Jesus For President, Proper 20 Year B

Yesterday, at a local festival I saw a man wearing a brown hooded sweatshirt that said “In the world, not of it”.  Now, this reference to the letter to the Romans directly addresses the tension that we as Christians often find ourselves facing.  We are called to be in the world yet we are also called to hold ourselves apart.  We are a people of God, yet we live in this world.    

Now this tension is not new to us, and as the early Christian communities formed they found themselves wrestling with how to live their lives as Christians.  It’s hard to imagine, but early Christians were a tiny minority and were surrounded by the monolithic and oppressive Roman empire.  So, as we read the letter of James, we need to picture a small Jewish Christian community that faces intense external pressure.  But, this letter, while it does concern itself with calling this community to stand as a voice against the dominant culture, is mostly concerned with the reality that these early Christians weren’t acting like, well, Christians.  In the passage we read today James draws a distinction between what he terms 

Earthly wisdom, in which success is marked by envy and selfish ambition and getting ahead in order to indulge our own wants, to "spend what you get on your own pleasures"; and Wisdom from above, a way of living that prioritizes gentleness, peace making and a willingness to lose, being, "willing to yield".  A wisdom that is full of mercy and good fruits--an abundance that is shared widely without partiality and hypocrisy

Now, this tension between these competing wisdoms, between a world that so often seems to reward selfish ambition and a God that calls us to be “willing to yield”, was clearly a problem for the early Christians and not just those to whom the author of James addresses his words.  In our Gospel we can see that this the disciples too were torn between a worldly kind of wisdom in which success meant achieving the highest public/personal honors and the reality of a Christ who is going to lose by the rules of the world and calls them to do likewise.  Further I think many of us have been in vestry and church committee meetings that echo this very tension in the here and the now.

When the disciples adhered to worldly understandings of greatness they argued and for a moment their sense of community and shared mission was lost behind their individual desires for honor and greatness.  When we forget that it is Christ that unites us and that we have a shared obligation to do God’s work in the world it becomes far to easy for conflict, strife, fear and anger to dominate the conversation.  Being in the world but avoiding being ruled by the world is a demanding and difficult calling.

In light of this difficulty, I've been reflecting on an interview I heard last week of the Chief Rabbi of Great Britain, Lord Jonathan Sacks, by Krista Tippett,  In the words of Rabbi Sacks, which I roughly paraphrase here "reconciliation can only be achieved when the victors realize that there are victims to their victories".  As I read the Gospel and James through the lens of this quote, it has occurred to me that central to our calling as Christians is the need to hold onto the awareness that in any conflict our opponents are also beloved children of God.  

How would our public discourse changed if we started and ended with an understanding of our shared humanity, of our shared belovedness?  What if the foundation of our work towards what we describe as justice was the notion of mercy and willingness to yield?  

What would that debate look like?  Can you imagine Democratic and Republican conventions grounded in an acknowledgment of our shared humanity?  In the midst of heated and passionate arguments for and against same sex marriage can you imagine everyone coming together and getting to know each other--getting to know each other’s families and lives, each other’s cares and concerns?  How would that change the conversation?  

I’ve done a small amount of volunteering with Minnesotans United for All Families--the organization working to defeat the amendment which would put into the state constitution language barring gay marriage.  And, in their trainings they have focused on  the importance of staying in relationship with the friends, neighbors or relatives who disagree with us.  Because, at the end of the day the only way anyone can be transformed is by staying in the conversation and allowing ourselves to know and be known.  

And, perhaps that is part of what it means to be a Christian--putting aside the notion of winning at all cost in favor of working to stay in relationship, to create a world in which James’ vision of gentleness and peace making prevail.  

And, while I continue to hope and pray that “my side wins” I am also called to realize that if I win, there will be another who is hurt by my winning.  We are called to remember the humanity of our opponents and in that remembering we have to deal with the fact that they too, whoever they are, are beloved children of God.  

Election campaigns focus on winning and losing, they focus on which candidate will best serve our own interests or those of “people like us” and this by it’s very definition does not reflect the Gospel or who are called to be as Christians.  Can you imagine Jesus running for President?  I’m thinking his odds of winning would be slim to none.  It's hard to win an election when the only thing you can promise is undying love...

Ultimately, it’s not about what we’ll get by being a Christian, but about what we will give and, this light, I wish to call to mind a portion of our baptismal covenant:

-Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?
-Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?

These are some of the promises that set us apart as Christians--that mark that what we do in the world reflects the love of God and the the unity of the broken body made whole in our lives and in our actions.  How will we live out these promises in an election season?  And, when our community seems fractured and rent by differences how will we work to repair what is broken?

There are folks who have a vision of how we might go about this work of reconciliation--a work centered in a vision of a world.  They have proposed that we all participate in something they are calling: “Election Day Communion”.  This movement proposes that on the night of November 6th we gather--regardless of how we voted--and gather for communion and in doing so, remember some essential truths:

“We’ll remember that real power in this world — the power to save, to transform, to change — ultimately rests not in political parties or presidents or protests but in the life, the death, and the resurrection of Jesus.

We’ll remember that, through the Holy Spirit, this power dwells within otherwise ordinary people who as one body continue the mission of Jesus: preaching good news to the poor, freeing the captives, giving sight to the blind, releasing the oppressed, and proclaiming the year of the Lord’s favor (Luke 4:16-21).

We’ll remember that freedom — true freedom — is given by God and is indeed not free. It comes with a cost and it looks like a cross.

We’ll remember our sin and our need to repent.

We’ll remember that the only Christian nation in this world is the Church, a holy nation that crosses all human-made boundaries and borders.

We’ll remember that our passions are best placed within the passion of Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God (Hebrews 12:2).

We’ll remember that we do not conform to the patterns of this world, but we are transformed by the renewing of our minds (Romans 12:2).

We’ll remember that God’s strength is made perfect in weakness.

And we’ll re-member the body of Christ as the body of Christ, confessing the ways in which partisan politics has separated us from one another and from God.

On Tuesday evening, November 6,
make a choice to remember.
Let’s meet at the Lord’s Table.
Let’s remember together.”

Dialogue

Naked

strip away everything

the titles

the degrees

ambitions

and success

as we've been taught

to save

or not

till nothing

but

yourself

and 

me

and 

the others

just us

people 

grounded in something that exists

beyond ourselves

within ourselves

flesh 

and

bone 

and 

noise

and 

silence

in 

dialogue

to

create

or destroy

yet

here we are

assuming 

the world

assuming

the 

center

of 

all is the world

twirling about 

us

yet

instead

we are the nothing in everything

everything in nothing

and 

the lasting ripple

the 

last

the

last

is 

love

Inspired by this 

Is the Church Relevant?

I just heard from someone very dear to me in a congregation I once served.  Apart from the sheer delight of seeing her lovely handwritten note, her words about how well the hot meal program that the congregation started, shortly before I left, made my heart swell.  At first I thought of how proud I am of the work they've done.  But, pride isn't the word for this--this stepping outside of the usual comfort of doing what has always been done and embracing the possibility of making change in both their neighborhood and in their lives.  For this congregation, what has "what has always been" has given way to "what can we do now?"  A better word would be "inspired" and "hopeful" or even "filled".

Inspired because, well, they did it.  In the midst of major change and hurting hearts, they stepped up and decided that the command to serve their neighbors superseded their fear of what was to come and how they would survive.

Hopeful, because in the midst of so many dire words about the "death of the CHURCH" I see a congregation that is working hard to remain relevant and faithful to the Gospel.  They didn't need a priest or other authority to tell them if they would make it or not--nor if they "could" or not.  They witnessed to what it can mean to BE the church.

Filled, with joy and with yearning--because I love these folk, and I miss them.  But, being far away and knowing that they continue in their ministry makes me glad that I got to journey for a bit with them.  It makes me glad to know that this place was my son's first church home and that for a brief while I got to gently place into their upturned hands the body of Christ--a body which they have ever been part of and continue to be as they fulfill their callings.

The church IS relevant.  In a myriad of ways small and big and seemingly small and seemingly big.  When the body of Christ is transformed into a meal for 100 hungry bellies, when a sip of wine becomes a fountain with enough for all of the thirsty...well, it is then that the Church at it's truly best.

So, in some ways the gift I was given today was a reminder to ignore the bells that portend impending doom and just keep on doing and being--because when you realize that you'll somehow need to stretch the potatoes and get another helping out of the edges of the pan because just one more has become another ten, well it is then that worries about the fate of the church fall away and the being of the church comes to fruition.

Being the Church...

8 years

As of today, I've been married for 8 years.

And, a marriage is exactly what we have.  We love, we live, we cry, we laugh, we are.  Together we have celebrated and mourned.

We like board games and hiking, we bicker over who should do the "handwashes" after dinner.

We have a 2 year old son.  He calls us "Mama and Mommy".  When he is referring to both of us he sometimes calls us "Mema".  He calls himself "Aye-Aye".

We've been up in the middle of the night with him when he's been sick.  We've been up with each other in the middle of the night when one of us can't sleep.

Sometimes, if I have a nightmare, I wake up my wife.  She reassures me that everything is okay.

We try to get to church together regularly, that is, when I'm not the one "in charge".

When my mom died, my wife was there for me.  When my wife mourns the grandfather our son will never know, I am there.

Life is good.

And, when the whole country seems to be debating whether or not we can get married, well on some level, it seems meaningless.

You see, we've been married 8 years.

This is NOT a Food Blog...But, I Do Like to Cook

So, have I mentioned lately how much I adore being surprised by elderly church goers who also happen to be flaming liberals in sweater set and pearl drag?

Which pretty much sums up the love fest I had on Sunday post sermon...

And, floating on that high we headed out to dinner on Sunday night (following a trip to urgent care for the boyo who has what looks like an ear infection).  Which means...

That we are behind on eating through our CSA box (a la a certain very, hungry, caterpillar). Thus, a veggie loaded (not that we ever have any other kind of meal) dinner was on the menu.  Tonight I improvised a bean/quinoa/corn bowl and I wanted to share it with you, because it was oh so very good!

1 cup quinoa

2 cups water

1/2 onion

2-4 cloves of garlic (depending on your preferences, I used 3) minced

2 pattypan squash, diced

the kernels from 2 ears of fresh, sweet corn (I stand the corn up in a serving bowl, hold the cob firmly, and run a knife between the cob and the kernels--the bowl catches the kernels)

1 can of pinto beans

1/2 tsp of cumin

An open beer (I had a Summit EPA)

salt to taste

4 big tomatillos, quartered
1 clove garlic
1/2 jalapeno 
1/2 tsp of salt

Big squeeze of lime

1/2 cup cilantro

Rinse the quinoa in a mesh strainer, drain and put in a 2ish quart pot that has a lid. Add 2 cups of water and bring to a boil. Cover and reduce heat to low simmer. Cook for about 10 minutes (water should be absorbed--if it's not, feel free to cheat and drain the quinoa a bit in the mesh strainer)
While the quinoa cooks, spray your cast iron skillet with cooking spray (I use canola). Saute the onion until translucent with some browned bits, add the garlic and saute for another little bit.  Add the squash and cook until squash has browned a bit but isn't soft yet.  Add the beans and 1/2 tsp of cumin.  Cook until beans are warmed through.  Turn up the heat and deglaze pan with a bit of whatever beer you're drinking while cooking.  Add the corn and cook until the squash is soft and the corn is hot but not over cooked (deglaze with beer as necessary).  Salt to taste.

Puree the tomatillos, garlic, jalapeno (I take the seeds out), salt, lime and cilantro (this is a raw tomatillo salsa recipe from Pinch My Salt)

Put quinoa in individual bowls.  Top with the veggie/bean saute.  Dice a tomato and an avocado and add to the bowls.  Then, pour generous helpings of the fresh tomatillo salsa from Pinch My Salt over each serving.  

You will have seconds...

However, your toddler will eat an ear of raw corn before dinner because he was "helping" to husk.  Then he will eat some cherry tomatoes from the tomato plants in the yard.  Then when served actual cooked food, lovingly arranged on his plate, he will eat: 4 beans, 2 mouse bites of quinoa, a tablespoon of salsa and 4 bites of avocado (but only because you told him he had to before he could go play with his trains).  It is at this point that you will finish the beer.

Sermon for 16B, You Can't Light Your Flaming Arrows Alone

Ephesians 6:10-20; John 6: 56-69 (click on the link for the texts as well as psalm and Hebrew Scriptures for the day)

When I was a pediatric hospital chaplain the staff requested that I, the first chaplain they'd ever really had at the hospital, wear my collar.  This set me apart from the rest of the staff rather dramatically--in my black clergy shirt and white collar I sometimes felt like the harbinger of doom.   I frequently had to explain to folks that I visited EVERYONE, not just families whose children were dying (and not just Christians).  However, despite this rather significant drawback to my uniform, I found that being set apart allowed everyone to clearly identify my role in a crisis.  In my clericals, people knew who I was and I could go and be where other hospital staff could not.

But what proved most essential about the collar was the link it provided between me and my community.  It allowed me to feel the weight of 2000 years of tradition and the institution of the church accompanying me in what felt like an impossible and unbearable calling. The collar helped me to remember that I was not alone--I stood with God and sought to bring love and comfort.  My clericals helped me to feel "strong" when I needed to be impossibly present to the nightmares of other people.

Yet, not everyone can (or, really, should) wear a collar.  And I have found, that as a priest whose primary ministry is the care of a two year old, that I still need armor.  I think most folk can relate to days when the only thing keeping you together is the right outfit for the occasion and confidence lent by knowing that you look good!  Sometimes a uniform of sorts is needed to give us the strength, confidence and endurance that we would otherwise lack.

But, it's not just about the clothes we wear...because as a friend reminded me yesterday, no one can put on armor alone.  The liturgy of ordination reflects this as family and friends of the newly ordained are invited forward to assist the new priest in donning the robes and stole of the priestly order--clothing far less complicated than that described in Ephesians!  And, I imagine that the complicated pieces of clothing described in Ephesians would have required assistance--the belt, the breastplate, the shield, the helmet, the flaming arrows.  Anyone attempting to put all of this on alone would fail miserably!  

It was this need for community that some scholars believe John was addressing in today’s Gospel.  John, was written around 90 CE and addressed a community in which the fellowship was being stressed and broken.  Persecution, expulsion from the synagogues--the early Christians faced major challenges as they lived their faith.  Many of these early Christian communities would have struggled under these external pressures and the temptation to walk away when things grew too hard or too painful would have been all too present.  In this Gospel passage, John reminds the community that the disciples too faced challenges to their faith...and that some of them chose to walk away when things became too hard. 

So, what made them back away in this moment...what was hard about this truth?  “those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them...whoever eats me will live because of me”.  To his followers, the notion of eating his flesh and drinking blood was repugnant and even offensive.  Levitical legislation explicitly forbid the consumption of blood and for some of Jesus’ followers this became the last straw--they backed away and left the community.   After 2000 years of hearing the Eucharistic language we may not notice the graphicness of this passage...but perhaps it is important to really hear it again--to recognize that we participate in something that sets us apart while uniting us together.  Eat my flesh, drink my blood--outlandish, offensive, absurd even.

It is an absurdity that has remained at the center of our life as a church.  Architecturally, in most Episcopal churches it is not the pulpit that is the center of our space, nor is it scripture, rather it is the altar.  The altar is the place where we break the body and pour out the blood of Christ, the place where we approach to share in this ritual of eating Christ.  A ritual that unites us, that nourishes us and indeed, arms us for the work we are called to do in the world.  And, it is in the call to work in the world that I am reminded of why I so clearly need this community of the church.  

In May 2011, the Minnesota State Legislature voted to put a constitutional amendment on the 2012 ballot in Minnesota that will read: “Shall the Minnesota Constitution be amended to provide that only a union of one man and one woman shall be valid or recognized as marriage in Minnesota?”  In the midst of the attendant uproar, an organization called Minnesotans United for All Families formed a broad coalition of organizations having conversations with Minnesotans about why this amendment must be defeated.  Several Episcopal congregations have joined in this coalition and many of our clergy and laity are working hard to defeat this amendment.  

Twice now I have gone to phone bank with the organization Minnesotans United For All Families.  The first time, I remember taking a few minutes to pray quietly before picking up the phone for my first call (we were calling the voter rolls to have listening conversations around the issue of gay marriage).  It was a phone bank night sponsored by the Episcopal church, and knowing that we were all there as people of fait -together made a big difference.  I was particularly heartened when I glanced up at one point during the training and saw Bishop Prior standing in the room.  That night, while difficult, felt promising.  I felt like I was able to be fully present to those on the other end of the line and even felt as if I was able to be a force of transformation to a few.  And, I felt as if I was with folk who “had my back”, we had armed each other for these difficult conversations.  

I returned almost a month later, feeling confident, I headed right in to start calling.  But, this night was different, in fact it felt disastrous...I was easily flustered and sensitive.  Every negative comment or hang up felt like a personal affront.  My heart still aches remembering my awkwardness and the ineffectiveness I felt that evening.    I felt vulnerable and exposed.   But, mostly, I felt alone.  

And, in retrospect, the only difference was my lack of prayer (or indeed, any time taken to calm and center myself before walking into the storm) and a lack of community that night.  I walked into battle without my armor-- but more importantly without anyone to arm me.  Without these things,  I couldn't find the love of God surrounding me and those I was calling.  I couldn’t do it alone.  None of us can...we need folks who will “have our back”, we need people who will stand with us in hard times and amidst hard truths. 

The authors of the Gospel of John and Ephesians knew that the community, gathered, is stronger than any one of us alone.   In our day to day lives, when we are confronted with hard truths and hard choices, knowing that: we have 2000 years of tradition, a community of folks to uphold us, and a God who loves us, can strengthen us in the continuous offering of God’s love to the world.  It may not be easy, and we may be tempted to back away but in our presence here, in our persistence in engaging with hard truths, I think we answer the question Jesus poses just as Peter does.  "Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.  We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God."

Armor of God, Amor of God

This post was the seed of the sermon that I eventually preached for 16B, you'll notice that a good chunk of it ended up on the chopping block and a good chunk got rearranged into the actual sermon...

The propers for this coming Sunday include the Ephesians' 6 passage on garbing oneself with the armor of God.

Which causes me to ponder the various ways in which I have found the metaphorical "armor" to be essential as I've gone about my work and my life.

When I was a pediatric hospital chaplain the staff requested that I, the first chaplain they'd ever really had at the hospital, wear my collar.  This set me apart from the rest of the staff rather dramatically--in my black clergy shirt and white collar I sometimes felt like the harbinger of doom.   I frequently had to explain to folks that I visited EVERYONE, not just families whose children were dying (and not just Christians).  However, despite this rather significant drawback to my uniform, I found that being set apart allowed everyone to clearly identify my role in a crisis.  Further, it allowed me to serve as a liaison between families and hospital staff--by being neither fish nor fowl I was able to support families who did not trust the medical staff while at the same time I was able advocate for the staff and for the families.  In my clericals, people knew who I was and I could go and be where other hospital staff could not (frequently I was the only hospital staff person in the room after life sustaining treatments were withdrawn and I would guide the family as needed as they accompanied their children in their last breaths).

But, those were outside perceptions and projections placed upon me in my uniform.  For me, wearing a collar allowed me to take off my collar at the end of the day--a signal that I could let go of the trauma and tragedy that surrounded me in my work hours.  It allowed me to feel the weight of 2000 years of tradition and the institution of the church accompanying me in what felt like an impossible and unbearable calling for any 26 year old, newly ordained priest, to undertake.  The collar helped me to remember that I was not alone--I stood with God and sought to bring love and comfort.  My clerical helped me to feel "strong" when I needed to be impossibly present to the nightmares of other people.

Yet, not everyone can (or, really, should) wear a collar.  And I have found, that as a priest whose primary ministry is the care of a two year old, that I still need armor.  Whether, it is a morning shower and decent clothing after being up ALL. NIGHT. LONG.  or switching from a nursing bra to something a bit more supportive and less utilitarian...there are certainly days when I need a uniform to give me strength, confidence and endurance that I would otherwise lack.

But, it's not just about the clothes I wear.

I have found that the clothes don't matter if my prayers are not present.  Twice now I have gone to phone bank with the organization Minnesotans United For All Families.  The first time, I remember taking a few minutes to pray quietly before picking up the phone for my first call (we were calling the voter rolls to have listening conversations around the issue of gay marriage).  That night, while difficult, felt promising.  I felt like I was able to be fully present to those on the other end of the line and even felt as if I was able to be a force of transformation to a few.

I returned almost a month later, feeling confident, I headed right in to start calling.  But, this night was different, in fact it felt disastrous...I was easily flustered and sensitive.  Every negative comment or hang up felt like a personal affront.  My heart still aches remembering my awkwardness and the ineffectiveness I felt that evening.    I felt vulnerable and exposed.

And, in retrospect, the only difference was my lack of prayer (or indeed, any time taken to calm and center myself before walking into the storm).  I walked into battle without my armor--and without my armor I couldn't find the love of God surrounding me and those I was calling.

I haven't been back to phone bank--my mother died shortly after that disastrous evening and I haven't felt able to muster up the courage to go back.  But I will, I will return and I will go with a friend and I will pray and I will find my calm and my courage--I hope.  I will find a way to put on some metaphorical armor--so that I can feel the love of the community and the support of God in the midst of what feels like an attack on who I am and who my family is.

Armor becomes amor, battlefields become the embracing community--and the armor becomes a friend and a prayer and the knowledge of solidarity.