Trinity Sunday, Year B, 2012

June 4, 2012 / Sarah / Leave a comment

Listen to the sermon here.

The Trinity is like a clover. It has three parts, but is one thing.

No, no, no.

The Trinity is like an apple. It has skin, meat and the core, but is one apple.

That’s not quite right.

The Trinity is like water. Water can exist as a gas, liquid or solid, just like the Trinity exists as the Father, Son and Holy Spirit!

Well, that doesn’t quite do it, either, does it?

For as long as there have been preachers and Sunday School teachers, we have been trying to find a way to express the idea of the Trinity—that we believe in one God, who exists in three forms. It took early Christians 325 years after Jesus’ death to hammer out exactly how they wanted to express this idea. 325 years! In the meantime you had tons of arguments about which member of the Trinity existed first, and whether one member generated the other, and whether Jesus was really God or whether he was a human who was turned into God.

It was about this point in theology class where our brains began churning at a dangerously high rate of speed. Words like homoousia and co-eternal and consubstantial were tossed around the room as if they would clear up this tricky business once and for all.

So, before we veer off into dangerous territory, let’s take a deep breath and a step backward, and look at what the apostle Paul has to say about the Trinity.

First of all, Paul is not familiar with the term Trinity. If we asked Paul what he thought about the Trinity, he would just stare at us blankly.

However, if we asked Paul about the relationship between Jesus and the Father, or Jesus and the Spirit, he’d have quite a bit to say! At the risk of being completely reductionist, when Paul describes the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Paul sounds like he is describing a family. Not any family you and I know. This family doesn’t squabble over who gets to sit in the front seat of the car or who gets the last drumstick of fried chicken.

In his letter to the Philippians, when Paul describes the relationship between the Father and Jesus, he uses a liturgical hymn popular in his time. Part of it says:

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus

who, though he was in the form of God,

did not regard equality with God

as something to be exploited,

. . . .

Therefore God also highly exalted him

and gave him the name

that is above every name,

so that at the name of Jesus

every knee should bend

For Paul, the members of the Trinity are a family who are always lifting each other up. In this hymn from Philippians, Jesus is humbling himself before God and God is exalting Jesus. Their relationship is wholly mutual.

In the Gospels, Jesus always listens for what his Father would like him to do and shows perfect obedience, even when obedience leads to death. Jesus feels so close to the Father he refers to him as Abba. Abba could be translated as Papa, a term of endearment. Their relationship was a tender one.

The Holy Spirit empowers the church to tell the world about Jesus, to ensure that the Father and the Son will be worshiped across this globe.

One imagines the members of the Trinity in a holy dance, never jockeying for position or striving to be best, but exhibiting perfect love and respect.

That pretty much sounds like your family, right?

The Trinity is not a family we can recognize. We can kind of wrap our minds around the Father-Son dynamic, but I’m not sure where the Holy Spirit would fit into our limited understanding! Is the Holy Spirit mom? A really interesting cousin from California? Ultimately the metaphor of the family is only slightly more helpful that the metaphor of a clover or apple.

But! But in our passage from Romans today, Paul tells his readers,

For all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God. For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption. When we cry, “Abba! Father!” it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ– if, in fact, we suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him.

Paul claims that the Holy Spirit gives us a spirit of adoption—that we become God’s children through Christ.

Paul is claiming that this family of the Trinity, this family marked by perfect love and humility and generosity wants to include US in the family.

Paul is claiming that Christ, who came to earth and DIED for his Father, is willing to have us share in his inheritance.

US!?

Does the Trinity really think this is a good idea? Humans are terrible at being in families. We argue over whose turn it is to visit our father in the nursing home. We complain if we don’t get the same amount of ice cream as our sister. We scream bloody murder if our brother hits the button on the elevator before we do. We destroy families over inheritances. Why would God want to adopt us???

I have about a half dozen close friends who have adopted children and two themes I have seen in each family are these. First: The parents long for their children years before they are adopted. The parents do not know who will be their child, but they love that child and long to include them in the life of their family. I bunked with my friend Maggi at a retreat a dozen years ago, just when she had begun proceedings for adopting her first daughter from China. As we drifted off to sleep, we talked about this daughter, who might not even have been born yet, and Maggi’s voice was filled with love as she said her name. Caroline. Her name would be Caroline.

Caroline and Maggi celebrate a decade together this weekend, and have welcomed another sister, Betsy in the intervening years. Even before Maggi saw a picture of her daughters, they were real to her in her heart.

Second: Once that child is adopted, she becomes wholly and completely of that family. That child belongs to that family. Through and through. Forever.

My friend Alex, who has adopted three beautiful children, once said to me, “Sarah, I sometimes wonder what it would have been like to carry these children in my body, but even if I had given birth to children, I would want it to be to these children.” My friend Alex loves her children. Completely. No other children could take their places.

And maybe the experience of adoptive parents gives us a little glimpse into the mind of the Trinity. Maybe the Trinity was so overflowing with love, it decided to share that love. Maybe the Trinity even longed for us. Maybe the Trinity wouldn’t trade us for any other children. The Trinity claims us for its family. We belong to the Trinity, through and through. Forever.

Children are not adopted because they understand their parents, or because they are good or smart or talented. Children are adopted because a family’s love and longing overflows its boundaries and can’t help but to love more. The Trinity adopts us because of who the Trinity is, not because of who we are. And the Spirit invites us to join Jesus in calling the Father, Abba. This adoption is not a formality. The Father wants us to love him, to feel protected by him, to call him pet names.

Not only does the Father offer us intimacy, but offers us intimacy at great cost to himself. The Trinity is willing to threaten its very existence, to lose part of itself, so that we might be included in the family. Christ is willing to die so that we might live with the Trinity forever. What family does that? What family sacrifices one of its own members for children who don’t even deserve to be part of the family?

In the end, the Trinity is not like a clover, or an apple, or water. Water cannot love. Apples cannot long. Clovers cannot embrace. But the Trinity is not quite like a family, either. No family could go to the lengths and depths of love and sacrifice that the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit go through for us. No brother would lose his life for unworthy siblings and then welcome them into the family with open arms.

And yet, this mysterious, complicated Trinity does. This mysterious family breaks itself open and welcomes you inside into perfect love. You. You. You. Welcome home. This is your family.

Easter 4, Year B, 2012

April 29, 2012 / Sarah / Leave a comment

I am the Good Middle Manager. The Good Middle Manager asks for reports on time. The Consultant, who is not the Good Middle Manager, sees the buyout coming and leaves the employees and runs away and the corporation calls them in and fires them. The consultant runs away because a consultant does not care for the employees.

The Good Middle Manager doesn’t quite have the same ring as The Good Shepherd, does it?

The image of a shepherd is a romantic one. We think of Heidi in the Swiss Alps, and those sentimental paintings of Jesus with a baby lamb in his arms. While the life of a shepherd might be far removed from our experience, to the crowds that followed Jesus, the idea of someone being a shepherd would have been as familiar as someone being in management is to us.

And not only that, but Hebrew Scriptures are filled with shepherds. Abraham was a shepherd, Jacob was a shepherd, Moses was a shepherd, and of course David was a shepherd.

What about being a shepherd makes a person so likely to get called into service by God? Why does Jesus identify with this job?

Shepherds must be both responsible and courageous. They must seek out good pasture in which their sheep can feed and they must diligently protect their flocks from wolves and other predators.

Unlike herding cattle, which can be done from behind, a shepherd leads from the front, calling out to her sheep, who know her voice and follow her.

Abraham, Moses, and David all ended up being called to rely on these skills when it was their turn to lead people. Whether they felt prepared or not, each of them became responsible for leading God’s people to new places and new adventures. And each of them had to defend God’s people against various dangers.

Jesus, of course, is more than just a shepherd of us, his followers, he is The Good Shepherd. He is not a hired hand, who is going to run away. He is not a Pharisee who has lost intimacy with God’s people. He is not a consultant, who has professional distance.

Jesus is the Good Shepherd. Jesus loves his flock of followers and they followed them, and still follow him, by listening to his voice as it is handed down to us in the Gospels. For generations now, Christians have learned that by following Jesus, they are led into rich pastures. Following Jesus leads to intimacy with God. Following Jesus leads to lives rich with meaning.

Lately, I’ve been reading books about parenting. This week I am reading a book called “Raising Happiness” by Christine Carter. Dr. Carter has done a ton of research about what generates happiness. She has carefully compiled this research and thought about how parents can use it to raise well adjusted, happy human beings.

Frankly, she could have titled her book, “Being Sheep: How following The Good Shepherd can lead to a Lifetime of Happiness.” She covers the importance of having deep social connections, practicing gratitude, letting go of perfectionism, learning how to ask for and give forgiveness, serving others, learning self control, even eating together! If that doesn’t sound like life in Jesus’ sheepfold, I don’t know what does.

Dr. Carter describes behaviors that Christians who follow Jesus should be practicing whether we have read her book or not. Our Shepherd leads us into community. Our Shepherd acknowledges our imperfections and chooses to take the fall himself, teaching us about forgiveness. Our Shepherd shows us how God is at work in the world, teaching us gratitude. Our Shepherd is a servant, teaching us to serve. Our Shepherd gives us the Holy Spirit, empowering us to have self control. And, of course, Our Shepherd gives us the gift of the Eucharist, which we eat together every week.

The sheepfold is not a perfect place. After all, it is filled with sheep. But the sheepfold is this amazing crucible in which we sheep can practice all the things the Shepherd teaches us. It is in the sheepfold, this very church, where we can practice asking for forgiveness when we have wronged someone; serve one another, practice gratitude for all God has given us; work on self control of our bodies and speech; and encounter that Good Shepherd as we gather together weekly to partake of his body and blood.

It is in this sheepfold that we try to follow our Shepherd together. We may bump into each other occasionally, step on one another’s toes, get into each other’s patch of grass, but we are all trying to go in the same direction, listening for that voice so we can follow together.

Whether we are a rummage volunteer, Sunday School teacher, grounds beautifier, mission trip goer, St. Nick’s wreath maker, chorister, priest, sexton, usher, verger; we are all in the same flock, following the same Shepherd.

We are a few weeks away from moving into our summer rhythm at Trinity. This is a perfect time to take a few months and for all of us to listen to our Shepherd’s voice. Where is our Shepherd leading us? What new adventures are in store?

Whatever they are, we know we can trust our Good Shepherd to lead us safely on the journey.

Thanks be to God.

Easter Vigil, Year B, 2012

April 7, 2012 / Sarah / Leave a comment

So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome are grieving. They are expecting their Jesus, the one they loved, to be in a tomb. They are going to anoint his body and prepare him for a proper burial. They are coming because they love him. They are coming to do right by him.

But Jesus is not there.

The Gospel of Mark does not give us the resurrection we expect. Jesus is just. . .gone. There is no celebration. There are no alleluias.

Jesus is on the loose.

This is, and this should be, terrifying to the women who have come to anoint him.

When a person is nailed to a cross, and pierced with a spear, when his blood flows out of his body, he ought to die. The rules of physics and biology and logic demand death.

The women who loved Jesus expect death.

And Jesus experienced death.

But not for long.

From the beginning of Jesus’ ministry in the Gospel of Mark, God has been rewriting the rules. At Jesus’ baptism, the very heavens tear open, the Holy Spirit descends, and the Father’s voice booms over the crowd, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with him I am well pleased.”

God the Father announces to the crowd, and to us, that everything about life as a human being is about to change. God breaks into human history in a new way and reclaims us for his own.

Now, we tried to control that in-breaking. We followed Jesus and listened to his stories, but as soon as Jesus got a little out of hand, as soon as Jesus began sharing his identity as the Son of God, we turned him over the authorities.

Those authorities helped us control the situation even further by killing Jesus.

But when God decides to reclaim his people, not even death can stop him.

So, Jesus is resurrected. Jesus is on the loose.

The Gospel of Mark ends right there.

So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

The author leaves us in tension with this ending in which nothing is resolved. Jesus is on the loose. Mary and Mary and Salome are uncomfortable and so are we..

If you remember your Gospel of Mark, you’ll remember there is a long section that comes after this ending. It’s marked in parentheses because scribes, uncomfortable with the original ending felt the need to tell the rest of the story. They could not handle Jesus not wrapping up loose ends. They wanted to pin Jesus down. They wanted closure.

But there is no closure.

Jesus is on the loose.

We still try to pin Jesus down. We set aside one day a week to worship him. We celebrate his birthday in December. We give him a week in the spring to remember his death and resurrection. We say that his presence is kept in that tiny bronze box back there with the reserved sacrament.

But Jesus isn’t just in that box. And Jesus doesn’t wait here in this church for you to come and worship him.

Jesus is on the loose.

Jesus is on the loose in your life.

Before Jesus’ death and resurrection, we were owned by sin and death. They were our masters and we were forced to do their bidding. But God defeated sin and death through Jesus’ resurrection and now we belong to God.

You may think you can control Jesus by setting aside Sunday to think about him and going back to your real life the rest of the week, but good luck with that. The God who created the Universe is reclaiming you. The God who saved Isaac is reclaiming you. The God who parted the Red Sea is reclaiming you. The God who enfleshed the dry bones is reclaiming you. The God who broke through the heavens, and became a human being is reclaiming you. The God who defeated sin and death is reclaiming you.

Jesus is at loose in your life when you brush your teeth in the morning. Jesus is at loose in your life when you write your Facebook status or balance your checkbook. Jesus is at loose in your life when you commute to work, when your boss gives you a dressing down, when you turn on your television at night. There is no moment in your life that is apart from Jesus and his Father who raised him from the dead.

Think about that for a moment and now tell me that the ending of the Gospel of Mark doesn’t just about sum up your reaction.

Terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

The author of the Gospel of Mark gives us a little clue about this mysterious resurrected Jesus to calm our anxiety. The heavenly messenger at the empty tomb tells the women,

. . .Go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.”

Why Galilee?

If you turn to the first chapter of the Gospel of Mark, you’ll see that Jesus first arrives on the scene in Galilee. Mark is pointing us back to the beginning of his Gospel. The resurrected Jesus is the same Jesus that taught and healed and exorcised demons. The Jesus that is on the loose in your lives is not some zombie, not some spiritual Santa Claus, spying on you in judgment. He is the Jesus who loved men, women, and children; brought wholeness out of brokenness; and spoke truth to power. He is the Jesus who loved Peter, even through Peter’s betrayal. He is the Jesus who loved us so much that he wanted to identify fully with our human experience and was willing to die so we no longer have to.

This is the Jesus who is on the loose, loving us, healing us and bringing us eternal life.

And for that we can heartily say,

Alleluia, Christ is risen!

Palm Sunday, Year B, 2012

April 1, 2012 / Sarah / Leave a comment

Listen to the sermon here.

In the room, she pours the nard over Jesus’ head, slowly. It drips down his neck and soaks his tunic, some catches in his beard, reflects the light of the candles in the room. Jesus can feel it soaking into his skin, feels it slippery between his fingers.

Later, Judas nervously walks, tap-tap-tapping his fingers in his empty pocket. Breathing heavily, unable to shake the smell out of his nose.

In the room, she touches Jesus’ head. She lays her hands on the healer, on the demon-chaser, on the resurrector of Lazarus. She feels his curls, sees his cowlick, traces his part with her fingers.

Later, Judas in the dark, in the cold, sees the door. He reaches out, feels its heft, waits for a moment. Breathes.

In the room, she ignores the murmurs. She knows what she is doing. For a year she’s been saving. Her coins hidden in jars in the kitchen, under her mattress, buried in the garden.

Later, outside that door, Judas remembers. Remembers having a job, having money in his pocket. Remembers how easy it was to buy what he needed. Remembers being respected, having prospects. Remembers giving it all up, remembers the sacrifice, remembers following,.

In the room, she remembers. Remembers her suffering, remembers how far Yahweh seemed, tucked into the temple, guarded by fierce, unsympathetic priests. She remembers the very presence of God appearing, out of nowhere, and touching her, healing her. She remembers how his words changed everything she thought she knew. She remembers following.

Later, Judas faces the priests. He shuffles his feet, looks down, speaks too fast, they have to ask him to repeat. He does. Slow grins light up their faces. Judas feels relief and a surge of nausea all at once.

In the room, she feels Jesus’ warmth through her fingers. She prays silent prayers. Prayers that he might be spared, that he won’t feel alone, that he will know how loved he is.

In the room, Jesus sees them both. Sees his death in both their eyes. Sees her silent acknowledgement, feels her hands anointing him, blessing him. Jesus sees Judas, too. His shifty eyes and nervous hands. His sneer. His back.

Later, she wipes the perfume off her hands. She hears about the soldiers. She weeps.

Later, Judas feels the coins weigh down his pocket. He runs his fingers through them, listens to them clink against each other. Cold. Hard. Satisfying. He looks around, realizes he is alone.

Later, she waits underneath the cross with the others. She grips his mother’s hand. She hears his last breath. She experiences the deep silence, the emptiness, the end.

But later. Oh, later!

Lent 2, Year B, 2012

March 4, 2012 / Sarah / 2 Comments

Listen to the sermon here.

Our God brings something out of nothing.

Before the universe was created, there was nothing. But God spoke a word and one Big Bang later, planets and suns and comets spun throughout the universe.

Before Adam and Eve got into mischief in the Garden, there were no humans. But God breathed into some dirt and there they were. Perfectly imperfect, walking with God in the garden.

Before there were Jews, before there were God’s people, before there was a law or a covenant, there was just Abraham and Sarah, elderly, childless, not looking for adventure.

God chooses them. He appears to Abraham and tells him he will make a covenant with him and that Abraham will be the ancestor of a multitude of nations. God says he will bless Sarah and that she will bear a child.

Sarah overhears and she laughs and laughs and laughs.

God’s promises to Abraham and Sarah are absurd. They are in their nineties. In his letter to the Romans, Paul describes Sarah’s womb not merely as barren, but as deathly. There is nothing for God to work with. No fertility, no life, no potential.

And yet, eventually, there is Isaac. Despite all odds, life grows in that deathly womb and soon a very real, flesh and blood baby is born, continuing the family’s line. Sarah’s laughter transforms from disbelief into delight.

Why is the Apostle Paul dredging up this old story in his letter to the Romans? What does Abraham have to do with new life in Jesus? Paul is addressing the community of Rome, which most likely included both Jewish and Gentile Christians. He appears to be addressing some conflict around interpretation of the Jewish law. Before Christ, righteousness was understood as adherence to the Jewish law. We were made right by our obedience, by our own efforts.

Paul is making the claim here that our righteousness cannot come from our own efforts, because Abraham was made righteous for his faith in God’s promises, long before the law came into effect. Paul is reminding his audience that God has been at work much longer than our imaginations can grasp. God has been making something out of nothing for as long as God has been God.

And, while Paul describes Abraham as not weakening in faith, we laugh along with Sarah, because we know the story! Abraham’s faith was weak and inconsistent. He and Sarah could not believe she would become pregnant, so they arranged to have Abraham impregnate Sarah’s maidservant, Hagar. Even Abraham’s faith was basically worthless.

And yet.

And yet, our God takes those pathetic scraps of faith and builds a little family. Isaac goes on to marry Rebekah and have Jacob and Esau. Jacob goes on to marry Rachel and Leah and they have twelve sons who become the twelve tribes of Israel. Abraham’s little family becomes a nation. His scraps of faith become the foundation for Judaism, Christianity and Islam.

In the same way, the Apostle Paul argues, we are made righteous not by how well we follow the law, not because of how well we adhere to the tenets of Christianity, but we are made righteous because God chose to make something out of nothing. When we rejected Jesus and crucified him, God chose to bring life out of death one more time. We are made righteous, not because of what we can do, but because of who God is and how he has chosen to relate to us.

So, then, why do we make Lenten sacrifices? Why do we obey the Ten Commandments? Why do we love our neighbor as ourselves? If our righteousness is all about what God has done and not what we do, what is the point of trying to live a holy life? Paul will spend several chapters of Romans dealing with this question, but in short, Paul thinks a sinful life just isn’t an option once you have been baptized. For Paul, when a person is baptized, he is buried with Christ in his death and then raised again into a new life by Christ’s resurrection.

Once again, God is moving from nothingness to somethingness, from death to life. Sin is part of that nothing, deathly world. When we join into Christ’s resurrection through our baptism, we become part of the new something God has created. We are part of a life that is full and rich. We are motivated to repent of our sin and work on an obedient life because we see that a life of obedience to God is filled with deep joy and wholeness that our old lives just cannot match.

But we all know our efforts at obedience are just as pathetic as Abraham’s faith. We do our best, but all of us break God’s law no matter how wonderful our new life in Christ is. The Apostle Paul may argue that sin isn’t even an option for us in our new lives with God but we argue back, “Oh yeah, watch this!” and then we overeat or get drunk or humiliate someone.

And this is why Paul’s original point is such good news for us! Our standing with God is not dependent on our behavior. The possibilities of our lives are not limited by our own weaknesses. God can bring something wonderful out of nothing.

The power of sin may still try to worm its way into our hearts, but in the cosmic battle, God has defeated sin through Christ’s death and resurrection.

Madeleine L’Engle was my favorite author when I was a teenager. One of her books takes its title from a wonderful William Langland quote “but all the wickedness in the world which man may do or think, is no more to the mercy of God then a live coal dropped in the sea.” All of our anger, all of our betrayals, all of our violence, all of our wars, all of our injustice—if you could quantify all of this some how and measure all our awfulness against God’s mercy, our sin would just be a blip. Isn’t that amazing?

It’s hard to imagine the vastness of God’s mercy when we are in the thick of this very real, very sinful world. We see the consequences of sin all around us every day. Even if we are having a pretty good day, all we have to do is pick up the newspaper to see examples of greed, corruption, prejudice. But if we put down the paper and pick up the book of Romans, we gain a new perspective. We realize God’s story is much, much bigger than our story.

In God’s story, God makes us righteous, not because of our behavior, not because of our political beliefs, not because of the church we choose. God makes us righteous because God is God and God chooses to enter a battle against sin and death. And folks, when God enters a battle, God always wins.

God makes us righteous because God wants to be in relationship with us and we cannot make ourselves righteous, no matter how hard we try, no matter how good our intentions. God chooses us. God goes to battle for us. God wins for us. Not because of who we are, but because of who God is.

So, believe the impossible. Believe that God can take your scraps of faith and turn them into an adventurous, holy life. Believe that our measly little communities of faith have more power than the biggest army. Believe that God can defeat all the evil powers in the world, no matter how vast or entrenched. Believe God can bring something out of nothing.

In fact, nothing is God’s favorite material.

Thanks be to God.

Ash Wednesday, Year B, 2012

February 22, 2012 / Sarah / Leave a comment

Every Ash Wednesday, we read Psalm 51 together. This Psalm perfectly outlines the heart of why we gather together every year and marks the beginning of Lent the way we do.

Have mercy on me, O God, according to your loving-kindness; In your great compassion blot out my offenses.

All of us have many fine qualities. We are loving, giving people. But all of us also have not-so-great qualities. All of us—dare I say it—sin. None of us live the Christian virtues perfectly, no matter how mature we are. While we may strive to live lives of love, patience, faithfulness, joy, goodness, gentleness, self-control and kindness the human condition is such that we just can’t.

Wash me through and through from my wickedness, and cleanse me from my sin.

And while we may run around like crazy trying to deny that about ourselves 364 days a year, today, Ash Wednesday we can name these things about ourselves in this space, before God.

For I know my transgression, and my sin is ever before me. For behold, you look for truth deep within me, and will make me understand wisdom secretly.

How freeing to be able to be honest about ourselves! I’ve mentioned before about how dinner parties in Princeton can sometimes feel like a competitive recitation of CVs and awards accoladed. What a treat to get to say, “Guess what, world! I’m not perfect! My house is a mess and I’m sometimes impatient with my coworkers and I don’t always find children cute! I like a good piece of gossip and most of the time I’d rather watch TV than pray and I haven’t brushed my dog’s teeth in six months!”

Indeed, I have been wicked from my birth, a sinner from my mother’s womb.

The trick, of course, is that Ash Wednesday is not just about confession. We aren’t meant to just offload and then walk out the door unchanged. No, Ash Wednesday is about repentance. One of the commentaries I read to prepare for today put it this way.

Imagine you have a dog and a cat. You are making steak for dinner, so you lay it out to get to room temperature and when you get back to the kitchen you see the dog and cat eating up the last little bits of your delicious dinner. Now the dog knows he is in trouble, so he comes up to you with his big eyes and his tail between his legs and begs you to please, please still love him. The cat on the other hand looks at you as if he’s thinking, “Is there a problem here?” But neither the dog nor the cat have repented in any way! If you left the steak out the very next day, the outcome would be exactly the same![1]

We do the same thing with God and with each other. Sometimes we sin and we feel TERRIBLE about it, but we do not do anything to change our behavior. That is not repentance. Repenting means we are going to change the behavior, not just feel badly about it.

On the other hand, we may need God’s help to actually feel bad about our behavior. We may be more like the cat in our story. We may be so self-important that we do not think we are capable of sin. If we believe we are good people, then the things we do are good, right? Wrong!

Purge me from my sin, and I shall be pure; wash me and I shall be clean indeed.

Our time on this earth is short. We’ll be reminded today that we have come from dust and we will return to dust. We don’t have time to fool around with any false illusions about who we are. We must examine ourselves honestly and bring that account before God.

Deliver me from death, O God, and my tongue shall sing of your righteousness, O God of my salvation.

The good news is that the God before which we present ourselves is the same God who chose to so identify with our broken selves that he sent his Son to become fully human. And that son loved us, empathized with us, and healed us. He also defeated death, by experiencing death and then rising again, so we might have an eternity of life with God.

Open my lips, O Lord, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise.

This Ash Wednesday, God invites you to come before him, and bring him your whole heart, as twisted and dusty as it might be.

The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.

Amen.

[1] Hoare, Geoffrey M. St. J. “Psalm 51:1-17 Pastoral Perspective”, Feasting on the Word: Year B, Vol 2, 2008, p. 8.

Epiphany 5, Year B, 2012

February 5, 2012 / Sarah / Leave a comment

Listen to the sermon here.

Imagine it. A pint sized University of Southern California cheerleading uniform, complete with a maroon and gold pleated skirt, the letters USC proudly emblazoned on the front, and pom poms with a full head of extremely shakeable maroon streamers. When I was five years old I owned this very uniform and on one fine fall day, I was going to wear this uniform to Kindergarten to participate in a play. I dreamed of this day for weeks. I was going to enthusiastically shake those pom poms as long as they would allow me. I was going to embody the spirit of both my parents’ alma mater and cheerleading in general. The day was probably going to be the peak experience of my academic life.

And then, of course, I got strep throat. As I watched the mercury rocket to the top of the thermometer, the tears began to well up in my eyes. A fever meant no school. No school meant no cheerleading uniform. No pom pom shaking. No proudly cheering on an imaginary team. My best day ever dissolved into resting on the couch, weepily watching cartoons, feeling sorry for myself.

Being sick is no fun. While we often focus on the physical symptoms of illness—the pain, the exhaustion—perhaps the most difficult part of illness is the dislocation a person experiences. While it was sad that my five year old self did not get to fulfill her role as a cheerleader for a day, I did manage to overcome that developmental obstacle. But what about kids that are so sick that they miss weeks or months of school. What about adults that are so ill they cannot keep up with their work and have to go on disability? What about parents that are so sick, they can no longer take care of their children?

Think about all the roles you occupy on a given day. You are a worker, a friend, a daughter, a parent perhaps. You are a customer, a teacher, a volunteer, a pet owner. Now imagine you were no longer able to fulfill those roles. Imagine that you no longer had the strength to leave your home; that all your time was taken up with doctor’s appointments and treatments. Imagine other people coming in to do your job, to clean your home, to nurture your children, to walk your dog.

Would your deepest grief revolve around the pain you were experiencing, or suddenly losing so much of your identity?

Simon’s mother-in-law was ill and she did not have the hope modern medicine offers to us. She lay in her home, unable to fulfill her role as matriarch.

Now, I have to admit, this passage always makes me laugh a little. Jesus has just left the temple, to go to Simon’s house. He is probably starving. I imagine him looking at Simon and asking, “What’s for lunch?” And Simon saying, well, usually my mother –in-law would make something really delicious, but she’s been sick lately. . .”

But, let’s be clear, that is just my imagination and is NOT what is going on in the text here!

Simon’s mother-in-law has a fever and this fever has knocked her out. The fever is severe enough that the people in her household are very concerned about her and tell Simon and his friends immediately upon their entry into the home. Now keep in mind that Jesus has not healed anyone yet. He has sent some demons flying, but the people in this house do not know there is a healer in their midst. They are just concerned about the health of this woman.

Jesus goes to her bedside, holds her hand and lifts her up, healing her. Jesus does not heal her and then tell her to stay in bed and get some rest. No, his healing is so complete, she is immediately fully restored to health. Jesus lifts her to her feet and restores her to her place in her household.

In my sermon last month, we talked about how God brings order out of chaos. Jesus demonstrates this in the first chapter of Mark. By exorcising demons and healing the sick, Jesus is ordering what is chaotic in his followers’ lives. He restores the order of Simon’s mother-in-law’s life and her household.

Now, we might be made uncomfortable by the woman’s servile response, but the text does not say, “And Simon’s mother-in-law got up and made them a delicious lunch because she was a woman and that is all women are good for.” The text says that she served them—the verb here is diakoneo—the verb from which we get the word deacon. This word is only used twice in Mark. Once here and once in Mark 10:45—For the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve”. Her service is holy service.

When Simon’s mother-in-law is healed by Jesus, her response is to serve Jesus. She is restored not only to her role in her household, but has a new role, as a servant of God. Even though some of his disciples are right there with him, they will not be able to live out this type of response to Jesus until after his death. Simon’s mother-in-law understands what it means to follow Jesus, long before her son-in-law and the other disciples do.

We in the church still believe that Jesus is in the business of healing and restoring us to our rightful places in our lives. We offer healing prayers in the Unity Chapel every Sunday, trusting that God hears our prayers and acts in our lives.

Now, the Kingdom of God is not fully realized. Just as mercy and justice are not fully present in our world, the full healing of God is not completed in our world, either. So we may pray our hearts out for our own health or the health of someone we love and not see any results. We may stay sidelined, unable to live out the roles we were called to live.

So, why do we continue to pray for healing?

We pray because our illness reminds us we are not as in control of our world as we thought we were. We pray because we know God knows all the roles we fulfill, and desires us to be our full selves. We pray because we believe God will heal us, that we will be restored to our full selves, even if the healing will not happen until we are in our resurrection bodies. We pray because we believe Christ’s healing is a sign that points to the fundamental nature of who God is—that our God brings order out of chaos and wholeness out of brokenness. We pray because we believe the Kingdom of God is in process of coming to fruition and we want part of that life with God. We pray because we want to be healed and we want to joyfully serve our God.

Where are you in our story today? Are you ill? Have you been dislocated from roles in your life because of sickness, estrangement or unemployment? Are you feeling consumed by the chaos of your life?

Or have you experienced the blessing of God’s healing? Are you ready now to serve our God?

We are all somewhere in this story.

During our communion hymns, I invite you to spend some time praying about where you might be in this story. If you would like healing prayer for yourself or someone you love, please join us in the unity chapel for prayer. If you feel ready to serve, pray that God might show you where you can best serve him.

We are all part of God’s story. No one is too ill, too sidelined, too unemployed to be without a role in God’s Kingdom. On the other hand, no one is too healthy, too important or too rich to have a role, either. All of us are necessary parts of this church and the greater Church. Each of us has something to contribute.

Jesus extends his hand to you, inviting you to get up. Will you take it?

Epiphany 2, Year B, 2012

January 15, 2012 / Sarah / Leave a comment

Listen to the sermon here.

Do you remember Abbot and Costello’s routine “Who’s on First?” “Who’s on First?” is an epically long comedic bit about a disconnected conversation. Abbott and Costello are talking about a baseball team, but the players’ names are more than a little unhelpful. The first baseman’s name is Who. The second baseman is What. The center fielder’s name is Because. Abbot is trying to explain all of this Costello, who keeps misunderstanding him and their conversation unravels in a spectacular way.

I don’t know about you, but I go through phases of my life and faith in which I feel more than a little bit like a character in that sketch. There are times when I just feel slightly off kilter, when I can’t communicate what I want to, when I can’t hear God’s voice clearly, where everything feels a little disjointed. I’m in one of those phases of my life now where I’ll hand my husband a cup and say, “Could you give this sippy-clock to the baby?” And my accidental nonsense words often make much more sense than anything politicians or the media are saying. Are rich people corrupt jerks who are taking advantage of the rest of us? Are poor people lazy slobs who wouldn’t work if they could? Are our economic policies going to destroy our country? Where is God in all of this? Do any of the people claiming to speak for God know his heart? Is Tim Tebow really the closest thing we have to a prophet?

The writer of First Samuel captures this feeling of disconnect beautifully in the wonderful story of the Prophet Samuel’s call.

Samuel was given to Eli to raise by a woman named Hannah. Her story is another heartbreaking sermon entirely. Eli was raising Samuel in the priesthood in a time where the entire culture felt a little disconnected from God. The author of 1^st Samuel introduces our story with the line: “The word of the LORD was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.” He paints a picture of a community isolated from their God. Even Eli’s sons, who are supposed to carry on the line of priesthood, who are supposed to guard and protect the sacred traditions, have taking advantage of women in front of holy religious sites. They are horrible, profane men.

What happens next is not too far removed from our Abbot and Costello sketch. Now, it’s comic enough that Samuel keeps thinking the Lord’s voice is Eli’s, but this story gets even more wonderfully disconnected when you realize Sam-u-el in Hebrew means “God has heard” and El-I means “my God”.

When Hebrew speakers read this story they hear this wonderful subtext:

Then the LORD called, “God has heard! God has heard!” and he said, “Here I am!” and ran to “my God”, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But he said, “I did not call; lie down again.”

This confusion is even more pronounced because all the action in the story is happening in the most sacred part of the Temple. Samuel is literally sleeping at the foot of the Ark of the Covenant, where the Israelites believed God’s presence to rest. He is so close to God, but even in the holy of holies, God’s word is hard to hear and understand.

But, and it is a big but, remember that our God is not a God of disconnect. Our God is not a God of chaos. The very first thing God does in creation is bring order out of chaos. Even when the line of priests is as terrible as Eli’s sons, God does not abandon his people to chaos.

No, God cuts through all the disconnect and chaos and he speaks directly to the one person capable of hearing him. Samuel. Samuel cannot hear God on his own, he needs the help of his mentor who redeems himself mightily by understanding what is happening and encouraging Samuel to listen.

Eli and Samuel might not have expected God to speak. They may have assumed their disconnected way of life was the way life had to be, but when God did finally reach them, they responded immediately and with great courage.

When Samuel finally told God he was ready to listen, God did not give him an easy word. He did not say, “Samuel, I just wanted you to know that you’re really special.” Nope, he told Samuel to tell Eli,

See, I am about to do something in Israel that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle. On that day I will fulfill against Eli all that I have spoken concerning his house, from beginning to end. For I have told him that I am about to punish his house forever, for the iniquity that he knew, because his sons were blaspheming God, and he did not restrain them. Therefore I swear to the house of Eli that the iniquity of Eli’s house shall not be expiated by sacrifice or offering forever.

In case you’re wondering, that is not good news. In fact, Samuel stayed in his room the rest of the night. You can just imagine him putting off communicating THAT message just a few more minutes! When he finally showed up at Eli’s door, Eli insisted he tell him the truth and to his credit, Eli took the bad news with dignity.

This moment was a critical moment in Israel’s history. Samuel is the hinge between the era when Israel was governed by Judges and when Israel was ruled by Kings. Samuel anointed both King Saul and King David and was the first big prophet of the era in which God used prophets to communicate his word. A huge, important chain of events began on this one night with God’s whispered word “Samuel. Samuel”

Samuel did not have time to prepare. There was no retreat. There were no prophet classes that he took in elementary school so he’d be ready for the responsibility. Eli did not have a corporate downsizing expert come in to gently break the news that his family was fired.

In an instant Samuel and Eli went from people who were as disconnected from God as everyone else, to being center stage on the story of God’s relationship with his people.

We are not in Advent any more, but this passage might as well be paired with the Gospel of Mark’s admonition to “Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come.”

God is just as connected to his people of faith today as he was in Samuel’s day. We may feel disjointed and confused and disconnected. We may see signs of God’s leaders up to all sorts of bad behavior. We may believe the church is dying. But I am here to tell you that God is still God. God is still making order out of chaos. God still speaks, even if the word of the Lord is rare in these days, even if visions are not widespread.

Beware, keep alert, because you might, like Samuel, hear God whispering your name some dark night. You might roll over and tell your roommate to keep it down, but that will not stop God.

Beware, keep alert, because God may be trying to speak to you through someone else. Like Eli, it might be your job to help someone interpret what they are hearing. It might be your job to listen humbly while someone tells you how royally you have wrecked your life.

Beware, keep alert, because God might be starting something new with you. God might want to use you to break the world’s disconnect. God might want to use you to remind people that God demands justice and mercy and love. God might be calling you to use your prophetic voice against all that is broken in this world.

And if you are overwhelmed by the chaos of your own life, turn off the television and the white noise machine. Put down the newspaper and your iPhone. Tuck yourself into bed a little early tonight and wait in the dark and the silence. Listen for the sound of your own name, being called by the God that created you, knows you, and has big plans for your life.

Amen.

Advent 3, Year B, 2011

December 11, 2011 / Sarah / Leave a comment

Listen to the sermon here.

You’re in a movie theater. Everything goes dark. The screen opens pitch black. You are looking at a picture of the vastness of space, the camera zooms slowly onto our planet and focuses closer and closer until all we see is a man.

John.

In the Gospel of John, John the Baptist is just John. We do not get The Gospel of Mark’s vibrant descriptions of his camel hair clothes or locust and honey diet. He is not called John the Baptizer, as in Mark or John the Baptist as in Matthew and Luke. We just get a man sent from God who testifies to the light. We are left to fill in the details with our imagination.

We are not the only ones puzzled about this John’s identity. The priests and Levites come to question this man. They want to pin him down. They want to see his ID. They want to know why he is saying the radical prophet-like things he is saying. Why is he talking about the coming of the light?

When they ask him, “Who are you?” he tells them he is not the Messiah. They then ask him whether he is Elijah. Elijah was an Old Testament prophet, who legend has it, did not die but was taken up bodily into heaven. While some of the other gospels do make the connection between Elijah and John the Baptist, here in the Gospel of John, John simply says no. Next, they ask him if he is the prophet. Again, he says no.

We are no closer to knowing who John the Baptist is. He is still an enigma. Still a mysterious figure in the wilderness.

When the priests and Levites ask him to give them a little more information, he quotes Isaiah.

I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness,‘Make straight the way of the Lord.’

John does not even identify himself as a person. He sees himself as a voice. He has something to say, something terribly important. He does not need a title or even an identity. He just wants to communicate.

John is a witness. John is a witness to the Messiah, who is coming after him. He baptizes so that people will be ready to meet this Messiah. John’s entire orientation is towards Jesus.

Jesus has that affect on people. Throughout the Gospels you see people giving up their lives and following Jesus. From his first disciples dropping their fishing nets, Jesus inspired thousands of people to stop what they were doing and reorient their lives, often instantly. And even when Jesus tells them not to, people throughout the Gospels can’t help telling other people about him. When the blind man regained his sight, when the woman at the well had her history interpreted so honestly, when the lame were healed, they all were compelled to witness to what they had experienced.

This experience of Christian witness did not stop with the New Testament. Something about the encounter with Christ was so powerful that people were compelled to talk about Christ even at the risk of martyrdom. Christianity spread globally because people kept encountering the risen Christ and telling other people about him.

We are called to be part of that story, to be John’s transparent witnesses. We are called to point the way to Christ when people ask who we are. We are called to let Christ shine through our personalities and professions. We are called to be witnesses of Christ’s work in our hearts and in our world.

Advent is the perfect time to practice being a witness. We have such wonderful examples. Mary witnessed to God’s extraordinary love by bearing him into the world in human form. Joseph witnessed to God’s faithfulness by sticking by Mary, even under such strange circumstances. The three wise men witnessed by defying the Pharoah and undertaking a dangerous journey in order to bring the new Messiah their gifts.

Even Santa Claus is a witness. Don’t believe me? Well Santa Claus, wasn’t always Santa Claus you know? Santa Claus was originally called St. Nicholas. Nicholas was the Bishop of Myrna in the 4^th Century. Many legends grew up around St. Nicholas, because he was such a loving and generous man. He loved helping those in poverty, since Jesus loved the poor so much.

One legend has it that there was a man who had three daughters. This man was very poor so no one would marry his daughters, because they came with no dowry. If no one would marry these daughters they would become even poorer and might be forced to make a living on the streets. St. Nicholas heard of this story and wanted to witness to Jesus’ love for these young women. The night before the first daughter came of age, St. Nicholas slipped a bag of gold coins into the father’s window. The father was amazed! He had no idea who had done this, so he thanked God. The night before the second daughter came of age, St. Nicholas did the same thing! The father was even more amazed! Now two of his daughters could get married! The night before the third daughter was to come of age, the father was so curious about who was slipping these coins into his window that he stayed awake all night to catch the generous person. St. Nicholas was clever, though, and snuck up onto the roof and slipped the coins into the chimney. He must have really liked that technique of delivering presents since as Santa Claus he still uses it today! Santa Claus’s generosity began as a response to the amazing love of God. Santa’s gifts are intended to point us towards Jesus, just like John the Baptist’s words.

This Advent we are invited to join John the Baptist, Mary, Joseph, and even Santa Claus as witnesses to the amazing good news of the Gospel. Our religion may be thousands of years old, but Christ is just as alive and just as important today as he was in the days of John the Baptist. This Advent, let us join John the Baptist in becoming witnesses to our loving, incarnated, resurrected God. This Advent, let us get out of our own way and let the light of Christ shine through us.

Amen.

Advent 1, Year B, 2011

November 28, 2011 / Sarah / Leave a comment

Listen to the sermon here.

The days got short and dark quickly, didn’t they? Even though the shortened days come like clockwork, every autumn I am surprised. I feel rushed into the falling leaves and apple cider. I want to cling to warm, long days and fresh peaches just a few more weeks. The early darkness is ominous somehow. Darkness shrouds our world every afternoon, earlier and earlier, pushing us inside where we can take shelter in the warmth of our homes. But we know the darkness is out there and it leaves us on edge.

Is it any wonder that we start flooding our world with cheerful Christmas lights and tinny holiday music and gingerbread lattes? We cannot help ourselves. We cannot wait for Christmas. We cannot handle the anxiety of the darkness. We have to mitigate the discomfort the darkness creates in us.