Today’s readings make me sweat a little under the collar, they always have (perhaps they always should). The way I tend to read them is that either you give away the farm to those who are in greater need than you, or you’re selfish for holding onto any material gain—and God knows when I’m being selfish! Where is the grace in that? Today we are faced with two renditions of the ‘woe to the wealthy’ literary formulae. The passages from Amos and Mark are squarely aligned with a long prophetic tradition that culminates in Jesus’ teachings on the upside-down kingdom of God, where the last are first and the first, last. I take some relief—and I hope you do, too—knowing that the disciples were exceedingly perplexed by these teachings.
The other challenge with these texts is that they are riddled with a number of familiar phrases that stand out from years of hearing and reading scripture. Who here has heard a sermon or two on the ‘rich young ruler’? Or, how about cherry-picked phrases like, “for God all things are possible.” Lesser in popularity, though a personal favorite of mine, comes from the letter to the Hebrews. Certain Protestant traditions are not terribly keen on the priestly language, but who can forget the “word of God is living and active, sharper than any double edged sword; able to judge thoughts and intentions of the heart.” There’s nothing quite like the image of getting spliced open by the Holy Spirit to spur on fervent prayer.
And then the saying, “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.” That one has kept me awake from time to time (especially when I find myself preaching on it). In fact, on my bookshelf at home sits one of Peter Brown’s formidable tomes with that very title: Through the Eye of a Needle: wealth, the fall of Rome, and the making of Christianity in the West, 350-550 AD. In a mere 500+ pages, he charts out a 200-year history of the early church’s relationship with money and a falling empire. It is a history of soul searching and mixed responses. Throughout the church’s history, there have been times when Lady Poverty was (or continues to be) honored to great effect, and other times when she has been neglected in the corner. As we heard last week, Saint Francis was one who elevated her to renewed status. And to this day, the subsequent monastic tradition of the Franciscans continues to instruct us on the way of self-denial. Their approach remains one among many. We may not come to conclusive agreement on notions like “wealth” and “stewardship”—or even who is wealthy, or who is responsible for stewarding resources—this is one needle that will continue to prick us, the church, for a very long time.
Wealth and justice are fully intertwined in today’s texts. In Amos, we learn that the Israelites who have accrued wealth have also neglected justice. In the gospel reading, Jesus lovingly suggests to a potential disciple that he exercise radical generosity. In the Hebrews text, wealth and justice are addressed through discernment of thoughts and intentions, and we are reminded (echoing Amos) that there will come a day when we open our books to none other than God in Christ.
I want to invite us to listen closely to these hard teachings, together. And, following the letter to the Hebrews, let’s invite the Spirit to bring discernment, to illuminate our way, as we move toward the seat of grace. (Come, Holy Spirit.)
As I was sitting with these passages, allowing them to be both familiar and yet alien, a phrase in Amos stood out in its repetition: “in the gate.” It shows up three times. The first instance states, “they hate the one who reproves in the gate.” The second instance shifts from ‘they’ to ‘you,’ meaning Amos’ listeners, the Israelites, “and push aside the needy in the gate.” Finally, the third changes verb tense to a directive, “establish justice in the gate.” In the repetition of this one phrase Amos spells out a fairly clear picture of what is wrong within the nation of Israel at that moment, and the remedy for what needs to happen to correct.
But why a gate? What is important about the gate? In the ancient world, they were the thresholds into a city where people gathered daily. Vendors occupied market stalls, elders adjudicated cases, gossip percolated. Imagine something like a city plaza—an open area between two passageways—and that comes close to how gates in ancient cities functioned. The heart of a city could be discerned by noticing what activities occurred at the gate. Do widows and the poor receive food? Are the cases of less wealthy citizens heard with the same sobriety as those with status and influence? How do vendors price their goods, and how are they treated by authorities? In other words, how wealth and justice are performed, how they interact, in the gate defines an urban culture, and is a primary concern for God.
At the first mention of the gate, an undefined ‘they’ has targeted ‘one who speaks truth’ as an enemy. Amos, being a prophet, happens to be one who speaks truth—it’s his job description, you could say. Given the nature of the prophetic message, the ‘they’ here is likely to point to those in positions of power and authority [wealth implied] who may or may not be among the prophet’s listeners, but they are certainly perturbed by the message. In the second instance, what should be a visual cue in the form of vulnerable persons is, quite literally, pushed aside altogether. The prophetic voice has likely been silenced, and now visible need is not only ignored, but forcibly moved. The third instance offers an opportunity to turn things around. Seeking good, loving good, looks like [re]establishing justice in the gate/out in public—sharing bread and beverage with those who do not own fields or have the ability to make their own food, listening to wisdom from those who know and follow the way of the Lord, dealing honorably with one another (and not taking bribes or using privilege for gain). If only the people would seek God and live.
At this point in our journey through the texts, we could go down the path of constructing a political agenda that would be faithful to scripture. Or we could come up with all kinds of social commitments that would keep us busy, for the sake of the kingdom. I certainly have my biases in this department; perhaps you have one or two. In Mark’s gospel, too, it seems pretty clear that economic justice here on the earth has something to do with the kingdom of heaven. Yet, I believe we would miss something important if we only read this to further a cause. (So,) What might we find in the particulars of this encounter?
A rich man runs up to Jesus, kneels down, calls him “Good Teacher,” and asks what can he do to inherit eternal life. He does this, not when Jesus is teaching somewhere publicly already, where he would have to angle his way through a crowd, but when Jesus and the disciples are on the way (to Jerusalem). Presumably, Jesus had already been teaching in that area—had the rich man gone to hear him and been impressed? Or had he heard about this man, Jesus, and decided to catch him on his way out of town (kind of like getting a back stage pass)? Why would the man call him “Good Teacher” instead of “Rabbi,” which was more common? The scene Mark paints illustrates an aggrandized display of deference on the part of the rich man—who perhaps thinks very highly of himself to make such a showing. Jesus doesn’t exactly respond accordingly. (He never does.) Notice that when he recites the commandments, an extra one is thrown in. Recognizable are, no murder, no adultery, no stealing, no false witness, and honoring one’s father and mother. To these Jesus specifically inserts “no defrauding.” Naturally, the man says he’s followed the rules since his youth, but it would seem he doesn’t quite catch that extra one. Jesus addresses those commandments that deal with how we treat one another, then includes another term that explicitly points to economic and power differentials. When that passes the rich man by, he reiterates by saying, “you lack one thing; go [get up], sell what you own [land, property], and give [the proceeds] to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” Jesus looks at this man, loves him, and attempts to redirect his gaze from eternal life, to seek good exactly where he is.
Perhaps this form of redistribution sounds familiar; remember the command concerning the year of jubilee, when the land and all people are to have a sabbath year? Early on, the Israelites are instructed, “And you shall hallow the fiftieth year and you shall proclaim liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants…In this year of jubilee you shall return, every one of you, to your property. When you make a sale to your neighbor or buy from your neighbor, you shall not cheat one another.” (Lev. 25.10,13-14) This command had social, economic, political implications (and, to the best of anyone’s knowledge, was never practiced), and in the moment between Jesus and the rich man, the reverberations of jubilee are intended to strike a chord within the rich man, calling him to turn away from material status, to follow Jesus (the Messiah) into a new way, into life. The story of the rich man is just as much about the larger socioeconomic systems of disenfranchisement as it is an invitation to an individual to seek out and to love justice.
As we see in today’s readings, seeking good is locational. In Amos, it happens in the very public place of the city gate. In Mark’s gospel, it happens on the road, along the way, as Jesus himself is facing the gates of Jerusalem.
Recently, I watched a documentary film that offers an example of (re)establishing justice in a place, and in such a way that brought disparate communities together. The Return of the River is a film, released in 2014, that follows the removal of two dams on the Elwha River, over on the Olympic Peninsula. It follows the story of the river itself, from the mountains out to the Strait, and the dream of one man to bring electricity and industry to this furthermost corner of the United States, which he did. At the time the dams were built, timber was a vital industry. It employed and fed families in the Port Angeles area, and the dams provided affordable power to a great many people. Yet, for the good they did, they also cut off entirely an essential conduit of salmon and trout from the sea to the inland portions of the river. The priorities of one community superseded the local indigenous communities, as was the case more often than not at that time. Until the mid-1990s when the timber industry was in transition, and environmentalists started to petition for the removal of the dams—an unprecedented proposal. It took nearly two decades for a plan to come to fruition, but eventually, these engineering feats were blasted back to rubble, the river flowed, and the fish returned. (I cried, through the whole thing.) This is not everyone’s definition of justice, however, it is one example of what it can look like to honor those who have been economically, politically, even religiously pushed aside.
Loving good is particular to the individual heart/soul just as it is locational. We are all invited to follow the way of Jesus, each according to the way Jesus calls us. This does not mean that we may remain naïve to the systems of oppression and privilege at work in the world. Yet, we may approach the throne of grace boldly, knowing that Jesus will ask some very difficult things of us and that God will provide a Spirit of grace, creativity and truth in order to do what is asked of us. May you receive exactly what you need for this day, and every day. Amen.
The Episcopal Church, like the Roman Catholic, Orthodox and Lutheran churches, celebrates faithful Christians, who by their lives and witness are remembered as saints. We’re a little looser on the designation than some denominations. Miraculous events after death are not necessary to get yourself designated a saint in our book.
We adopted most of the Roman Catholic saints when we separated from the Church of Rome in the 1500s. Since then we’ve added folks along the way, expanding our corporate identity beyond apostles, virgin martyrs and weighty theologians to include people like William White, the first Episcopal bishop of the United States, Julia Chester Emory who pioneered women’s ministry in the 1800s and Martin Luther King Jr., a Baptist!
We like to name our churches after saints. Some are fairly common, like St. John the Baptist, others are more obscure like one of my favorites, St. Swithin. Here in Ballard, we are St. Luke’s, one of five St. Luke’s in the Diocese of Olympia, which is made up of 90 churches in Western Washington. Interestingly, we were originally St. Stephen’s but somewhere along the way the congregation went through a major upheaval and was renamed for Luke, the physician, evangelist and gospel writer.
It was an inspired and prophetic change for this church because in the 1960s a new wind from the Spirit blew into town and transformed this congregation. It was the era of the charismatic renewal movement in the Episcopal Church and St. Luke’s was right in the center of the excitement. All manner of people began to experience God’s presence in very tangible and transformative ways. Enthusiasm for prayer, worship and service grew. People were hungry to learn from Scripture and to develop the gifts of the Spirit in their own lives.
Many were healed. Some physically. Some emotionally and psychologically. Some permanently and others for a time. If you visit my office and look at the top of my bookshelf, you will find copies of the many, many books on healing and the gifts of the Spirit written by lay and clergy ministers from St. Luke’s. There are still hundreds of tapes of sermons, teachings and workshops on healing in body, mind and spirit downstairs in the archives. And there are some present who remember and continue as part of that ongoing movement of God’s Spirit.
They, along with others share the ministry of praying with and for others in a ministry of healing. At this celebration of the Feast of St. Luke we will offer anointing with oil and prayer for those who wish to receive it in the name of Jesus, our great physician.
Most of us weren’t around during the 1960s, 70s and 80s when thousands flocked to this little corner of Seattle bringing curiosity and hope along with their wounds. I can only imagine that there was a strong desire on the part of many to get as close as possible to the source of love and light, hope and healing. We all want to be at the center of the action, right up close.
Maybe you’ve waited in line for hours to get the best spot in the house or stood outside a stage door to catch an autograph, or walked for miles to a place of pilgrimage. We can measure our importance and impact by how near we are to the most important person in the room. It would be so great to be either at the right or left hand of the one we admire and desire. And if they have time for us, pay attention to us, and share a small measure of their glory with us… Wow! We feel incredibly special and set apart. We can dine out on the story of the time we were noticed by ______ (fill in the blank) for years to come.
That’s what happened for the disciples of Jesus. They witnessed lives transformed around him. They saw people healed from physical infirmities and delivered from the demons of mental and emotional distress. They experienced a new sense of belonging in the community of those who became brothers and sisters beyond the ties of blood. And they discovered a radical love and acceptance from a man who had neither wealth nor power but still drew many to himself.
Still they wanted more. More influence. More recognition. More approval. More status. More attention. It wasn’t enough to simply be among the twelve disciples, who were closest to him. James and John jockey for a more intimate connection. They want to be special. They want Jesus to give them places of privilege. And that all-too-human desire threatens to tear their fellowship apart and set back their spiritual development.
I’m so glad that this type of behavior doesn’t surprise Jesus. Diocesan Convention is coming up next week and I know I’ll probably have to wrestle all over again with my desire to be special and noticed. My own petty jealousies and resentments will make me cringe. And I won’t be alone. Many clergy, including my dear and saintly husband struggle in the company of other clergy. We aren’t nearly as kind and compassionate to one another as Jesus hopes we would be. Pray for me.
There is an antidote to this common human failing. I feel like I should alert you right now that you might want to tune out from what’s to follow. It’s not easy. It’s not nearly as simple as being a nice person, or being kind to strangers or even following the rules. The solution for our human tendency to place ourselves above others and to fake holiness by proximity isn’t complex but it’s not achievable on our own power.
It begins by allowing ourselves to be served. It starts with receiving. To be delivered from all the ways we try to separate ourselves from others, promote our own interests and make ourselves look good, we are to join Jesus in his calling through baptism. This is the same baptism that took him first into the wilderness to confront and repel the demons of worldly success, relevance and privilege. It is a baptism that foreshadows death; death to self-governance and self-will and surrender to the will of God. It is baptism in which we are raised to new life and given an eternal identity as the dear child of God, the beloved one. It is nothing we earn or deserve but is conferred upon us as gift and blessing.
We receive the cup of new life when we drink the cup of Christ’s death and resurrection. When we share this cup, we are united not only with the eternal and holy one but with all our sisters and brothers. And we are initiated into a life of holy service in Christ’s name. We who receive may then give. We who are forgiven, forgive. We who are served, are called to serve others. We who are healed and delivered have the power to bring healing and deliverance to this wounded world.
Today each one of us has our unmet needs and wounds both open and secret. Some have been with us from childhood and involve trauma, neglect or abuse. Some are the result of medical or mental conditions that are chronic and debilitating. We may have ongoing struggles with anger, lust, addiction, self-hatred, guilt and broken relationships. None of us is whole. All of us long for transformation, redemption, healing and peace.
For each of us the invitation is clear. Jesus says, “Come, be baptized with my baptism. Come drink the cup which I offer you.” Your pain and suffering will not be miraculously ended. But I will share it with you. I have already gone before you and can bring you through. With me you will have the grace to carry on. You will not be alone.
No matter what you are going through now, you are not alone. All around are signs of God’s presence. There is the water of baptism to remind you of who you are. There is the holy meal to unite you with God and all the saints. There is healing oil as an outward sign of inward grace and there is the prayer of your companions on the journey whose hands are the hands of Christ upon you.
“She will call upon me and I will answer her;
I am with him in trouble;
I will rescue her and bring her to honor.
With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.”
Proper 24, Year B
Isaiah 53:4-12; Psalm 91:9-16
Hebrews 5:1-10; Mark 10:35-45
Twenty-five years ago this month, I was sitting on a rock in the middle of a river in Yosemite with three other first-year Seminary classmates. We were visiting the park for the first time and had come from Berkeley for a long weekend. Out of a class of 36 we couldn’t have come from more different backgrounds.
I was a multi-denominational mutt with an evangelical bent and had been an Episcopalian for less than 2 years. The only male was an exchange student from Britain, the son of an Anglican priest, very traditional and Anglo-Catholic. My friend Lucretia is a cradle Episcopalian who spent years in the Convocation of Episcopal Churches in Europe. The youngest gal was a recent Smith graduate and a radical who wanted to challenge and upend the church’s oppressive traditions.
It was a gorgeous day in autumn and we had just completed an awe-inspiring hike to the top of the falls. We climbed onto a rock to celebrate the beauty of that astonishing place and to have lunch. After the meal, with all my naiveté and enthusiasm, I said, “We have bread and wine. Let’s celebrate communion.” What ensued was an hour-long debate about the nature of the Eucharist, the canons of the church and the role of the ordained in the sacraments. I don’t even remember if we ever ritually broke the bread and drank the wine, but I did begin to realize the complexity of worshiping God within a particular faith tradition.
So much brought us together and so much divided us. The meal that Jesus instituted for his followers as a way to celebrate his presence and be re-membered into his One Body has also separated and kept Christians apart for centuries.
In the Book of Numbers, the power of God’s Spirit is poured out on the 70 leaders chosen by Moses so that God’s word and work can go forth into the world and God’s people can be adequately cared for. Two, Eldad and Medad, receive the Spirit even though they aren’t on the mountain top with everyone else. They are literally in a different camp from the rest of the chosen ones, outside the tent. How quickly this causes controversy and an order to shut them down. They’re not authorized, they haven’t been properly prepared and anointed, and they are under suspicion by those who follow the rules and procedures. The amazing gift of speaking God’s word through prophetic inspiration is so often controlled and shut down because it comes to the wrong people, in the wrong place at the wrong time.
We’re so good at making distinctions, differences and divisions. We start with our closest relationships, in our own families. I’ll never forget the year and a half my sister and I had a masking tape line down the center of our shared bedroom. That simple division came with a warning, “Thou shalt not cross over!” It was childish then but the fact that we now rarely speak to one another as adults is a source of great sadness. Many of you have these kinds of family divisions, where anger and hurt keep us apart.
We’re keen on our differences as well. In the church there are important distinctions between the charismatics, evangelicals, Pentecostals, social justice liberals, liturgical perfectionists and conservative Christians. Many of us have stopped talking to one another. Jesus’s final prayer for his followers was that we “might all be one as He and God are one.” Sadly we are often more allied to our strongly held points of view than we are to the sacrificial act of truly listening to someone we disagree with. I’ll never forget the tiny church in Hawthorne, Nevada. They had enough resources to stay open with their small congregation of seven members but the bishop was forced to close them because 3 of them refused to be in church at the same time as the other 4.
And Lord knows our politics are divided. This bitter, disturbing week of hearings saddened, scared and triggered many of us. Somewhere in the mass of statements, opinions, pontifications, denials and demands there are wounded and damaged young people who have been terrified, alone and hurting for 35 years. The truth of the original wrong, the years of suffering and the current consequences are caught up in a firestorm of partisanship. We’re all in our camps now and there is precious little room for the healing balm of truth, reconciliation, humility and compassion.
Once again I am amazed and convicted by the radical way in which Jesus goes beyond our human limitations and failings to bring us closer to God and closer to one another. John, the beloved disciple of Jesus, comes to him with a complaint against someone who is outside the fellowship, a stranger, someone who doesn’t belong with those on the inside, the close followers. John is jealous and zealous. He wants Jesus to shut down someone who is using the name of Jesus without authorization or proper credentials to free people from demonic influence.
Jesus is still sitting there with a child in his lap, having told his disciples, just moments before, that to be great, you must serve the least, the invisible, the silenced, the ones who cannot defend themselves. And here comes his beloved disciple complaining because people are being delivered from their bondage by someone who doesn’t have the proper identity. You can almost hear the frustration in Jesus’s words. Stop it. Stop putting up obstacles to the work of God. Stop trying to bolster your own standing by protecting my name and reputation. I don’t care about my name and reputation. I do care about the little ones. I care so much that I tell you it is more important for you to put yourself at risk for their sake than it is for you to try and protect me. It is better for you to be more concerned for them than you are for me.
It is more important for you to stand up for others, to rub the salt of your truth-telling, compassionate care for these little ones into the entire wounded, bloody body of this world, seasoning it with your tears for the ones I love.
We who are so privileged to know the love of Jesus are called to serve others in his name. What would happen if instead of protecting our own–our own image, comfort, success and identity—we worked at removing the obstacles experienced by others? What might it mean to try harder to hear the different voices, from the “wrong” places, without the proper credentials? What would happen if we first tried to remove the obstacles we put between us and others, the barriers that prevent us from fully being engaged with one another? How can we allow God to make a way where there is no way, to clear the path to true connection and community?
At the beginning of this past, difficult week many of us got to see a glimpse of what that kind of communion might look like at the Edible Hope fundraiser. At least 200 people from all walks of life gathered together to care for this community. The week before our bishop asked with incredulity, “How did you sell out your fundraiser when your church is so small?” Well, “whoever is not against us is for us!” And our community is so much bigger than our Sunday morning attendance. Nancy Rogers and Robert Loomis made it clear that we feed people in the name of Jesus.
We are joined by many, many others who may or may not share that conviction. We are united not by politics, ideology, denomination, economics or education. We are united by a willingness to care, a desire to serve others, the belief in the dignity and worth of every human being and the simple compassion of providing a warm room, a good meal, a cup of something to drink and human connection. We offer food for the soul and the cup of new life with God’s help.
The love of Jesus is more inclusive than any one of us is ever capable of. Perhaps you need the love of Jesus this week to bring healing where you have been wronged, abused and humiliated. The oil of anointing and the prayer of the faithful are one of many resources for you in your time of pain and grief. Maybe you need the love of Jesus to mend a broken relationship where there are obstacles or distance, maybe years of hurt and anger. The grace of God poured out within our hearts and nourished at this table of love can strengthen us for the work of reconciliation. It could be that you need to tell the truth, to face shame, failure and self-loathing. You can begin in corporate confession with your fellow sinners and companions on the journey.
Proper 21, Year B
Numbers 11: Psalm 19:7-14
James 5:13-20; Mark 7:38-50
We live in a time of outrage, resistance and protest; of uncovering what is wrong and speaking truth to power. Every news cycle contains new revelations of sexual misconduct and cover-up, of egregious racism leading, in some cases, to wrongful death, and of political skullduggery which cheapens democracy and the integrity of our common life.
The church cannot be silent or collude with the evil that so often damages the most vulnerable. Preachers are called not only to comfort the afflicted, but to afflict the comfortable. We are to prepare sermons with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other, attentive to the conflict between the prophetic Christian message and the complexities of an imperfect and sinful world.
And so, for the past six weeks, this Christian preacher has been wrestling with the many ways we fall short of the ideals to which we have been called, both as individuals and as a community. According to Matt, who was here for all of the previous five weeks until he and Nora left to move to Michigan, “You’ve been on fire!” I think that was meant in a good way!
We have a strong Judeo-Christian tradition of telling it like it is. The prophet Nathan is a great example. After the greatest King in Israel’s history commits horrific abuses of power, lust and cover-up in the rape of Bathsheba and the murder of her husband, Uriah David thought he had gotten away with it. He even married Bathsheba and was expecting their child, his heir. Her fragile position forced her into shame and secrecy. Only David’s battle captain, Joab, knew what really happened and it was to his advantage to keep silent.
So David has no idea what’s coming when Nathan visits him and tells his little story about the rich man, and the poor man with his one beloved lamb. David rationalized his own behavior so much that he does not recognize the trap set by Nathan’s tale. In his own righteousness, David is outraged. He is quick to condemn the rich man. He is anxious to show his own compassion. He wants to take matters into his own hand to punish the wrongdoer and set things right for the victim. He once again thinks that he knows best, that he has the power and can control things to determine the outcome. He has forgotten the source of truth, the judge of all, the good shepherd who cares for each lamb.
Sin is so predictable. The methods may be different but through the ages the impulses are all the same: greed, lust, power, selfishness, pride. Sin doesn’t vary that much. What is interesting about sin is God. God’s approach to sin and the sinner is always nuanced and personal. Grace is never formulaic. God’s intricate weave of justice and mercy is wiser and more subtle than any system of punishment and rehabilitation that we can conceive.
David convicts himself by his own judgement. “You are the man,” proclaims Nathan and all his justification and avoidance is destroyed. The great revelation is that God has never been apart from David. God knows his heart and cares deeply about all those he has wronged and wounded. What had been secret will now be in the open. The shame of David is uncovered. The consequences he faces are awful; the death of his and Bathsheba’s son, unending strife and more rape and murder within his own family. As he begins to fully experience the weight of it all, David finally says, “I have sinned against the Lord.”
From this confession and repentance, something new and surprising is birthed. From death and destruction there is an unexpected renewal and hope. It is no shock to God that David has sinned so badly. After all, it is what every human being does, each in our own way. It’s only more spectacular because of David’s status and how far he has fallen from his own self image. Sin doesn’t surprise God and it shouldn’t really shock us either.
After all, every time we are outraged about the despicable behavior of another, we might have to face the words, “You are the one” in relation to our own greed, lust, pride, and hatred.
I became aware of this in my own life recently. The diocese has joined an ACLU lawsuit to prevent the seizure and destruction of the personal property of the homeless. I was called upon to give a deposition and I know the real pain that is caused when people lose what little they have. But this past week I was fed up. I was determined to make sure that no one was camping or dumping their stuff on our property. It’s an eyesore, it attracts more campers, it makes our neighbors crazy and our tenants nervous. I was so frustrated that I considered hiring a truck with two big guys to come and take away all the crap on the parking strips. Until… I read the story about the poor man who had so little, just one lamb and nothing more. What would it mean for me to take away the few meager possessions of the poor? After all, it would take an entire moving van to fit all the junk I own. “I am the man!”
Scripture is so dang convicting. God is so dang sneaky. God has more ways to reach me than I can possibly keep up with. We can hear how David responded to the preaching of Nathan and the conviction of his heart and spirit. We can share with David in a heartfelt response to our sin and God’s presence in our lives. With David we can move from denial, justification, and digging ourselves deeper into a bad situation. We can experience grace and renewal by growing in humility, prayer and compassion.
We can do so by joining David and every repentant sinner over the centuries in praying Psalm 51. It is the classic text of one who has faced her failure and turned back to God. It encompasses any possible wrongdoing but it doesn’t leave the one who messed up focused primarily on how he has screwed up.
This psalm is a plea for God to make it right when we cannot. It is prayed with faith and trust that we will not be left forever in shame and condemnation. The one who prays Psalm 51 is one who believes that God will not ever abandon her. There is hope that we will be restored, that we will once again experience the joy of God’s Spirit. There is faith that we can have a renewed and right spirit again.
When we come back to God in honesty and repentance, we come into true humility. Not humiliation. Humiliation just leaves us in shame and blame. Humility reveals our true nature in relationship to God and our neighbor. Humility allows us to see ourselves and others as both flawed and deeply valued. It grounds us and gives us a solid place from which to effect true change in our lives and the world. It reminds us that we are not God and that God is good.
When we confess the truth about ourselves and God we are brought back to a life of prayer. Relationship is restored. Blockages are removed. Barriers are broken down. We begin to experience that unity spoken of in Ephesians. “There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all.” We are not separated from God or others but belong to one another. We are given the opportunity to pray for others and to let them pray for us. We learn the strength of vulnerability as we open ourselves up in prayer.
Finally, to pray Psalm 51 is to enter more deeply into the compassion and mercy of God, the grace that first comes to us and is epitomized in Jesus. We can come before God in the middle of our screw-ups not because of ourselves, but because God has intervened for us in love in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. The forgiveness of God frees us to have compassion on others and to see them through the lens of love. We are literally broken open so that we can reveal our authentic selves and receive others into our broken open hearts.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to go to one of our homeless neighbors to apologize for not treating them with dignity and respect. I can’t tell you how hard it is right now to believe that some of our political leaders are human beings deserving of compassion. It’s going to take daily praying Psalm 51 to help me work effectively in our church to respond to systemic racism and sexism and my part in it.
But we are people of faith, hope and love. We have the story of David and we have the life of Jesus. We know how bad things can be and we know that there is redemption and grace to cover a multitude of sins. And we trust that nothing can ever separate us from the love of God and that we will all be one in spite of our sins and sorrow, we will all dwell as part of one body which is built in love.
If you’ve been dipping into church this summer in between weekends away and other commitments, you’ve heard me preaching a lot out of the OT books of Samuel, which recount the stories of the early kings of Israel: Saul, David and Solomon. And even if you think the Bible is often boring and sometimes incomprehensible, you probably know about David the shepherd boy and Goliath the giant; about David the young king who restores the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem; and about David and Bathsheba.
But since most of you are Episcopalians and it’s not the custom to bring your bibles with you to church (although I trust you all have the Bible Gateway app on your smart phone!), let’s check what you remember about this story of lust, sex and murder.
Do you remember that Bathsheba tempted David into sin by exposing herself to his view? That she wanted to entrap the handsome, powerful young ruler? That she knew exactly what she was doing? If so, you may have had your memory shaped more by Hollywood than the Scripture. For centuries, this portrayal has crept into art, novels and movies with Bathsheba as the beautiful temptress and David the man who could hardly resist her charms. Serious scholars of the Bible have offered similar theories and interpretations.
But if you pay close attention to the Bible you will find that the blame for this tragedy of rape, murder and the consequences lands squarely on David. He is the man who “took” the only wife of Uriah, used her and then planned to abandon her until he discovered that she was pregnant with his child.
Or maybe you remember that this was just one slip, one mistake that David made and when he discovered her pregnancy he tried to make it right by calling her soldier husband home so that the child would have legitimacy through their marital relations. Or that David was so very sorry for what he’d done that he married Bathsheba and gave her a wonderful life and that her son Solomon would become a great King and build the Temple. After all the good he did and his beautiful faith in God, this very human sin was an opportunity for repentance and a renewed experience of his worship of God.
But, if you read the account, you know that David never had any plan to care for Bathsheba and that in fact, he effectively murdered her husband Uriah, an honest and honorable man, and destroyed the life she had known. His sense of entitlement, his abuse of power, his selfish grasp of only what he wants ruins Bathsheba and puts the nation and the royal succession at risk.
Be careful with the Scripture. When it is used to justify a point we want to make without considering the integrity of the text and the relationship of the Holy One to humanity, it can bite back. We can find ourselves convicted of the very things we have accused others of.
David’s is a story of an extraordinarily gifted and successful man who puts his own needs and interests above everything and everyone else. He and his innocent victims suffer terrible consequences and the nation is put at risk because of the immorality and failure of its King.
To quote from Ecclesiastes, “There is nothing new under the sun.”
We are at an incredibly sensitive and tender time in our relationships with one another at work, in public, in our leadership, in the church and in our daily lives. Every day brings a new revelation of the equivalent of “You are the man!” as those who have engaged in abuse, harassment and even rape are accused and exposed. Many who have been victims are terrified of what it will mean to tell their stories. They have too often been scapegoated by being accused of encouraging or acquiescing to behaviors that left them damaged and shamed. Too often the Davids of our day have been excused or protected and their abuse has been downplayed.
The consequences continue to play out in our families, institutions and communal life. And, in our church. For the first time in my over 30 years of ministry, we have begun to speak aloud what has only been whispered. Abuses that have been kept confidential, effectively protecting the perpetrator, are beginning to come to light. Structures that have privileged the influential, the male, the ordained are being examined for how they reinforce patterns of abuse, discrimination and harassment.
It’s a tender and terrifying time for those who have been abused or discriminated against. It is a nerve-racking time for those who are examining their conscience and behavior to discover or admit for the first time they ways they have wounded others. And it’s a risk to the survival of a shrinking church to deal directly with what has been kept quiet or covered up.
And yet, we are the People of the Book. It should not surprise us that even those who have found favor with God can sin mightily. We should not be afraid to tell the unvarnished truth. After all, the Bible is extraordinarily honest about David’s failures even as it records his great gifts and heroic deeds. There will be more stories of abuse and those who tell them will need to have companions and advocates standing with them. But true healing will only be complete when there is honest admission of guilt.
It may be even harder for the perpetrators of sexual abuse and harassment, and systemic discrimination against women to examine and discover their sin honestly admit their wrongdoing. There are consequences.
But we are also Jesus people and that very fact gives us deep resources of strength and grace to honestly face our sin and its very real consequences. We follow the one who refused earthly acclaim and power in order to stand with the ones most wounded and marginalized. We eat with the One who can feed thousands with the bread of life and the cup of salvation. When we fall into despair, sorrow and remorse, and fear is threatening to undo us, we hear the words of the one who says “It is I; do not be afraid.”
I confess that I can get overwhelmed by the scope of the difficulties and my own limited resources. As we face the evils of racism, sexism, and abuse of power it’s easy to focus on how little we have. We’re like the disciples who can only rustle up 5 loaves and 2 fish in the face of 5,000 hungry people. It’s easy to get paralyzed when you feel powerless. We aren’t able on our own to solve every problem or heal every ill. We don’t have enough knowledge to solve this or enough money to fix it. Being nice, good people isn’t enough. Holding the right political positions won’t prevent anyone from grave error. Whatever we are or have on our own is just not enough.
But we are not alone. Jesus has called us together and placed us in communities of mercy and justice. God has placed the Spirit in and between us with the power to overturn the forces of evil and sin. None of us is ever alone.
I was reminded of this yesterday when we held the Memorial Service for Bevin, a 34-year-old woman who died in the van she was living in outside St. Luke’s. She had been in the neighborhood for just under 4 years. Her severe epilepsy made her unable to manage on her own although she desperately wanted her independence. She suffered with terrible seizures, memory loss and the indignities of being sick and homeless. The severity and frequency of her seizures led to her death.
But she was not alone. Close to 100 people attended her Memorial Service. An entire community cared for Bevin. There were people from various churches where she ate and got clothes on a regular basis. There were her friends who are part of the unhoused community in Ballard, including the man she lived with in the van and his daughter. Many members of St. Luke’s and Edible Hope volunteers pulled together to provide flowers, photos, food and to help with the service. Business owners and employees from Ballard showed up to honor her with free Starbucks coffee and her favorite candy. There was so much love and care for her by so many different and diverse people.
As Paul writes to the Ephesians, “God, who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine.” With God’s help and in community we can care for the most vulnerable. With God’s help and in community we can feed the multitudes. With God’s help and in community we can confess our racism and work together for a more just society. With God’s help and in community we can name abuse and change our behavior.
I am joining with others in our church to develop ways to listen and respond to personal and systemic abuse and discrimination towards women. I am aware that this touches nearly everyone in some way and I want you to know that I am available to listen, to own the ways I have failed you and the church has failed you and to work together in community towards repentance and accountability. It is overwhelming and yet, I am hopeful because we are not alone on this journey. With Jesus in our boat, we will come to our journey’s end.
2 Samuel 11:1-15; Psalm 14 St.
Ephesians 3:14-21; John 6:1-21
2 Samuel 7:1-14a
Mark 6:30-34, 53-56
Jesus went home for a visit and it didn’t go so well. He brought his loyal followers with him to meet his family, friends and fellow Nazarenes. He went to synagogue and preached the same message that he had been delivering all over the country. He demonstrated the wisdom and insight he had gained from the trials of the desert and the years of study, prayer and reflection. And the people were astounded at what they heard.
But they couldn’t get past their recognition that this was Jesus, who was familiar to them and yet so changed. They remembered the carpenter, the boy who played with his siblings, the child of Mary. It didn’t matter what he said; they heard it but refused to receive it. And the man whose teaching and presence transformed lives was amazed at their unwillingness to believe and receive what he had to offer. They couldn’t hear him and he couldn’t help them.
If that had been me, I would have been devastated. It hurts so much when the people you are most familiar with don’t get you, when the people you love and care for cannot or will not listen to your truth and affirm your deeply held convictions. And when the rejection is public and in front of your new friends, then the pain is accompanied by shame and impotence. When we go home, we want to bring all the good things we have learned and experienced to share with the people we care about, to offer them something that has benefited us. We can help others, why can’t we help those we are supposed to be closest to?
Jesus failed in Nazareth. He could do no deeds of power in that place. He converted no one and cured only a few. He left surprised and bewildered by their dismissal and lack of faith.
It can be hard to go home. Home is the source of our hardwiring. These are the people who formed us. We are shaped by their values, customs, habits, beliefs and prejudices. And even when we are hurt or angry at one another, these are the ones we so desperately want to love and understand us. We crave approval and affirmation. We want a chance to give back to them in gratitude for what they did for us. We want home to feel like home forever.
Sometimes that is just not possible. As far as we know, Jesus never returned home again. He famously said, “Prophets are not without honor, except in their hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.”
And yet, this trip home with his disciples is a turning point in the direction of his ministry. Out of failure and rejection there is a new beginning. From this point forward, the disciples graduate to a new level. Right after they witness the dismissal of Jesus by his hometown, they are sent out into all the villages around to be his witnesses. They are under no illusion that they will be universally well received. They have just seen how Jesus was run out of town. They know that many will refuse to listen to the message of the Kingdom of God. It has probably occurred to them that their testimony could get them in trouble.
And yet they go. They go with the authority and blessing of Jesus. They go, not in their own strength but with the power of the Spirit. They take nothing with them, no props, no resources, no wealth or weapons. They go without the promise of success and with the certainty of danger. They go forth in vulnerability and weakness, following the example of their Lord and teacher.
This is the secret of the Kingdom of God. It is not in strength or power that the love and grace and mercy of God is found. It is rather in our weakness that God’s power is demonstrated. It is in our failures that God’s grace triumphs. It is in our sin that forgiveness is released. And it is in dying that we are reborn.
The Apostle Paul had every reason to boast in his own pedigree, his education, his intelligence, righteousness and influence. He could have been insufferable in his arrogance and privilege (and sometimes he was!) But he knew failure and rejection as well as deep shame and remorse. His testimony and ministry come not from his own strength and power but rather from the place of his wounds and weaknesses, his “thorn in the flesh.” He is able to testify, “So I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong.”
Think of that. I don’t want to be weak. I’d like to be successful and strong and smart and in control. I’d like to have it all together and to be admired and accepted and popular. I mean, isn’t that the image of ourselves we’d prefer to project? It’s so much more fun to be successful than to fail. It’s wonderful to be accepted and loved, rather than rejected and misunderstood. I’d be quite happy to be admired and respected by all.
This past week, I’ve been listening to some really amazing and wonderful sermons by the top preachers in the country. The great news is that one of them is an Episcopalian and the other’s a Lutheran! Last week was the national Youth Gathering for the Lutherans and Nadia Bolz Weber preached a fabulous sermon that had the whole stadium shouting at the end. Not only that, she looked totally cool with a sleeveless clergy top that showed off her very buff, very tattooed arms. She was phenomenal.
And then there is Bishop Michael Curry, our own Presiding Bishop, the bishop who preached at the royal wedding. The Episcopal Church’s General Convention is being held in Austin for two weeks and they are live-streaming the worship. Bishop Curry is on fire. The Episcopal Church hosted a revival meeting and he preached a “Come to Jesus” sermon that knocked my socks off.
But here’s the deal. Both of these preachers have been rejected and despised. Both have been mocked and protested and hated. And that’s mostly by fellow Christians. You see, they don’t fit the image of a Christian preacher in some people’s minds. Nadia is too edgy, too honest about her former substance abuse and sexual immorality. She cusses too frequently and doesn’t look decent and appropriate. She couldn’t be ordained in the denomination she grew up in because she’s a woman.
Bishop Curry had protesters outside the venue where he was preaching. They object to his and the Episcopal Church’s full inclusion of LGBTQ folks. They don’t like his style. You could see some people smirking when he preached at Prince Harry and Meghan Markle’s wedding. And though most won’t say so openly, they don’t like that he is an African American man leading one of the major Christian denominations.
I imagine that both of these followers of Jesus have been discouraged, rejected and doubting. I know that they have risked everything for the gospel and that they have been afraid for themselves and those they care about. They have failed and floundered. Nadia’s marriage ended. Bishop Curry’s health has suffered.
And yet, they continue to testify to the message they have received, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” God’s power is made perfect in our weakness. God sends us out into this world, not in our own strength but in the grace of God, the love of Jesus and the companionship of the Holy Spirit. That grace is sufficient for you and for me.
Does your family misunderstand you? Are they unable to accept you for who you truly are? Is it a challenge or even impossible to return home? God says, “My grace is sufficient for you.” You are loved exactly how you are.
Is your work life a challenge? Is the pressure to do well overwhelming? Are you unsure that you are doing the right thing? Do you experience failure or unrealized expectations? God says, “My grace is sufficient for you.” You are worthy.
Are you demeaned for who you are? Do you experience prejudice because of your gender, skin color, age or identity? God says, “You are beautiful. You are loved and valued. My grace is sufficient for you.”
If you are holding a secret sense of inadequacy or shame, if you are feeling imperfect or unforgiven, if you wonder whether you matter or your life has meaning, God assures, “My grace is sufficient for you.”
God’s grace is sufficient for every one of us. God’s power is made perfect in weakness and failure. Jesus was not diminished by the rejection he experienced in his hometown. He was not defeated by the cross. In what seemed to be ultimate human weakness and powerlessness, God demonstrated God’s love and power to save.
My dear sisters and brothers. God’s grace is sufficient for you and for everyone you know. You are sent forth from this place to testify to that message of faith, hope and love to a world that is desperate to hear it.
Proper 9, Year B
2 Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10
2 Corinthians 12:2-10
+In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
These past couple of weeks I have seen a few storms pass through my life, this community and this nation. There were times when I thought I might drown in the waves crashing over my head while I tried to paddle. And just like the disciples in today’s gospel, there were a couple times when the fear paralyzed me. I just stopped paddling, wondering what I could do to prevent myself from going under. Going under the waves of grief from losing a guest of Edible Hope Kitchen, waves of anger at the hostility of neighbors and the increasing divides between the wealthy and the poor, waves of heartbreak as stories of children being ripped from their parents arms flood my conscience, and waves of vulnerability as I struggle to keep all parts of my life in order.
But I was not alone in my boat. Many of you were there alongside me. We paddled together. In fact many times when I was paralyzed with fear of drowning, there were others beside me who continued to paddle, helping me to reach shores along the way. And there were times when I was able to help paddle for others. But these waves haven’t gone away; they are still crashing against the boat.
It’s likely we will find ourselves, if we haven’t already, struggling against the waves and will ask Jesus, “Do you not care that we are perishing?” Don’t you see that people are dying in our streets? Don’t you see that children along our borders are being permanently traumatized? Don’t you see we are paralyzed with fear and anger? Why are you sleeping?!!
Why is Jesus sleeping in today’s gospel?
It’s a good question. Why should we see Jesus sleeping while a storm rages as good news? Jesus sleeping on the boat is good news because it means that Jesus was truly human. He needed time to rest and recharge after a long day of teaching. He needed others to paddle for him in order that they could continue on to the other side where more work would be required. It means Jesus knows what it means to be tired and have the need for sleep.
And yet, Jesus is also the Son of God, and has the authority of God to still the waves. To call out and say “Peace! Be still!” and have the winds stop, the waves fall flat. To take comfort and rest in the power of God.
Today’s gospel gives us permission to do likewise as the Body of Christ. To take rest when we are in need, and when we have rested, to hear the call of our neighbors to wake and use our voice to calm the winds and waves of oppression, poverty, torture and racism. We must speak out for peace among our neighbors. We cannot let the cries go unheard. I unfortunately got a glimpse of what it feels like to have one’s cries go unheard or ignored, when I broke my ankle and had neighbors pass me by out of fear or inattention. It broke my heart for those who I know face this daily living on our streets, in our detention centers and in our jails. So we must rest up and be ready to speak up, reach out and paddle for our lives and those of our neighbors crying out.
We need not be afraid, with just the faith of a mustard seed, we can bring the Kingdom of God into existence. We must have faith that this is not the world God wants for us, his children.
Now the work of bringing the Kingdom of God into existence is a big job, gigantic in fact, a feat as large as David killing Goliath. Both these readings speak of the logical fear almost all have in the face of seemingly impossible tasks. Just as the disciples are paralyzed by fears of drowning at night in the middle of the Sea of Galilee during a storm, the armies of Israel and King Saul are paralyzed with the fear of facing Goliath.
But David and Jesus know that nothing is impossible with God. Because of this knowledge, David a young boy, with no experience of battle seemed confident to offer himself to take on Goliath, a lifelong warrior and a giant of a man. David was successful in a feat that seemed impossible, and was impossible without the skills and tools provided by God. David was not successful because he wore the armor of Saul or carried the king’s sword; No David was successful because he shed this items and instead trusted that God had already provided him with what he needed.
How often are we told we aren’t what is needed for the job, that we don’t have the right skills or tools. But what if instead of listening to these voices, we instead listened to God. What is God telling us? Is God telling us that he has made us for his purpose and given us the tools for his task? Is God telling us we need not be afraid?
We are all needed in one way or another to bring the Kingdom of God into our world, it is a gigantic job, but God has given us the tools, and reminds us that the Holy Spirit resides within us, enabling us all to take on the task. Not because we are so powerful, but because we go with God. Let us all go confidently to the battlefield to take down the Goliaths standing in our way, unburdened from the weight of the “armor” of others, and perfectly equipped.
For most of my adult life I have been a renter. It wasn’t until Bryon and I married 10 years ago that I first owned a home. I once calculated the number of places I had lived in my life and realized that I averaged at least one move a year before I turned 45. It was great to never be responsible for major upkeep like roofs, HVAC units and plumbing. It was fairly easy to pick up and move on when necessary and those frequent moves helped me avoid accumulating too much stuff.
But there were major disadvantages to renting. I always had to live with white walls and be very careful about what I hung on them. Then there was the garden. In many locations I either rehabilitated an overgrown garden or dug out and planted a new one. I planted herbs and annuals and vegies that grew fast. It was always difficult to leave the garden and move on. You’re never sure if anyone else will love and tend it after you’re gone. Even though the land never belonged to me, I had invested in it with my whole being and it had returned something beautiful and nourishing.
This past week as I dug out the sod, amended the soil and prepared the raised beds at our home, I realized that my gardening had changed. I was planning for how a shrub or tree might look after 10 years. I was moving things that would get crowded out over time if they stayed where they were. The roses I planted last year are doing great and should produce blooms this summer and for years to come. I’m adding to the blueberry bushes and thinking about raspberries.
There is something different about my relationship to this home and this garden. I’m home. The Pacific Northwest is the geography of my soul and I know how to grow things here. I’m investing in a future that may not even include me. I’m not just dwelling in this place. I’m putting down roots. I’m abiding.
To abide is to dwell in your heart’s home. It is to know where you belong. To be a renter is to serve the owner. You don’t really belong. You are only valued for the economic income you provide to the landowner. To abide is to be in a relationship of mutuality with the place you belong. You take care of it and it takes care of you. All the time, work and money you put into your abode is for a continual and future return. And if you’re fortunate enough to have a little land to produce fruit and flowers, trees and shrubs, vegetables and herbs, you can’t help but think of those who might come after you to reap the bounty of the land you have tended and cared for in your lifetime. There’s a difference between renting and abiding.
In the first chapter of John’s gospel, the proclamation that redefines a consumeristic understanding of the whole creation based on exchange and return is this. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” The God of the universe pitched a tent in the middle of our human existence. The divine one became present intimately in Jesus. God chose to abide with us in all our frail, human messiness. God invested everything in this human adventure and gifted us with love divine, mercy unending and a willingness to sacrifice everything for our flourishing.
Like a rich woman who leaves her McMansion on Bainbridge and takes to the streets of Seattle to live amongst the unsheltered, God pitches a tent right in our neighborhood. Like a friend who moves in with you to bathe, feed and care for you during a life-threatening illness, God shares our sorrow and suffering. Like a vineyard owner who changes into work clothes and picks up pruning shears to work alongside the field workers, God partners with us in caring for this world.
By the fifteenth chapter of John’s gospel, as Jesus prepares to go to the cross and his death, he describes the complete turnaround that his life and ministry has made. God had been pictured as a strict taskmaster, a distant ruler, a commander requiring absolute obedience, an accountant keeping track of our good and bad acts. Jesus puts those myths aside. He contradicts all the false notions of God. His intimate knowledge of God opens up a different relationship with the Holy One. Abiding with us, we can no longer be known as servants. God names us as friends.
We belong to God. No matter where we go, God will accompany us on the journey. No matter what happens to us, God will never abandon God’s friends. God will not demand blind obedience, that’s not what friends do. God will not keep secrets. Because we are God’s friends, Jesus will make known to us everything he has heard from God.
We share God’s joy. This is not joy without suffering. Rather it is joy that cannot be stolen from us whatever life’s circumstances. Remember that curious phrase from Philippians, “For the joy set before him, Christ endured the cross?” Complete joy is joy that is not dependent on our situation, but rather on our status as God’s beloved friends and on the security that God will not abandon us.
We abide with God and in God. To abide in God is also to abide smack dab in the middle of this beautiful, broken world. It is to take seriously the command to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last. The fruit we bear is the fruit of love. We are clearly called and commanded to love one another as God in Christ loves us. We are to pitch our tent in the middle of those with the greatest need. We are to care for our friends in their deepest distress and to labor in the field for a harvest that will nourish everyone.
At St. Luke’s we have been blessed to be a blessing. We are called to be God’s beloved community in this beloved neighborhood. We have been gifted beyond anything we can ask or imagine with the fruits of the Holy Spirit, baptized into the Body of Christ and commanded to live in love.
St. Luke’s was a renter congregation when it was first planted in Ballard at the end of the 19th Century. It took many years before the church was able to find land and money to build a permanent building. That chapel is now nearly 100 years old. There have been ups and downs, times of feast and famine in the life of this community. Sometimes we were bursting at the seams with people in attendance from all over the city, the nation and the world. At other times, we were nearly abandoned or closed.
Through it all God abides with God’s people. We are part of the larger Body of Christ, called to live in love and faithfulness and to tend this patch that is a legacy gift. Our Bishop Greg reminds us often that St. Luke’s is the heart of the larger Episcopal Diocese of Olympia. It’s the heart of Jesus that beats in this place and that powers us for the transformational ministry that turns strangers into friends and draws us to the table where all are fed.
Kristen recently preached a brilliant sermon in which she encouraged us to see ourselves not only as stewards of the gifts God gives, but as shepherds. Shepherds are intimately tied to those they care for. We are called not only to shepherd the riches of grace in the Christian tradition, in the gifts of word and sacrament, in font and table. We are commanded not only to love those who are in church on Sunday morning, but God’s friends who enter in through other doors to this holy space, in the Edible Hope Kitchen, the Bridge, Suzuki School, AA groups or through the SLUG.
Today we are taking seriously our care for all of creation. We are caring for the water cycle with our RainWise installation that prevents rainwater from overfilling the stormwater system, filters it naturally through our raingarden and provides irrigation from cisterns for our many gardens here. We are celebrating seven years of the SLUG gardening community where church members and neighbors work together to grow produce for themselves and for our kitchen and the Food Bank.
And today we bless the bees in our new beehives. These honey bees are so useful. They will pollinate plants in a 5-mile radius. They will produce wholesome, local honey that we can serve to guests in the Edible Hope Kitchen and share with others. We hope to get beeswax candles that can be burned at our first Great Easter Vigil next year as we celebrate the resurrection and the light of Christ in our midst.
None of us can say how long we will live in our current location. We can’t say for sure that St. Luke’s will still be here in another hundred years, or if so, what it will look like. We don’t know what state our planet will be in after another hundred years of global warming, pollution and over use.
But today we rejoice in the love that has brought us together, in the beauty and fruitfulness of this patch of earth, in the fruit of loving service that restores and heals in body, mind and spirit and in the love of God in which we abide and that abides in us, now and for ever. Amen.
Sixth Sunday of Easter
Acts 10:44-48; Psalm 98;
1 John 5:1-6; John 15:9-17