Month: March 2009

Lent 5, Year B, 2009

/ Sarah / Leave a comment

One thing I have learned about Jesus is this:  there is no point in asking him a direct question.

I imagine that if you asked him where the restroom was located, you would receive a discourse about the powers of the waters of baptism and how they wash us clean.  If you asked Jesus for directions, he would go on and on about he was the way, the truth and the life.  If you asked Jesus what was for lunch, he’d tell you about how he was the bread of heaven.

Most of the characters in the Gospel of John are Jewish and are from a fairly narrow geographical area.  But in today’s reading we are introduced to some Greeks.  They go up to Phillip-who has a name of Greek origin-and ask to be introduced to Jesus.  Phillip goes to Andrew, and then they together approach Jesus.

Jesus, of course, does not say, “Sure, I’d love to meet these Greek guys!”  He doesn’t even say, “You know, I’m booked right now, but I’ve got some time tomorrow about 1:00.  Would that work for you?”  He definitely doesn’t say, “Hey Greeks, great to meet you!  You know, my ministry is for all people, not just Jewish people. I’m glad you asked me that question so I could point out God’s inclusive love for everyone.”  Jesus is much more elusive than that.

Instead of answering Phillip and Andrew, Jesus embarks on a discourse about what it means to follow God. But, of course, being Jesus, in ignoring the Greek’s question, he is actually answering the question.  The Greeks may not get to visit with Jesus, but Jesus is going to tell them, completely honestly, about what it costs to follow Jesus.

First, Jesus talks about his own life.  He describes a seed of grain that must die so that it can produce fruit.  Jesus even refers to being lifted up on the cross and how he will draw all people to himself when that happens.  Jesus’ ministry on this earth culminates in this ultimate self-denial.  If the Greeks were hoping to see some miracles or hear a cheerful message from a deity, they must have been sorely disappointed!

Jesus makes it clear that he is not the only one who has to lose his life.  He states, “Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also.”  For the Christian, there is always going to be an element of self-denial and of sacrifice.

Last week, here at Emmanuel we witnessed four students confirm their faith as adults in the church, and nearly a dozen of our members decided to be received as Episcopalians or to renew their baptismal vows.  The Confirmation service reminds us that being a Christian is more than just a label.  When you are confirmed, you’re not given a handshake and a t-shirt that says, “I’m a Christian.”  Instead, you are asked to repeat your baptismal vows-and those vows call for sacrifice.

We are asked to renounce evil powers and sinful behavior and to actively follow Jesus.

And following Jesus is not always easy.  Sometimes we are asked to be kind to someone utterly unlovable.  Sometimes we are asked to stop doing something that gives us enormous pleasure.  Sometimes we are called to give up something or someone very dear to us.

And sometimes, we are called to move to New Jersey.

Those of you who are on our mailing list received a letter from me this week letting you know that my husband, Matt, has discerned a call to be a Presbyterian Pastor and that in July, Matt and I are moving to Princeton, where Matt will be a student at Princeton Seminary.

If you had asked me four years ago, when I began my ministry as a priest with you that one day Jesus would call me to New Jersey, I would have thought you were crazy!  Poor Matt.  He first discerned his call when we were dating and during one of our initial visits to see his parents in Princeton, we drove to New York City.  As we passed the urban landscape and the lights and smoke of the factories of northern New Jersey, I very supportively burst into tears and said, “I can’t believe I have to leave Virginia for THIS.”

In the two years since that moment, I have learned a lot more about New Jersey, and have come to realize it is not called the Garden State for nothing!  I have even come to a place where I can look forward to our life together there.

But before I could get to that place of acceptance of following God’s call, I had to go through a great deal of grief.  I am not losing my literal life, but I will lose my life with you in order to follow God and that is very costly to me.

All of us go through these kinds of transitions when we follow Jesus.  When we are called to be parents, we lose the freedom of not being responsible for children.  When we are called to begin working a new ministry, we lose the free time we used to have.  When we are called to live in a mature and responsible way, we lose the excitement of our old, irresponsible behavior.

Following Jesus is costly. But following Jesus is also rewarding.  To be with you, I sacrificed a life in Northern Virginia.  To be in seminary, I sacrificed a life in Richmond.  To go to college in Richmond, I sacrificed life at home with my parents.  Each choice we make means there are an infinite number of choices we did not make.  When we make the choices that we sincerely believe Jesus is calling us to make, we can trust that we will learn and grow and be matured in our new context.

By choosing what Jesus has for us, we can enrich our own lives and the lives of those around us.  Each of you on a Sunday morning could easily sleep in late and have a leisurely day at home, but you have chosen to spend your time here at Emmanuel.  By listening to God’s call, and spending your time and energy here, you have made this church a place that radiates with the love of God.  You have created a church community that gives life to the people that enter its doors.  You have modeled for each other, and for me, how following Jesus and sacrificing your own desires can bring alive the Kingdom of God.

And so, we follow Jesus, not just because it is the right thing to do, but because a life of journeying with Jesus is far more interesting than any life we could plan for ourselves.  We follow Jesus because as we sacrifice our surface desires-for stability, for security, for an easy life-we find our deepest desires-for meaning, for connection with God, for connection with others.

I have been blessed to be on this journey with you-and the journey is not finished!  Over the next few months we will have a chance to think about where Jesus is leading Emmanuel and what following Jesus as a congregation might mean.  We are all on the path together, even when our individual paths must diverge.

Lent 3, Year B, 2009

/ Sarah / 1 Comment

Oh, Jesus.

Just when we think we know our incarnate deity, just when we think we’ve gotten a sense of his personality, just when we’ve gotten comfortable with him, he has a temper tantrum in the temple and starts causing real havoc.

Our mild mannered man-god starts acting more like testosterone fueled thug than a wise sage.

In the Gospels of Mark and Matthew, the cleansing of the Temple comes when Jesus is deeply stressed and close to his death, after he has entered Jerusalem for a final time.  Today’s reading, though, comes from the Gospel of John.  And, you’ll note that this scene takes place in the second chapter of John, right after Jesus turns water into wine at the wedding in Cana.  So, unlike Mark and Matthew, where Jesus is well known and has been ministering for a long time, in John, this radical act of clearing out the Temple is the first public act of Jesus ministry!

Talk about shock value-In the Gospels of Matthew and Mark, disciples, Pharisees, Scribes, everyone knew who Jesus was.  So, when he turned over the tables and chased out the money changers, they had some context with which to understand his actions.  In the Gospel of John’s version of the story, he explodes onto the scene, introducing himself to the community at Jerusalem in a bold and violent way.

In the Gospel of John, rather than slowly ingratiate himself through healing the sick, restoring sight to the blind, or dispensing wisdom, Jesus has no hesitation about immediately distinguishing himself and claiming religious authority by clearing out the temple.  John’s Jesus is carving out his territory and claiming his identity.

After all, Jesus not only clears out the temple, he also identifies himself as the temple.  He tells the horrified onlookers that if the temple is destroyed, it will be raised in three days.  They think he is talking about the building, but he is referring to his own body.

Jesus is differentiating himself from other teachers, other miracle workers and physically claiming the most holy part of Jerusalem for himself.  To insult his father’s house is to insult him, and Jesus will not tolerate that behavior.

Jesus knew who he was, and he was not afraid to make a scene in order to stick to his principles.

I think we, as Christians, are invited to be a little bolder and to carve out our territory, as well.

Let me be clear-I’m not talking about going after political or economic power or overthrowing the government, or even destroying the companies that make tacky Christian kitch by the truckfulls.

I think we are invited to carve out our own territory of hope and faith in the midst of a culture that is filled with fear right now.

A friend recently forwarded me a column that was found in The New Republic.  The column was responding to an article in The New York Times about the humanities needing to justify their worth in the midst of tough economic times.  While the quote I’m about to read is about the humanities, I think it applies to religions, too.

it will take many kinds of sustenance to help people through these troubles. Many people will now have to fall back more on inner resources than on outer ones. They are in need of loans, but they are also in need of meanings. The external world is no longer a source of strength. The temper of one’s existence will therefore be significantly determined by one’s attitude toward circumstance, its cruelties and its caprices. Poor people and hounded people have always known this, but now the middle class is getting its schooling in stoicism. After all, bourgeois life was devised as an insulation against physical and social vulnerabilities, as a system of protections and privileges secured honestly by work; but the insulation is ripping and the protections are vanishing. We are in need of fiscal policy and spiritual policy. And spiritually speaking, literature is a bailout, and so is art, and philosophy, and history, and the rest. These are assets in which we may all hold majority ownership; assets of which we cannot be stripped, except by ourselves.

As Christians, we have precious assets that we can offer to our friends and neighbors who are hurting right now.

As Christians, we are not rich because of our bank accounts, we are not stable because of rising home values, we do not alter our level of faith when the stock market swings to and fro.

We know that at our core we are valuable because we are created beings who are loved passionately by God.  We know that true power comes when we give up trying to control our lives, and release ourselves to God.

Middle class America has been pretty comfortable for some time now, and in its comfort, it may have lost some of its ability to deal with the very real crisis we are now facing.

When we carve out our territory of faith and hope, we are not being empty headed Pollyannas.  I am not suggesting we go around chirping about how everything is going to be okay if we just believe in Jesus.

I am suggesting that we lead the way in a sense of hope that is rooted in prayer and our knowledge that God will provide us the strength and courage we need to face any crisis with dignity and compassion.  I am suggesting that we can show the world that we can face this economic disaster by banding together and helping one another rather than by frantically scrambling to position ourselves. I am suggesting our faith can give us the courage to be honest about what is really happening in our lives rather than pridefully hiding behind a veil of false appearances just to keep our places in society.

A few weeks ago Lisa Ling did a special report about the foreclosure crisis in California.  She interviewed several people who were handling the crisis in different ways. The first group were representatives of the hundreds of people who were living in tents in a makeshift tent city.  Many of them were there because they were too embarrassed to tell their grown children that they had lost their homes.  They were so caught up in their pride, so rooted in their identity as being people with homes, that they would not seek help from others.  I understand that some families are so fractured that living together is not an option.  However, it broke my heart that these people would rather live in such a desperate way rather than reach out to the people who love them.

Alternatively, another couple in danger of losing their house invited a family to live with them and help pay the rent.  They were honest with themselves and with their friends and family about their financial situation.  Instead of isolating themselves, they reached out.  The couple found a website that matches people who need homes with people who own homes and invited a mom and her daughter to move in with them.  While this arrangement will certainly have its own bumps in the road, I think the flexibility, creativity, and openness of their response really reflected a mature spirituality.

We are stronger when we reach out and ask for help when we need it.  We have deeper relationships when we are honest.  We grow as people when we engage with friends and strangers rather than isolating ourselves.

We have a choice in this economic crisis.  We can act out of fear, or we can carve out our territory of hope and faith and be a witness to the world.

Amen.

Lent 1, Year B, 2009

/ Sarah / Leave a comment

The story of Noah’s Ark is such a sweet story, isn’t it?  You’ve got a big boat, a colorful lead character, animals marching two by two.  We even have a big, beautiful rainbow wrapping itself around the story as the finishing touch.  Because it is sooo cute, Noah’s Ark imagery is very popular for children’s toys and décor for nurseries.  [Holding up brightly colored, stuffed, Noah’s Ark toy.]  This is adorable, right?

The story stays adorable until the kid who plays with the toy start asking questions.

“Why did Noah build a boat?”

“God told Noah he was going to send a big flood and that Noah should build a boat.”

“Why did God send the flood?”

“Because God was very angry with people.”

At this point the child starts looking a little concerned.

“God was mad at the people so he sent a flood?”

“Yep.”

“So, no one else got to build a boat?”

“Nope.  Only Noah.”

“So. . .did the other people. . .die?”

“Yep.”

About this point in the conversation is when I would suddenly offer the kid the opportunity to eat whipped cream right out of the can.  I would offer anything just to redirect the conversation.

The Noah story is not really an adorable story.  The Noah story is a horror story.  We have seen two mind-bogglingly terrible floods in the last few years:  The 2004 Tsunami in the Indian Ocean and the terrible 2005 hurricane related flooding in the gulf coast.  There was nothing adorable about either of those tragedies.  Through the power of television, we saw the bloated, drowned bodies.  We saw survivors begging for food.  We saw the panicked faces of people searching for their loved ones.  We saw animals, separated from their owners, looking lost and forlorn.  No one is going to design a Katrina or tsunami themed nursery, that’s for sure.

So, why are we so quick to embrace Noah as a hero?  Why don’t we resent Noah for not trying harder to rescue his neighbors?

I find it helpful to think of the story of Noah as a myth.  There was some kind of enormous flood in early Mesopotamia. Nearly every culture in the region has some mythology surrounding this vast down pouring of rain and subsequent flooding.  The peoples of the time did not have a scientific or even historical understanding of the world, so they would not have recorded data or interviewed survivors like we might do today.  Instead the survivors would tell stories.  They would ascribe spiritual meaning to the flood and tell the miraculous story of their survival.

In this case, the survivors, Noah’s descendents, understand their very existence as a gift from God.  They tell the amazing story of Noah’s survival in mythic terms in order to emphasize what a miracle Noah’s survival was.

But that does not get Noah’s descendents completely off the hook.  The story of Noah’s ark has a disturbing “us” and “them” mentality.  The “us”, Noah and his family, become this superior, righteous family who were chosen by God to live. The  “them”-the rest of humanity-are judged as sinners so that we don’t feel too badly about their death.

We truly are descendents of Noah’s, because we still have the exact same tendency to divide and diminish.  As Episcopalians, we tend to judge Fundamentalists.  Northerners judge southerners.  Politicians judge Hollywood.  Homeowners with ballooning mortgages judge New York bankers.  Christians judge Muslims. Democrats judge Republicans. And, of course, all of these statements can be reversed to be equally true.

But here’s the thing.  Noah’s exclusive family boat may have worked for his situation, but none of us are going to be given the opportunity to escape from people who are other than us.  No one is going to call me up and say, “Hey, Sarah, we’re starting a colony on the moon.  It’s going to be GREAT!  The only people who will live there will be just like you. When can you leave?”

This moon colony has several problems, not the least of which is that I cannot imagine anything more annoying than being surrounded by people just like me.  But the larger problem, is that our Christian faith not only allows for incredible difference within it, Christianity compels us to open our churches and our lives to all kinds of people.

Jesus, if you will allow the metaphor, offers us an enormous boat and invites all of us to climb aboard.  While Noah’s family understood their survival as the grace of God.  Jesus widens this image so we understand that God offers grace to all people-the righteous and unrighteous, the ins and the outs, us and them.  We are all in the boat together.

The name for the part of the church building where you are all seated is the nave.  Nave comes from the Latin word for ship.  Architecturally, the word nave is a reference to the ship like appearance of the ceilings in Gothic cathedrals, but the image of the nave works for a simple church like ours, as well.

Every Sunday we gather here, together, in one boat, in Jesus’ boat, because of what Jesus did for us two thousand years ago.  We climb into this boat time and time again, because our God is a God who loves all people-people of all cultures, income brackets, skin colors, and beliefs.

We climb into this boat, because we need each other.  We climb into this boat, because if we are going to survive the floods that this life brings us, we are going to need the security of the faith and fellowship contained in this boat.  We climb into this boat because Jesus stands at its bridge and welcomes us on board with open arms.

Amen.