mary’s condition and the birth that the legitimacy of this child and, his identity as Emmanuel, God with us, is lost in the discarded wrapping paper. The key to the question is to be found with the shadowy figure of Joseph. In Matthew’s gospel, Joseph is a hero often missed in the weeks between Christmas and Epiphany.

Joseph is betrothed to Mary who is discovered to be with child and he is about to put her quietly away when an angel comes to him in a dream: Joseph, son of David, do not fear to take Mary as your wife. And so he does, and because he does, the legitimacy of this child is assured and not only his legitimacy but his destiny, for it is through Joseph that Jesus is tied to the house of David and it is that tie that fulfills the prophetic promise of a savior, the Messiah. It is from a courageous act on the part of Joseph that this story can unfold.

This is the critical issue when the wise men set out from the East — most likely Persia. They are seekers but not just any seekers, they are scholars and leaders looking for the light. Our image of the three men with camels, solitary figures moving silently through the desert is inaccurate, they are more likely rich and travel with a larger entourage.  They do not approach the palace of Herod as lonely wayfarers but as representatives of foreign lands. And this amazing encounter was more like a highly charged exchange between ambassadors than a chance meeting of strangers.

The polite conversation is filled with subtle nuance and the hospitality of the desert dictates careful posturing. But know this — the child of the house and lineage of David is a danger to Herod. Who are your people? Why have you come here? It matters, it matters so much that Herod ultimately seeks the child to kill him. And once again, the hero of the story is Joseph, who takes the child away when warned by an angel in a dream that the child is at risk.

Matthew connects the dots — the prophetic strands of holy scripture weave together a reminder that there is always more to this than meets the eye.

Joseph stands before us as a hero and a figure who challenges us to a life of vision and courage — a life of bold action and a destiny that will often be forgotten. We, too, are bearers of the light that has come into the world. We hold God with us, Emmanuel as a living reminder of God’s active presence in the world. We, like Mary are called to be God-bearers and like Joseph, dreamers who offer a life of service to this sacred child.

Amen.

December 22, 2019

Matthew 1:18-25

Grace Church

Today we light the fourth candle in the Advent season and in only a couple of days, the white candle for the Christ child will be our guiding star. After the prophets announced that something amazing was going to happen on the first Sunday in Advent, and then encountering John the Baptist “preparing the way of the Lord”, today we meet Joseph. We are now in Lectionary Cycle A and the Gospel of Matthew guides us through his version of the birth narrative. We do not hear Mary’s song — the Magnificat and, in a way that heroes in the old western movies were quiet, stoic, simply doing what is right and with few words — Joseph is that kind of figure. In fact, he is a man of no words, only action in response to whispering angels who guide him.

I want to focus today on the richness of the texts before us — Isaiah, Psalm 80, a psalm of petition, the Epistle of James, and finally, Matthew himself. We are setting the stage for the mystery of Christmas and while waiting, while getting ready, I want to set the stage before the children show us the way on Christmas Eve.

Let us begin with the passage from Isaiah. We should refer to this prophet as First Isaiah as there were probably three prophets who wrote under the name, Isaiah. This era occurred is under the rule of Tiglath-Pileser, king of Assyria around 740 BC. Assyria was the strongest nation and threatening the three neighboring kingdoms of Aram, Israel and Judah. Ahaz is the King of Judah and Judah was the Southern kingdom of the Hebrew people, made up of the tribes of Judah and Benjamin with Jerusalem as its capital. Israel (to the north) retained members of the other ten tribes that split from Judah after the death of King Solomon under the rule of his son, Rehoboam. All of this matters because this civil war weakened the Hebrew people, leaving them divided and vulnerable to the growing power of the Assyrians. Ahaz has refused to join with Israel and Aram against the Assyrians, and so Aram and Israel attacked Jerusalem. Today’s reading begins after the attack of these northern neighbors. The Lord speaks to Ahaz, calling the king to turn to the Lord, to seek help. Ahaz refuses, saying he won’t put God to the test. This is a bit of Old Testament prooftexting — using scripture to justify unfaithfulness. (Alas, we still go to scripture to find passages to justify our own issues!)

Ahaz is chided by the prophet Isaiah for not asking for God’s help and says that God will give a sign, the Lord will be faithful. It is here that the familiar story of a young woman (in Hebrew, a young woman, in Greek, a virgin), pregnant with a son whose name will be Immanuel and who will (in a time frame of “coming of age” — between two and thirteen) understand the nature of good and evil; this child is the sign that the Kingdoms of Aram and Israel shall fall within thirteen years. And so, it was. Aram and Israel fell to the Assyrians in 722 BC. Judah prevailed for another 150 years or so, falling to the Babylonians in 598 BC.

The point from Matthew is to tell the story of Jesus through the lens of the Hebrew scripture being fulfilled. The pregnant woman in the story from Isaiah is relevant to God’s encounter with Ahaz — we see God’s hand acting and Matthew sees that story as “fulfilling the prophecy” ongoing — God continues to act if only we have eyes to see. This is an important part of understanding Matthew’s motive and style. It is very different from Luke’s telling of the story, and for us, another lens for coming to know the wonder of the incarnation, life, death and resurrection of Jesus, Immanuel, the Christ. Immanuel — Immanu means with us and El means God — the coming together of God and humanity. God with us.

The Psalm reinforces this fact, God is with us and God alone will save us.The Epistle of James was probably written between fifty-five and sixty-two CE — we do not know, but think,  James was the brother of Jesus, the leader of the Christians in Jerusalem and speaking to them in a time of Roman persecution. The Romans grew weary of the rebellious Hebrew people and in a violent crackdown and ultimately the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple, the Romans drove out the Jews and with them, the small band of Christians. Yet another diaspora of the people and the total dismantling of the Temple hierarchy. It was a time of suffering and James seeks to encourage the Jewish Christians who are now scattered.

And that brings us to Matthew’s Gospel. Lucky for us, the lectionary didn’t include  Matthew 1:1-17 — genealogy of Jesus — we would still be reading it! Matthew’s genealogy differs from Luke but let’s clarify the use of the genealogy — it isn’t so much an accurate counting of every generation but instead a kind of oral remembering of who we are and whose we are — in Matthew’s case he counts three cycles of fourteen generations each cycle and it is important to remember that the lineage of David was part of the prophetic vision of the coming of the Messiah. Since he is writing to what was a community of Jewish Christians, Matthew has a curious inclusion of women in his genealogy, especially because these woman were out of the cultural norm — a prostitute, an outsider, the wife of a warrior, and finally Mary, the young maiden, the virgin betrothed to Joseph. Matthew is assuring these early Jewish Christians that Jesus is indeed the promised heir and that Joseph chooses to claim him as his child.

Joseph is silent and Joseph steps up to the plate, not once, not twice but three times. My offering today is this: How willing are we to be responsive to the urging of the spirit, even in the face of challenging circumstances? We often consider Mary at this time of year — the Theotokos, the god-bearer and we consider how we might be like her — bearing the Christ child to the world. But perhaps we are called to be more like Joseph — silent, courageous, selfless and generous in his love. As we prepare for this Holy Night, let us ponder in our hearts what it means to shelter, protect, love and honor this child who becomes our savior in the end, for Immanuel lives, God is with us.

Amen.

December 15, 2019

Advent III

Matthew 11:2-11

Grace Church

      Gaudate — Rejoice — See the Advent wreath with three candles lit, the third is pink, or more accurately rose — the color of joy, of Mary, of angels singing! And so, we can sing: “Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say, rejoice! Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say, rejoice. Rejoice, rejoice, and again I say, rejoice. Rejoice, rejoice, and again I say, rejoice. Rejoice in the Lord always and again, I say, rejoice!”

This Third Sunday in the season of Advent —  adventus, Latin for coming — is often called Gaudate Sunday — the Sunday of joy. After two Sundays of preparing the way, beginning with prophetic words of old, prophets pronouncing dire consequences as the chosen people of God  disobeys the One God; words delivered with a hint of terror, tinged with apocalyptic threats but also with a promise, the promise of a savior. Then, last Sunday we hear another prophetic challenge, this time proclaimed by the wild man John the Baptist, (aka Murray Trelease) — Repent, for the promised one is coming — Prepare!

Three candles in the darkness are now shining. Frederick Buchner wrote, “the promise of Advent is that what is coming is an unimaginable invasion, an invasion of holiness.” What is coming upon the world, upon us, is the Light of the world. It is the Christ, the anointed one. That is the comfort of it. The challenge is that it has not yet come. Only the hope of it has come, only the longing for it. In the meantime we are waiting in the dark, and the dark, God knows is also in us. We watch and wait for a holiness to heal us and hallow us, to liberate us from the dark. But, for now, we wait for the advent of dawn, the coming of good news.

And, now my dear ones, I wish to offer you a bit of joy, for it is the cultivation of joy that is our most secure pathway while in the dark. Duke Divinity professor of Theology, Willie Jennings says it this way: “Joy is an act of resistance against despair and its forces.” Kabul Gibran said, “The deeper sorrow carves into your being the more joy you contain.”

I say that my primary spiritual practice is the cultivation of joy. Sorrow comes our way unbidden, but joy, like love, is not a feeling but an act, a verb, a decision and it is the key to lighting the path when darkness surrounds us. I speak of cultivating joy, not as an intellectual reflection but as a practice I employ, an act of resistance against despair and its forces. For many years, it was simply a longing but in December of 2003, it became an act of resistance. If you will allow me to do so, I will guide you.

Close you eyes and imagine you are in the dark and in a very large space, a space the size of a cathedral. It is night and as you look around, you realize that the walls are black and that the windows are covered with large panels of plywood. As your eyes adjust, you can see a little bit of light here and there, candles burning and a few lamps scattered about the space. At one end, probably the sanctuary end, you see an enormous circle of plywood with scaffolding filling the space of what had been the great Rose window. Turning and looking to the other end, you see folding chairs and a great set of doors, you can see the lights beyond the door, lights of cars and buildings, the door itself is a fretwork of iron, with glass filling the gaps, designs of triangles. And then you notice there is an altar and two candles. Although you are facing away from the sanctuary, it seems fitting that the altar is at the back, beckoning those on the streets to come in. And now look, you see me. I am standing at that altar, in the back of the burned out cathedral, together with my deacon and we are defying the darkness, resisting against despair and its forces. I am defiant in my joy — choosing whatever tiny bit of light I can find to stand as a witness against the dark forces that plague our humanity. That one night in the blackened hull of our cathedral was filled with enough joy to light a city. We are the light for a world in darkness.

And, I cannot do it alone. I cannot cultivate joy without others who will stand with me. For that is the promise and it is the light of Christ that burns in each of us who have chosen to follow this path.

Beloved, we do not know what will unfold on this day or any other day but we, who are followers of the light of Christ, are called to rejoice even in the midst of the darkness. And so, I say to you again, “Rejoice in the Lord always and again I say, rejoice.”

Amen.

December 1, 2019

Advent 1

Matthew 24:36-44

Grace Church

I was in Baltimore for Thanksgiving with my son,  Michael, his wife Jen and my two sacred granddaughters, Izzy and Maxine. Thanksgiving Day was also Michael’s birthday and dinner was held at Jen’s brother’s house and included a United Nations’ gathering of family members — Jen’s family came from the Philippines and the various in-laws and outlaws were of every color, language and culture. Add in fifteen children and you have a festival of chaos. The food was astounding and I can tell after a dozen years of feasting with them, there is always more than any group of thirty-five could eat in a week. It is a grounding and glorious experience, and I always leave feeling deeply blessed and full of joy.

On Friday, I began the long trek across the country, landing at Seatac on time and hoping that I might just make the 4:30 PM ferry back to Lopez. There was plenty of time until I came to I-5 — the nightmare of Black Friday was before me in a vast sea of cars, not moving — every once in a while we would slip forward a few feet. I couldn’t see what was impeding the flow of traffic, for miles we crept forward, inch by inch. Finally, I spotted the culprit — South Center Mall — at the I-5 and 405 — thousands were being seduced by apocalyptic messages: Like this one, the end is here — The managers of the Bedroom Superstores have been advised that ‘this is the end’ and that these are the ‘final days’ of the Bankruptcy Liquidation.

Everywhere I looked, the last days loomed — traffic was snarled and the hope of the greatest deal ever beckoned us to leave the comfort of home and enter into the last days. Delayed and frayed, I finally arrived at the Anacortes ferry with five minutes to spare. Never was I so grateful to drive onto the ferry and sit in solitude. As we approached the landing, I then saw them, Christmas lights already up. Even on Lopez Island, we are seduced by the fear of encroaching darkness — we are already getting the lights up to keep the end times at bay, a kind of primordial fear that life as we know it doomed — we are caught in the between times of our culture, the seduction of consumption of Black Friday and Cyber Monday and we are caught in the between times of global messages of impending doom.

But here, as we gather in this sacred space and light the first candle of a season that has its roots in the fifth century Gaul there is a light to remind us that a new age is dawning, already present but not yet consummated. And on this Sunday, we are reminded to wait and watch, remembering that we are living between the ages, and should be prepared at all times for the end of the present age.

George Harrison said it this way: All things must pass, all things must pass away, all things must pass. None of life’s strings can last. So, I must be on my way and face another day. This reality for us, is one filled with hope. And that is why we gather this day to light a candle. The lessons today are filled with promise and the hope comes to us in the form that is as unexpected as it is comforting. The end may be in sight but the future is not grim.

Isaiah offers his poem to us not as a prediction, but as a statement of the certainty that history will reach its goal, its culminations, its consummation. That divine reign will involve the utter transformation of existing conditions, from nationalism and conflict to unity ad peace. This passage brings home to us the power of expectation. Who can read these lines and not have hope kindled within their hearts? We gather here to keep this hope alive in each generation. We gather here to pass this hope onto our children and grandchildren. While fear mongers and furniture vendors proclaim that the end is near, we listen to a different message.

The beginning of the end has come already. That beginning has taken human form, a baby who will carry within him, a vision of God’s reign on earth. He is the mustard seed, the leaven, the pearl of great price, the visible sign of God’s love for all creation. This vision of Jesus for the world is not apocalyptic but it is eschatological. There is a difference. Those who predict cataclysm see the world as it is. Jesus the Christ, the anointed one, see the world as it will be. This future vision comes with him and it is a vision of blessing.

We are asked to do but one thing: wait with expectant heart; wait with hope, joy, and love. That is the only debt as Paul reminds us. It s all too easy to look around and predict disaster. But we who light this candle on this day, look around in the darkness and see the light.

George Harrison might have said it the way Julian of Norwich did: All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well. When she wrote those words, she looked into the darkness and saw the light.   We begin with the scripture today proclaiming an eschatological vision: The Son of Man shall come and we are promised: All shall be well!

The end is near. Are we ready? We must stand fast and keep our eyes on our identity. At baptismal founts, we enter into this life together, not simply baptized as individuals but baptized into the body of Christ and lifted up. Raised to new life and dying to self, we are raised to new life in Christ. We begin there and we continue that life at this table, where the body is gathered and we declare there is room for all. We experience the joy of community and communion and become one with each other and with God.

Let us always begin again!

Amen.

Sermon by the Rev. Nancy Wynen

Christ the King, November 24, 2019

Why do we celebrate Christ the King? Is this the image of Jesus that we get from the Bible? Only from the folks around him, trying to describe him.

Kings are magnificent, awesome, rich, and have total control over their people. The commander of the military, the ultimate authority. Power. The people around Jesus used that term because there was no other title for grand authority and leadership, unless you include ‘emperor’ or ‘pharaoh’. No concept for president, no voice of the people. King was it. Gospel writer Matthew shows us Jesus’ lineage to King David as proof.

But, the Jews of that time were sorely disappointed. Jesus didn’t act like a king. He didn’t live lavishly, associate with the ‘important’ people, go to war against the Roman Army. He didn’t wear a crown, he possessed nothing, and lived with ordinary people, promoting peace and love of enemies.

We all know that God is King of the Universe. Just one look at the night sky can prove that. If Jesus kept referring himself to himself as God’s son, then, yea, Jesus would have to be a king. Yet Jesus said, “my kingdom is not of this world.”

Jesus taught about true power, true glory, and what will last forever. Everything based on human physical condition is temporary. Kings and nations live and die. God’s kingdom is spiritual, the only one that will last forever. Jesus told parables of what that kingdom was like, and how we can live in it, even as we live in the physical world from day to day.

Jesus understood that we live in a physical, messy world where things aren’t ideal. He invites us to overcome that mess and set our spiritual selves to create the Kingdom of God here on Earth. That kingdom doesn’t rely on human wealth or power, things we admire and idolize. Instead of idolizing a human king and putting a high value on material wealth, our attention should go to God.

Jesus offered us a new vision of a king – the servant-king. One who serves his people, not the people serving the king. Putting ourselves second, everyone else first.

How do we do that? Be like Jesus.

The perfect example of this is what we do during the next few months. Beginning with Thanksgiving. We invite family and friends to join us in gratitude for all that we have. We put extra food in the Food Bank. Then Christmas, we shower people with gifts. Even giving to those we don’t know by writing checks to organizations who help the poor, the forgotten, the families separated by war or illness.

Loving neighbors (and family). A servant or a servant-king does that. Over the years, I often tried really hard, working over the top on making or buying a special gift for my kids and Fons, using incredibly more time or money (or both) than I should, because I wanted to make them happy. Not trying to impress them with my generosity. But thinking of how to serve them best, what do they need, what makes them happy.

Jesus treated everyone he met as an equal, as someone to respect and honor. If we could all be like Jesus the King, wouldn’t life be great? The Kingdom of God on Earth. Sadly, our basic instinct is to survive first, then look around to figure out who is better or worse than we are. Where is God in our crazy world, we are asked? Actually, is it God’s fault that the world is crazy?

Do we follow what Jesus and his kingdom are all about to change the conditions we live in? Do we bring that kingdom of promise to our neighbors who need our help in God’s name? We can’t wait for what Jeremiah wrote about  – that God will clean up the bad leadership so that we can live in a better world. To be like Jesus who is Christ our King, we need to do the cleanup.

After reading today’s Gospel, I wonder what I would have done if I had been back with Jesus at the Cross. Would we defend Jesus against his critics? He can’t be guilty of anything, so why punish him? That’s what a court decided this week here in the US. A man had been accused of helping bring water and food to some immigrants at the Texas border. Just water and food, not for or against the law. A jury set him free – acts of mercy should not be punished. It seems that the only way we can get back to Jesus’ teachings is to pass myriads of laws to force us to act with mercy and justice. We act from duty, not compassion. Jesus is all about compassion, our intentional love.

Christ the King may not be the best term for Jesus. But, in all honesty, we will always need a leader. Someone who can show us what to do, how to connect with God, how to serve each person with God-like love. Whatever you call Jesus, he is that leader. We can’t wait for what Jeremiah wrote about  – that God will rescue us and give us the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth. To be like Jesus who is Christ our King, we have to act in his name.

So, how will you celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas this year? Who is in this year’s family? What will you eat? What thanks will you share with those you see? Extra portions for those served by through the Family Resource Center or the Senior Center or the Hamlet House. Taking care of our neighbors. Through the Eucharist, we are Jesus’ own, we are empowered to do God’s work. Because we are servant-citizens of God’s kingdom and servant-citizens of Lopez Island.

Let’s make sure that the Kingdom we create will be around long after Christmas!

Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord!

November 17, 2019

Luke 21:5-19

Grace Church

In our beginnings are our endings and in our endings are our beginnings. As we enter deeply into the waning days of light and the last days of the long season of Pentecost, it seems ironic that theologian and biblical scholar Robert Capon names autumn as the season of heaven. Many of you are considering your departure to places of abundant light — I, better than most, can appreciate the desire to follow the sun but with Capon’s prompting in his lovely book The Youngest Day: Shelter Island’s Seasons in the Light of Grace, I find myself drawn to the thought that this is the time of fulfillment. At the very moment it seems our world is shutting down, closing up shop for the winter, Capon sees heaven.

He speaks of the time in the light, the time where we were caught up in the busyness of the day as mere prelude to this time, the autumn when the light has accomplished everything we need, and the harvest is gathered, and all is fulfilled — these are the days of heaven. This is the way of life and death and resurrection, for we cannot begin again without an ending and the ending is to be found in the secret places — in the ground, in the buds not yet visible, in the creatures, big and small who are ready for a time of gestation and in us, who have absorbed the light for these many days, light that now nurtures our bodies, fills our souls and prepares us for something new.

In our endings are our beginnings. It is this that we have lost, it is this that we run from, what we fear, it is for this that Jesus, teacher, healer, Lord, savior and finally Christ came. The baby who became the man who died for us and rose again and continues to meet us in new way, it is this one who reminds us that even in our endings we will discover our beginnings, even in death, we shall be blessed. The gospel is simply the story that links our beginnings and our endings and helps us find heaven, even as the days grow dark and the leaves fall and it appears that all is lost.

I was once told that my greatest spiritual gift was that I possessed divine discontent — I live in a state of expectation that is always ready to be surprised by a new day. It is the gift that allows me to leave the comfortable and known and venture out as a pilgrim on the way to heaven. It is a gift that allows me to see hope, even in what appears to be the final word. It was this that allowed me to imagine that even at this point in my life, I might serve you, here at Grace. In our beginnings are our endings, and in our endings are our beginnings.

This place in spring, summer, autumn and winter is a glimpse of heaven. Like Capon’s Shelter Island, the seasons are magnified in a way that one must simply surrender to the day — we cannot escape this glimpse of heaven nor the reality that this is a time of ending, apparent death and yet there is the promise of resurrection, there is the eternal promise of resurrection.

We are coming to the end of Pentecost, one more Sunday, Christ the King Sunday. Nancy will be with you next week. I travel to Baltimore to be with my son and his family for Thanksgiving and will return (God willing and winter is held at bay) for the first Sunday in Advent.

Today we hear from the prophet Malachi and Luke’s vision of Jesus as Prophet — each sharing apocalyptic views of what is to come, days of disaster and death, death to the evil doers and death to the followers of Jesus. In what I see as an ironic twist, we also hear Paul admonishing some of the believers in the Church in Thessalonia for their idleness in the hope of a quick return . It is a cautionary tale to us who are followers of the Way of Jesus and it is stunning to realize that even in the earliest experience of the church, we find those who see this gift of eternal life as an excuse to opt out.

For us it is a reminder to remember who we are and whose we are. In the cataclysmic days and in the ordinary days, Jesus comes. In our call to be martyred and in our failure to live up to our call to be servants of grace, Jesus still comes and continues to invite us into the beloved community. In these days of grace, these waning days of light, let us see the light within.  Let us look at the hymn again, I want to walk as a child of the light.

I want to walk as a child of the light.

I want to follow Jesus.

God set the stars to give light to the world.

The star of my life is Jesus.

In him there is no darkness at all.

The night and the day are both alike.

The Lamb is the light of the city of God.

Shine in my heart, Lord Jesus.

In our endings are our beginnings — let us prepare to begin again: Advent is coming. In the darkness of winter, the light will be born and we will begin again. Alleluia, alleluia.

Amen.

November 3, 2019

All Saints’ Day

Luke 6:20-31

Grace Church

This is the Feast Day of All Saints — It is one of the great feasts of the church year and in our tradition, one of those moveable feasts. The official day is November 1 and as I said in Grace Notes, my brother’s birthday. It is important to note that even difficult siblings get to be saints in this Christian feast day — it is a day to remember all the saints and during our Prayers of the People, you will be invited to say silently or aloud, the names of all the saints in your life. These very walls resonate with the saints of days gone by.

Last Thursday, we had the first gathering of Woman of Grace and Beyond — we began with names, sharing the stories of our names and how names shape our identity. We looked at images of doors and thresholds, imagining those as an entry into our lives — considering the body and the soul, first and second stories of our sacred dwelling. The images from Theresa of Avila and Evelyn Underhill —dwelling places connected to each other — communities of grace, offered a glimpse of yesterdays’ celebration of Jean’s life.

This is the church in action — an outpost and signpost of love, a place where all the saints can gather. Those of us who are committed to maintain this center point of grace demonstrated what I have called “radical hospitality.” Old Lopez gathered here to celebrate Jean’s life and to honor Dick and his amazing family.

Everyone on Lopez is not going to join this congregation but everyone on Lopez Island is welcomed — lavished with the love that comes from a commitment to be sacramental signs of God’s love in the world. You are living signs — like the image of the chalice I offered last week — we are filled with grace and overflowing. And we do not believe that we are set apart because we are extraordinary or privileged. We are set apart because we acknowledge that we are simply ordinary human beings who believe God loves us anyway — with all our limitations and shortcomings. That is the beloved community!

Many years ago, I heard this young man tell his story on NPR. He was recounting events from twenty years ago. Events which changed his life forever. His name was Kevin and, like many young men, he was seeking the meaning of life. His search took him as far as the Holy Lands. As he wandered, he took pictures of rituals, marriages, burials, rites of passage. He was searching for God — and God found him.

It was a busy time in Jerusalem, the week of Passover and Easter. One night, Kevin missed curfew at the youth hostel and was locked out. That very night was Easter Eve, and he found himself drawn to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre which stands over the protruding rock where the cross was erected. Rock-hewn tombs were interspersed in that ancient setting. It was a place tied to death: the place of the cross and the tomb.

Tired, Keven lay down on a smooth stone and slept. He was awakened early by pilgrims coming to celebrate the risen Christ. As he arose and looked around, he was overwhelmed with the power of the empty tomb and he knew, once and for all, that Christ had risen from the dead.

He returned to his hostel, went to bed and while asleep experienced a most remarkable dream. In the dream he was told that he had six months left to live. Although he could not explain why, he knew upon awaking that the dream was real, and so began his journey to death.

“What do you do when you know that you have six months to live?” That is the question Kevin asked himself. He was surprised at his response: he wanted to return home, to spend time with his parents, living an ordinary life, doing ordinary things.

And that is what he did. As the six months passed, he visited his brothers and sisters, his friends, leaving nothing unsaid. He took what money he had saved and sent anonymous gifts to friends and worthy causes. He prepared to die.

Finally, the last day came. It was late Fall. Kevin went to bed early, knowing that this was the end of his life. He reviewed the events of those remarkable months — satisfied that he was finished, that he had shared fully with those he loved.

The next morning, to his surprise, he awakened! His voice cracked as he told the story. “I awakened, and I knew that I had been reborn, reborn into ordinariness. And I knew that was enough — that I could want for nothing more.” What an experience of grace! Kevin learned the secret of the empty tomb: all life is a gift, to be received as a miracle and to be lived with the urgency of impending death and the joy of resurrection.

How would you spend your last six months? For what would you be thankful? These are the questions before us as we prepare for this life of abundant grace. The spiritual life, which is the only life for which we were created, begins when we discover the secret of the empty tomb. Take stock, give thanks for the ordinary and get ready to live.

As we remember all the saints who have gone before us, remember that you, too, are a beloved saint of God!

Amen

October 27. 2019

Proper 25C

Luke 18:9-14

Grace Church

One day a rabbi in a frenzy of religious passion, rushed in before the ark, fell to his knees, and started beating his breast crying, “I’m nobody! I’m nobody! I’m nobody!” The cantor of the synagogue impressed by this example of spiritual humility, joined the rabbi on his knees, “I’m nobody! I’m nobody!” The custodian watching from the corner couldn’t restrain himself either. He joined the other two on his knees, calling out, “I’m nobody! I’m nobody!” At which point the rabbi, nudging the cantor with his elbow, pointed at the custodian and said, “Look who thinks he’s nobody!”

This is the heart of our gospel reading today. The human condition laid out with such irony and delicious wit, that we read the story of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector and we believe this is our story and then we go down the path just a little way and our cry becomes, “Oh Lord, I thank thee that I am not like that Pharisee,”and we don’t get it. We miss the point of our human propensity to self deception. We’re so proud to be humble.

Jesus, in the fine style of satire, once again shines the light on the human condition by drawing these two figures as caricature:The Pharisee — a Jew’s Jew, the best and brightest, the most righteous, leadership material in any synagogue, religious, pious, prayerful, even a tither. The Tax Collector, lowest of the low — a legitimized thief working for the enemy, the Roman politicos, robbing the poor and lining his own pockets. This guy is the scum of the earth and in no way to be admired.

This is a story that both skewers religious piety and magnifies a life of depravity to tell us this one thing — only God saves. This is yet another story about the absolute saving grace of God and the foolishness of our efforts to save ourselves. The lost sheep, the lost coin, the lost son —all saved by grace.This is about only one thing — the God of mercy who lavishes salvation on the world. The Pharisee approached God but his prayer was one of self-congratulation. The Tax Collector approached God and begged forgiveness for his sinfulness. The posture of humility before God separated the two men, and in that posture the Tax Collector stepped into the river of grace that floods the universe.

But hear me, the story ends there. Jesus does not follow with a tale of how the Tax Collector went out and cleaned up his act. We do not get a morality tale of reconciliation and a new start in life. What we get is a picture of ourselves in relationship with God. For if I am truly honest, I see in myself both Pharisee and Tax Collector, good and bad, self-righteous and humble, right and wrong, all of it. Sometimes I approach the altar of the Mighty God full of myself and sometimes on my knees. The grace of God swirls around me no matter what — but puffed up with my own piety, I fail to surrender to its healing waters. Blinded by my own self righteousness, I miss the blessing of being precious just the way I am. And this is more than just a personal, individual problem, for self-righteous behavior puts us all at risk.

We are collectively caught in the seductive power of self-righteousness right now — it is like a virus and may be pandemic. It is life threatening to all of us. The more self-righteous we become, the less likely we are to kneel down before the God of all creation and pray for mercy. We are all vulnerable and the world is at great risk. Mercy is what we want. Grace is what we get — the absolute unmerited favor of God.

This parable holds up a mirror to us and in that mirror we see our distorted perspective, the one that equates self-righteousness with salvation. This is not the Gospel. Grace is the gospel. Grace is salvation. Grace is God’s unmerited, unmotivated, unprovoked love for the unlovable. Faith is saying yes to this good news. Works are our way of showing gratitude. Faith is our willingness to go on living this yes before God and one another, in spite of our chronic imperfection and in our yes to the good news comes the challenge of staying in the river of grace — establishing spiritual practices of faith, hope, love that begin in a posture of gratitude and thanksgiving and are manifest in the discipline of generosity.

This is a story that reveals the very being of God. This is a story that reminds us that God alone makes right all our wrongs, that God is the very lover who comes to us even when we have drifted far away and who waits for that whispered sound of humility, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”

Which brings me to the topic for the day — my response to being swept up into the river of grace — to know that my whole life is a gift and to respond through acts of generosity.

As a child I was invited to make an offering each Sunday and in Lent, to fill my Mite box and place it in the basket on Easter Sunday morning. At the age of 24 I made my first pledge as an adult, it was in response to the generosity I saw around me. After seminary my pledge became a tithe — the 10% offering of first fruits and for 42 years that has been my practice. This is my spiritual practice and it is in response to the toxic hold money has on our lives.

Jacob Needleman wrote the book Money and the Meaning of Life and in an amazing feat of storytelling, conveys this critical fact — we are both obsessed by money and we don’t take money seriously enough. He says, “Humanity was created to dwell in two worlds — that of the spirit and that of the mundane. Unless we fully master the mundane, in its primary manifestation of money, we cannot discern that which properly belongs to the spirit. To harness the power of money over us, is to be liberated.”

Here is an image to remember. The chalice represents us as body and soul, the mundane and the spiritual. To experience the fullness of life, it must be properly oriented. The bowl reflects the spiritual, the stem and foot, the mundane, the physical. The knob that connects the two parts is that place of grace where we find integration. Many in our culture live as if the two parts were reversed — upside down — and in that case, there can never be enough, we can never feel fulfilled, whole, or integrated. If left on its side, what little get into the bowl is always at risk, we become anxious and fearful. But turned upward, we find the richness of life filling us, nourishing us,  and we can say, “My cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.”

Amen.

October 20, 2019

Proper 24C

Luke 18:1-8a

Grace Church

Once upon a time I was part of a Holy Trinity cadre of stewardship leaders — James Hugh Magers, Robert H. Bonner and me. Bob was the head of the Episcopal Church Center, Office of Stewardship and Hugh was his right hand. My job was that of the left-handed scribe and curriculum designer for Bob’s vision, The Stewardship Star. The two guys were legendary, itinerants preaching the gospel of abundance and I was charged with taking their thoughts, stories, charts, plans and turning it into a stewardship training curriculum.

Here is the original notebook — Bob’s Bible. After observing the two on the road many times and seeing the notebook, I told Bob I needed to have this material. It was too precious to hand over but he did make a copy and then charged me with the task of creating something that would stay organic — keeping the spirit alive and creativity at the forefront. In a few years, it became the foundation of TENS, The Episcopal Stewardship Network.

It was important work and holding it lightly is what I have done for more than thirty years. The work was centered in the gospel and the challenge no less daunting today than thirty years ago. Money is the most powerful symbol in our culture. Talking about it raises the most anxieties, touches the deepest secrets and uncovers almost all our fears.

Our perspective on money is varied — it comes from family, from culture, politics, business, experience and occasionally, when we are bold enough, it comes from the church through the story of the people of God and the most radical human who ever lived — Jesus of Nazareth who was fearless as he confronted the reality of money, power and wealth.

Parts of the Christian Church, especially in this country — a place of so much abundance — refocused the message of Jesus on “sin management” rather than life in the radical realm of God’s Kingdom. Under the topic of “sin management” we are sold the distorted gospel of prosperity that promises wealth and riches to the true believers. There is an entire religious empire built on this distortion of the Good News.

This is not the gospel! This is not the message of Jesus!

Today in Luke’s gospel, we move closer to Jerusalem and hear the parable of the unjust judge proclaimed. It is another of these great reversals where the unjust judge is a stand-in for God as anti-hero. For weeks we have been listening to parables from Luke’s gospel about how simple it is and how hard to hear and receive.

Lost coins and sheep, prodigal sons and banquets for losers, crafty managers and a grateful Samaritan leper are all part of the scandalous array of characters that Jesus uses to provoke his followers, confuse the crowds and taunt the powers that be — all are corrupt in their own way and all, all of us can only be redeemed by a love so great that we must be shocked into a new reality — the promise is not wealth or prosperity — the promise is not about earning your salvation through good behavior — the promise is not fulfilled through right belief or doctrine or ritual and the promise is not about a new power rising to replace the old.

The promise is about the utter and unrelenting faithfulness of God through Jesus the Christ who pulls us through the portal of death into a new reality of being, becoming the beloved children of God — all are welcomed, many choose a different path.

But when we choose to walk the way to Jerusalem, the cross, the grave and beyond, we become the people of “No Fear.”Your ticket has been punched, the train is on the move, the destination is everlasting life with God and the journey is taken with others who have decided they are tired of walking alone.

The price to us? Surrender the need to control and learn to live a life of gratitude — giving thanks for all things. Jesus tells his disciples to pray always and not to lose heart. It is another story of the unrelenting faithfulness of God. This is the call, it is at the heart of spiritual practice and the consequence is an experience of joy in the Kingdom of abundance and grace.

Do I live as if I believe that all of life is in the hands of the living God? Do I live a life of gratitude or not?  We’ve heard two Midrash stories to shine the light on gratitude, generosity and the cost of the sidelong glance of envy. Today, I have another story — this is a true story of a man and his family who despite all signs of the contrary, lived in the realm of the abundance of God.

Sumith and Shanti de Silva were born in Sri Lanka and Sumith was ordained in the Anglican tradition. When their son Screeman was one year old, the doctor discovered that he had a serious heart defect. It was not something that could be treated in their country and they were told that they must take the baby to India or he would die. They did not have the money to travel or to pay the fees at the hospital and so they sold all they had.

hey sold everything they had — everything. People paid twice what things were worth and in two weeks they had the money needed to get to India and to pay the fees. They bought their tickets and sent the money to the hospital. When they arrived in India, they discovered that the money had never arrived. It was at this point the miracles began.

The hospital waived their fees and the doctor did not charge. Screeman was seriously ill and even in India they did not have the proper care. The de Silva’s were told that they needed to take the baby to America.

It happened to be Christmas when they were in India and Sumith went to church on Christmas Eve. Sitting next to him was a doctor, a pediatric cardiologist from Phoenix, AZ. He was on a four month project in India and he offered them hope.

Screeman was brought to the states and received a heart transplant and he thrived. Summit and Shanti stayed in the states and had two more children. For many years Sumith served as a priest in Montana taking care of three small congregations and his family.

I met Sumith in the Library at Diocesan House in Arizona in 1995. Screeman was in the hospital in Tucson, awaiting a second heart transplant. So beloved was this family that the churches in Montana continued to pay his salary while their son was waiting for his transplant. Sumith was at the office that day asking the bishop if there was a small congregation that might need his services. He offered to do this for no fee. He was simply being a servant. I had just the place for him and for the next few years, he and his family lived in Globe Arizona and served St. John’s Church. Screeman was now nineteen. He died before receiving a new heart but his life as a beloved son had been a blessing and full of grace.

Sumith and Shanti continued to serve St. John’s for several more years and are now retired, living in Tucson and still witnesses to a life of gratitude and generosity.

We have choices: to live in a realm that calls for gratitude and generosity, unleashing an abundant life or we can become hostages to the tyranny of scarcity. It is all about perspective. And at the end of the day, the ability to live this way requires only this, “In all things give thanks and praise.” It’s that simple and that hard. It is also our choice. We all have been given the ticket to heaven. Whether you live with a heart of thanksgiving or a spirit of selfishness, we will still arrive at the destination. The only difference is the quality of the journey.   Amen.