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O God, may our sermon be in praise and thanks for your guidance.

Today you’ll hear from the St. Paul’s contingent of Mission Team Alaska, although we’re missing Joe Donohoe, who has already started college. We are also without our new family from St. Elizabeth’s-Whiterocks on the Ouray Reservation.

Thirteen of us traveled to Alaska to do just what our Collect today urges: to bring forth in us the fruit of good works. There were to be 14, but Christian Rallison stayed instead to tend to his dad. Still, Christian was with us in profound and unseen ways.

Unseen is the operative word here. Maybe because we were all so focused on our mission, the words we heard during the trip were like a father’s hand guiding us. Things like,
“Clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other.”

When we wondered if we could accomplish anything, we heard this:
“Faith is the assurance of things hoped, for, the conviction of things not seen.”

We accomplished a lot, and we accomplished it together as this odd little Episcopalian family – what I imagine the family of God to be — strange, wonderful, goofy, sentimental. We were living a message, and we didn’t know it at first.

But then … Jane Fudyma will tell you about the first message that greeted us.

JANE:
It is not about the work, entirely. But relationships.
Relationships with my old friends.
Relationships with my new friends.
Relationships with the sky and the never setting sun. The dirt and the wood and the leaves and the bugs.
With the trees and the trees and the trees and the trees.
With tired feet and aching muscles.
With coffee shops on every corner.
With mountains soaked in clouds, moose robbing gardens, and invisible northern lights.
With finding myself at the bottom of a ten-kid pile up and laughing so hysterically that I have found myself to wake up in the mornings with my abs aching.
True life is not made up of things.

When we arrived at the St. David’s I noticed the phrase “True life is not made up of things” posted on the front sign of the church. For two days we drove back and forth past the sign and each day I kept reading the phrase “True life is not made up of things,” and again “True life is not made up of things.” Honestly, the phrase “True life is not made up of things” detached from its context sounded quite stupid to me, so laughing, I turned to someone and said “wow, that is such a pathetic phrase.”

Joe turned to me and sarcastically stated (in the joe-matter-of-fact way that he does) “Duh Jane, if you listened to the sermon you would know it is about materialism and not to measure life by the things you have. Way to be materialistic.” And as we all laughed at my minor idiocy, I began to realize what this trip was.

We had left our cell phones, our facebooks, our luxuries behind and stepped into the world of dirty clothing and cot sleeping. I was in awe of the beauty of the earth and the beauty of the Wasilla lifestyle. I was having more fun doing manual labor with the new people who became my family than I was having back home sleeping in each day. I literally do not think I have laughed as hard in a long time than I did on this trip. So, I guess what I am trying to say is — this was me being really happy, not about all of the things I have, but the other, not as tangible, things that made up my life in Alaska.

SHEILA WHITNEY:
Somewhere in my future I always dreamed of a trip to Alaska; a cruise ship with a lovely room and lots of good food, watching glaciers calve, seeing Denali and the Northern Lights. You all know the picture. Well, I went to Alaska, and it wasn’t at all what I had imagined . . . but it was better! I became friends with people I had never met before, better friends with people I’ve known for years, and even more important, I came to know and love and become friends with teenagers whom I had known only by sight before.

I worked harder and longer than I’ve done in years and I saw young people work harder and longer than I could have imagined. I was astounded and awed by their drive and dedication to the work we came to do, and to their sense of fun and play, which they did just as heartily as the work, if not more so! They are phenomenal people and I count myself blessed to know them.

The new friends I made in Alaska were amazing as well. There were many, but I especially want to mention Ralph, who, at age 77, begins the days work at the church between 9:00 and 10:00 a.m. and doesn’t stop except for lunch until 4:00 or 5:00 in the afternoon, and Lonnie who is also there by 9:00 in the morning, working through constant aches and pains without complaint, until 5:00 p.m. These two gentlemen (and I mean ‘gentle’ in every sense of the word) are truly amazing. In fact, whenever anyone complained about the work being too hard or boring someone would ask, “What would Lonnie do?” and the answer was always, “Just keep on going!”

My family members frequently tell me that I don’t have to be in charge of everything, that I can trust them to do things by themselves. While in Alaska I frequently found myself in situations where I had to give up control, sometimes even to the teenagers in the group. I believe we all grew in many ways on this mission: As workers, as friends and companions, as human beings.

I know that I went to Alaska and came home a better person!

TOM LINDSEY:
We probably came home stronger, too. Yeah, we cleared a lot of trees. We split a lot of wood for a ministry they have to keep people warm in the long winters. We built a rabbit fence and we stomped dirt so the water would drain away from the church.

And we primed and painted an entire two-story church. We still have blue paint under our nails to prove it. That was in Trappers Creek and it was a church where the congregation kicked out the Methodists and became Lutheran. There were only 10 of them left, and we started asking, so how many people are we really helping?

Maybe you can think about the parable of the mustard seed. Isn’t that how the kingdom of God grows? We’re pretty sure that’s how the churches grow in Alaska.

GEORGIANNA HALVERSON:
We have all heard over and over "treat your neighbors as yourself" and the 'Golden Rule' "Do unto others as you wish them to do unto you" Everywhere we went, everyone up there treated us, even better, ...like their best friends! One of the ladies asked me "Are you anxious to go back?" "No!" I replied, "It is so nice to have every meal made and be so taken care of!" Audrey was one of these people. She had to retire from nursing because of a disability, but she didn’t retire from life. She was always there, bringing us food, stringing beads for us, talking and laughing and talking. Doing for others.

The people of Alaska were inspirational because they live their faith! No one had to ask them to help out. As we heard today, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it. “

EMMA RIFE:
I have to say, Alaska is one of the most beautiful and mystical places I have ever seen. Planned into our trip were opportunities to enjoy the environment we were working in. It is difficult say how the huge beauty of this place rested on most of us. When we went up to Hatcher’s Pass on our first day, the first thing that popped up in my mind was "The Misty Mountains" from The "Lord of the Rings." It looked so creepy and mysterious with the old ruins of the mine.

The dinner party that we had with the Iditarod dog owners, who are members of St. David's, showed me that my dog is nowhere near as fit as those dogs! They're such beautiful creatures. I did want to take one home with me, but my dog Ghost really wouldn't approve.

Walking on the glacier was awesome and showed us the enormity and the fragility of God’s kingdom. The American Native Heritage Museum was amazing to the eye. When you first walk in you see huge handmade canoes hanging from the ceiling. There were tools on display that were made and used by the Alaskan people … showing how they lived. And the clothes were so colorful and intricate with beads sewn in the leather fabric. Their lives were rich in a reverence for all that God created.

ANNE FUDYMA:
We all went to Alaska with the mission to help others. We planned to change others’ lives in the smallest ways and help other people grow. What we didn't know is that we would grow from each other. We travelled to Alaska with a group of kids from Whiterocks, Utah. We hardly knew them, and they hardly knew us. But each one of us opened up to each other in different ways that is hard to explain. By the end of the trip, we had created such strong bonds, that there wasn't a second we were all laughing hysterically about nothing.

Each person added new meaning to each one of our lives.
Chandler had an endless amount of energy, one minute he was screaming to his favorite radio song, and the next he was by your side calling you BFF (that’s Best Friends Forever). But when he calmed down for a second he was the most caring boy you've ever met.

Shineya was scared of us when we first met her, but by the end of the trip she opened up and became a younger sister I never had.

Dakota was the most sociable person I have ever met. It didn't matter where we were or who they were, he was telling the next stranger about his new shoes.

Duke was on Duke time. If Duke didn't want to work, Duke wouldn't work. If Duke did not want to talk to you, he would walk away. But when he opened up he said the most pure and beautiful things it nearly brought you to tears.

Charlie was the only chaperone from Whiterocks. You would either find Charlie listening to powwows in the corner, taking a nap or showering and brushing his hair. But when you sat down to talk to him, you could listen to him talk about his culture, his belief and his experiences for hours.

Each different trait of each person led us all to being great friends. We all found that in Alaska, by helping other people and making a positive impact on their lives, we made positive impacts on each others’ lives. Everyone opened up and created such strong bonds that we learned our trip to Alaska wasn't only about service, it was also about the people we met and experiences we had.

Amen

Matt Seddon
Year C Amos 8:1-12, Ps 52 Proper 11 Col 1:15-28
July 18, 2010 Luke 10:38-42

What on earth do they do for Heaven’s sake?
If they weren’t there what diff’rence would it make?
If there should be no altar guild there
The clergy would not find vestments to wear.
If the weekly team should fail or falter
There’d be no silver or linens on the St. Paul’s altar.
The lights burn bright in the candlesticks
Because we replenish the oil, we fix the wicks.
We launder the linens, we clean the pews.
We polish the silver, straighten books that you use.
In fact, we fill the needs of every dimension,
Some are large and important, some too small to mention.
We’re seldom noticed,
but our rich reward Is to be Martha and Mary in the house of our Lord.

I ran across this poem when I first joined St. Paul’s Altar Guild. I was trying to figure out what an Altar Guild was. Web searches turned up a lot of charming photos of distinguished ladies standing around various altars. And it turned up this poem.

Thanks to this poem, I have taken Mary and Martha as a source of strength and inspiration. I have an icon of them with Jesus that I kept in my dorm room at seminary. I love how the Altar Guild takes the Mary and Martha story and subverts its typical interpretation. Most commentaries on this story focus on Verse 42 “There is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” People tend to zero in on “better.” Mary is given as an example of a preference for contemplation over action- monks are especially fond of this story. Protestants read it as an example of the superiority of faith over works. I’m not thrilled with either interpretation. This apparent preference of Jesus for sitting around and listening to him piously over the necessary work of preparing and running a household always kind of bugged me. Jesus also talks about being ready, about serving others, as Martha is doing. The Altar Guild has done a nice job of questioning the simplistic interpretation.

Indeed, as I pondered this story I wondered, is the key line the bit about the “better part” or the concern over Martha “being distracted?” What might the Gospel be telling us about distractions? You know, that reminds me, how annoying are cell phones? I swear, sometimes, they have minds of their own. When they go off in meetings, movies, worship services, I have bad thoughts. They remind me of another song, an almost poem by Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta:


Hello, hello, baby;
You called, I can't hear a thing.
I have got no service
in the club, you see, see…
Wha-Wha-What did you say?
Oh, you're breaking up on me…
Sorry, I cannot hear you,
I'm kinda busy.


Ms. Germanotta is also known as Lady Gaga. For all of you who don’t have daily contact with “young people”- or even if you find yourself using the term “young people” more than once a month - I don’t recommend you Google her unless you are prepared for a shock. I’m quoting from her hit song “Telephone” where she complains about the annoying distraction when her admirers call her while she’s in the club, busy, dancing. She doesn’t want to be distracted.

You know, that reminds me, how ‘bout that Amos. O M G! That passage will wake you up on a Sunday morning! Poor Amos is thinking “God shows me some fruit, asks me what do I see, I think, how bad can this be, “It’s an, um, basket of fruit, God” and then it goes down from there” He will make the sun go down at noon, send the earth into darkness, punish Israel like he punished Egypt. That will ring your bell. He will then send a famine on the land, a famine of hearing the words of the Lord. Are we listening yet? Or are we still distracted?

You know, that reminds me, weren’t we talking about Mary and Martha? There’s a painting by the Spanish painter Diego Velazquez of the Mary and Martha story. It’s an unusual painting. A woman stands tired at a table, preparing a meal. Beside her is an older woman pointing to what is either a window or a picture frame in which we see Jesus with two other women attending him. - Seems like Martha tired out in the foreground, but then who is back there? Scholars debate the meaning of the painting. Is the image behind the women a window, or a painting? Who is the woman next to the servant? What is Velazquez saying with this weird picture?

Perhaps what Velazquez has cleverly done is show us the essence of the story. The point is that Jesus is in the picture!! It is not that service is bad, or that Martha is bad, but rather that we should not be blind to the presence of Jesus in our lives, at all times, and in all places. In the world of Mary and Martha, in Velazquez world, and in ours. “The Image of the invisible God” as the letter to the Colossians puts it.

This returns us to the question of the phrase “the better part” The Greek word Jesus uses is agathos. It most commonly means good. Translating it as better is not entirely unreasonable here. However, I’m not sure it is necessarily the correct translation. It only works as better if you assume that Jesus would have, like us, felt it necessary to judge between Martha’s action and Mary’s quiet listening. It can also mean “good for her salvation” and Jesus may simply be responding to Martha’s judgement, not making one of his own. We remember that Martha brought the whole issue up, asking him to get Mary’s rear in gear. Jesus may simply be defending Mary. He may be saying “Hey Martha, Mary’s attention is good for her” without implying that what she is doing is inherently wrong. The story may be more about distractions than choices. Jesus’ gentle rebuke to Martha is not over action in general, but worry and distraction, distraction from what is needed for a full life, a life of more than just details, but one focused on our calling to see and hear God.

It's easy to focus on Martha, and easy to condemn her. We can relate to her. We are surrounded by distractions. Our modern life has given us even more than we had in the past, cell phones the least among them. We have personal distractions - our wants, fears, anxieties, that take us away from the people in front of us, or even simply the needs in front of us. We have communal distractions. Amos focused on these - the communal drives for gain, business, stuff. All of these, Amos reminds us, can blind us all to the needs around us. Martha, in fact, may not even be the point of the story. However easy it is to focus on Martha, that focus in itself may be a distraction from the true message of the story.

Perhaps, indeed, the debate over what Jesus means here - and whether action is better than contemplation, or faith over works - is itself a distraction. Perhaps the point is, as Velazquez makes it, that Jesus is present.

Jesus is present when we are with others, calling us, asking us to hear each other, even perhaps when we’d rather be on the dance floor with Lady Gaga. In her case, we ask what is keeping her from seeing Christ in those who call her, perhaps in those who need her. We can’t always answer our cell phones, but we can return calls. Do we recognize that when we hear from others, even from the ones that are sometimes needy, that Jesus preferred the needy, that when we hear or even feel that people need us - Jesus is present.

Jesus is present in our communities and society. Amos asks us “what is keeping us from hearing God,” where does our famine come from if not our own inattention to God. Do we have those moments when we wonder if what we are doing is right, if our choices and lives are fully aligned with God’s purpose? Do we have an Amos in our life, reminding us that God’s call is to see beyond our comfort. When Amos speed dials our cell phone, do we answer the call? Do we recognize that when we hear that call for justice, for mercy, Jesus is among us.

And Jesus is present with us here today. Sometimes I think this is why the sacraments of Eucharist are so important to us. We can intellectually know that Jesus is present among us, that God has been and is incarnate in our world. We can all give intellectual assent to that, but in the face of our myriad distractions we desperately need the sacrament,“a mystery that has been hidden throughout the ages and generations but now revealed to his [distracted] saints.”

The Altar Guild knows that Jesus is present and that the choice between action and contemplation is a false choice, a false dichotomy. Some of the most spiritual moments I have had in my life have occurred in this sacristy, with my hands in sudsy water, bringing up the chalice, remembering all the service it has seen. I could see that connection - the past, the present, the future, service, prayer - all rolled into one. I could be Mary and Martha - working, contemplating, hearing, and working for God’s kingdom again and again.

Can we be Mary and Martha? Can we find ways to see past the distractions, to remind ourselves that Jesus is present, is with us, is calling? Can we remember to keep him in the picture? Can we return to his Word when he calls us - through prophets, loud and subtle; through people, powerful and needy? The Altar Guild is right. We are in the house of our Lord, and Jesus is among us.

The Rev. Deacon Steve Alder
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church – SLC
Seventh Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 10), Year C
July 11, 2010

In the name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

“Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

This question, asked by a Jewish legal scholar in today’s Gospel, is Luke’s foil for introducing us to the parable of the Good Samaritan. This might be Jesus’ most famous parable…maybe alongside that of the Prodigal Son…and it infuses our culture even today. There are Good Samaritan hospitals, a relief organization called the “Samaritan’s Purse”, there’s a “Good Sam” club for RV’ers, and Good Samaritan laws help protect us against lawsuits when we offer aid to strangers. St. Paul’s even has a stained glass window that tells the story. It’s the first window on your left as you enter the church: it’s Jesus’ parable in colored glass.

Luke’s introduction is a keen example of how Jesus can answer questions with questions. He doesn’t give the lawyer a direct answer, but he asks him this: “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” Jesus is asking the legal scholar for his understanding of the Hebrew Scriptures.

The lawyer quotes from the Torah: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” The Gospel of Matthew attributes these words to Jesus, but in Luke’s Gospel please take note: this is the answer that the legal scholar gives to Jesus.

And Jesus says “yep, that’s right. Do this and you will live.”

But that’s not enough for the man who interprets Jewish law. He needs to know exactly how to define the word “neighbor.”

This may seem strange to us, but throughout Jewish history scholars have been called upon to interpret the law. Traditionally, there are 613 “mitzvot” or commandments in the Hebrew Scriptures and wise minds are needed to parse those commandments, to contextualize them, and to apply them to every day life. Even today, in orthodox Jewish communities, rabbis are tasked with answering questions such as “how far may I walk on the Sabbath?” The answer to that question is rather complicated. Or, “is it okay to ride a bicycle on the Sabbath?” That answer to that question is very simple: no.

Luke says the lawyer wanted to justify himself when he asks “And who is my neighbor?” and perhaps the man meant to justify himself as a prominent legal scholar. It’s a natural follow-up question for someone who’s looking for very specific answers on how Jewish law should be applied.

Once again, Jesus does not answer the question directly. But this time, he tells a story to illustrate his answer. And we all know that story very well.

A man is traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho, on what was known to be a very dangerous road. He’s robbed, stripped, beaten and left for dead. A priest, who represents the powerful and religious elite of his day, sees him and passes by on the other side. Then comes a Levite, a member of the Jewish tribe that assisted in temple worship, but he passes by on the other side. too. Then along comes a Samaritan. He’s from a group of people hated by Jews as an abominable race of half breeds and heretics. But that’s who stops, renders aid, takes the injured man to an inn and pays for his stay.

Jesus asks “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man?”

The lawyer, undoubtedly shocked, and maybe even appalled that a Samaritan is the hero of the story, answers “the one who showed him mercy.” And Jesus says “go and do likewise.”

Jesus didn’t give a list of conditions, or a formula, or even explain in detail who his neighbor should be. Instead, Jesus’ parable teaches him – and us – that our neighbors are people in need, and especially people we might not even like.

Show mercy. Be moved with pity. Have compassion on those in distress. “Do this and you will live.”

Perhaps the lawyer went away dissatisfied because he didn’t get a strict legal answer, and when we hear the story 2000 years later, we’re not hung up on the intricacies of Jewish law or even understand the hatred between Jews and Samaritans, so maybe it’s easier for us to hear what Jesus was teaching. Be like the Samaritan…“go and do likewise.” We all know we’re called to be that person, but I know I don’t always live up to that standard.

Many years ago in a Bible Study class, we were studying this parable and even acted it out. After our impromptu skit, the pastor asked us “we know we’re supposed to be the Samaritan, but is there anyone else in these passages that you can identify with?” I’d never thought about the other characters before, except for maybe thinking that the priest and the Levite were jerks.

I thought about the injured man. What would it feel like to be ignored by the rich and powerful? And not just ignored, but passed by on the other side? How would I feel if a person I wouldn’t touch with a 10-foot pole stopped, cleaned and bound my wounds, and took care of me? And how much would I blame myself for my predicament? Why didn’t I travel with friends? Why didn’t I leave an hour earlier?

A woman who worked in a law office said “I understand the lawyer because I know how important it is to know the law before going to court. Lawyers don’t know how a trial will end – there are always unknowns – but they have to know the law, research legal precedence, and even apply their own interpretations before they even get started. You don’t go to court without good preparation.”

One man said he thought about the priest, not because he was very religious person, but because he was very busy person and maybe the priest just didn’t have time to stop. We talked about other reasons why the priest might not have stopped. Most commentaries suggest that it was because he was afraid, per Jewish law, that he would become unclean if he touched the body. Or, perhaps he was afraid that this was a robber’s trick and he’d become the next victim.

Or worse yet, maybe he just didn’t care. After all, he didn’t conk the man on the head and leave him for dead. What responsibility, really, did he have to this stranger?

The guy who was busy, and it turns out he was a bank president, was pretty honest about his reasoning: “I just think the priest didn’t have time to stop. I know I don’t have time to stop and help everyone who needs it.”

Another person said “I like the innkeeper.” What? No one ever thinks about the innkeeper! But imagine this: the innkeeper has no dog in the fight. Someone comes along, prepays for a room, and says “take care of my friend, and on the way back, I’ll pay you whatever else I owe you.” Our wanna-be innkeeper said “after all, he’s the only guy in the story who made any money!” I’ll just say this: that was the most surprising comment of the evening!

Finally, we talked about the Levite and the reasons he might have passed by. Maybe he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he just didn’t know what to do. So instead of embarrassing himself by saying something stupid or doing something totally wrong, he simply passes by on the other side. We could all identify with that possibility.

As I reflect on the other characters in this story, a new question comes to mind: what gets in the way and keeps me from being a Good Samaritan?

Am I looking for a clear set of rules before I act?

Am I just too frazzled or too busy to help?

Am I afraid something bad might happen to me if I stop?

Am I indifferent because really, I didn’t do anything to cause the problem?

Or, am I just too embarrassed to help because I don’t know what to say or what to do?

Yes, when I’m really honest with myself, these are some of the things that get in my way and prevent me from being as compassionate as I should be. But I also know that I’m very fortunate to be in this community – to be here at St. Paul’s – because it’s a safe place where we can talk about these kinds of questions and where we can help each other explore the answers. It’s a place where we can work through our doubts and our fears, and to discover, together, what it means to be Christians in the 21st century.

At the end of his parable, Jesus asks the legal scholar “(who) was a neighbor to the (injured) man?” The lawyer replies “the one who showed mercy.”

May we now, together, go and do likewise. Amen.

Yr C Prop 9
2 Kings 5:1-14
Ps 30
Gal 6:(1-6) 7-16
Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

Listen, listen to God's word, prophetic word, water, water crossing, clean water,


In April of 1630, John Winthrop preached a sermon on the flagship Arbella as it made its way from England to New England. He titled his sermon “A Model of Christian Charity.” He clearly knew that this was no minor journey, no small thing that he and the 700 colonists on the 4 ships were undertaking. He saw it in explicitly salvific and divine terms. He exhorted his fellow passengers to undertake their new life in a Godly manner. He preached “we must love one another with a pure heart fervently, we must bear one another's burdens, we must not look only on our on things but also on all the things of our brethren”, for if so “We shall find that the God of Israel is among us. For we must consider that we shall be as a city upon a hill, the eyes of all people are upon us.”

Pretty elevated understanding of New England, of America, huh? Not just a place to live, but a city on a hill, a light to the nations.

A little more than 350 years later I was on a boat making a crossing. The boat was considerably smaller. I was in Bolivia, crossing the Strait of Tiquina which separates the main body of Lake Titicaca from a smaller part of the lake to the south. This was a major passage, the only easy way to get across rather than around the lake. Naturally, there was no bridge, and all buses stopped, put passengers into tiny shuttle boats while the bus traversed the strait on a terrifying looking barge. I was jammed in the boat with a bunch of other gringos, tourists mostly, I was the only American. English was the common tongue. The US had just done something obnoxious on the world stage, I don't remember what it was, and my fellow passengers were grousing loudly about it, I was trying to keep my head down. At one point one passenger asked another, “hey, aren't YOU American” to which the other replied “No, no, NO! Thank goodness I'm anything but American.”

I felt like my foes were rejoicing over me. I sat there steaming. As we disembarked on the other side I made some type of rude remark to the fellow who was glad he wasn't American. I confess the remark. Although, I can't remember exactly what it was but it was certainly not noble, it didn't bear their burdens, it was ugly, and it certainly did not reflect loving my neighbors in the boat “with a pure heart fervently.”

Today, about 380 years after John Winthrop exhorted his Americans to see their country in divine terms, their calling as more than just a life, as a Christian life, we Americans find ourselves still on a journey. And, as recent news has shown, the waters are literally rough. Instead of asking, like Naaman, for the waters to heal us, we ask what we can do to heal the waters. Of the Gulf, of Red Butte Creek. Instead of, like our patron St. Paul, asking how to work for the good of all, we are in a quandry over what we mean by work and who can do it. How will we deal with the millions of people who want to come here to work from other lands?

And in all this we, like John Winthop, seek to find a Christian approach to our questions. Unlike John Winthrop we no longer have any illusions that this nation will be solely Christian. We are blessed with not only many people, but many faiths, many ideas of God, and justice, and purpose, and destiny. We probably should no longer be asking how America should be a Christian nation, particularly in the sense of Winthrop's vision of a united church and state, but it is reasonable to to ask what it means to be Christian in our nation. How do we as Christians join our Christian heritage and vision to our problems today? Our ship of state has many questions, and no simple answers. While it is unreasonable and un-American to demand that everyone conform to any narrow and particular religious vision of the world, it is also unreasonable to ask us to set aside our Christianity aside, our most important values, when we look at the many public policy questions we face.

I am sorry to tell you, despite the many politicians who insist otherwise, the Bible will not provide us with any simple answers to these questions. The stories of the Bible are not direct analogs to ours, the codes and laws do not match our time. They are highly relevant, yes, an important source, in many ways the source for us, but it is not a rule or answer book.

But it can help us approach the question. Our readings today are about listening – sometimes to people we don't want to listen to and hearing things we often don't want to hear. Naaman has to listen to this Hebrew prophet Elisha – an enemy and infidel in Naaman's eyes. St. Paul asks us, in his own hand he emphasizes, to listen to the message of the cross – a hard message – a message that God's love and salvation for us is given freely. We listen to Paul's insistence that we must now act, as painfully as it might be, to reflect that love and freedom in the world.

Jesus in our Gospel also reminds us to listen. Interestingly, he asks this as his disciples are on a journey. This passage in Luke's Gospel is during a section that is sometimes called the Journey to Jerusalem. Last week Jesus “set his face towards Jerusalem” and called his followers to join him, regardless of the personal cost, on his journey. Jesus spends this journey working to form his followers as true disciples. His disciples, going out as lambs into the midst of wolves certainly would also have seen a world filled with confusion and difficult questions. They describe it filled with demons, with snakes, scorpions, with Satan. And yet what Jesus essentially asks in our Gospel today is two things: One is for his disciples to reach out to the whole world – the references to eating and drinking whatever is provided is a not so subtle reminder to his faithful Jewish disciples that they must commune with all people. His second request is to those people, for them to listen to the word. His strongest words of condemnation, his words of woe, are to those who do not listen.

What Jesus asks us, essentially, is to find a way of life that puts reaching out to all people, to all of creation, and to listening to God, listening to the Word of God, at the center of our lives. We are asked not to apply neat scriptural formulas, but rather to do our best, as hard as it may be, to see our questions and search for our answers in terms of how God would have us see them.

And it is here – how God may see our common life and our common world, God's vision of his kingdom as proclaimed by Jesus – that we are given something a little more concrete. We hear that we are to consider others before ourselves – a point made by St. Paul when he asks us to bear one another's burdens and work for the good of all. We hear that we are to eat with all, cure all the sick, and proclaim peace to all first. We are not to narrowly define our interests but rather to expand them. We are to expand our understanding of our community, expand our vision of common good.

Listening first and seeking God's kingdom can help us approach our rough waters and our many questions. Perhaps instead of asking who to blame as the oil flows and coats our creeks; instead of trying to narrow the question, maybe we should expand it. What do our energy choices mean for the entire world, not just our backyards and our coasts? Do we worry not just about our creek, or our coast, but the deadly oil fields of Nigeria, Brazil, Iraq? Do we worry about those who live under despots funded by our purchases of oil? Do we take seriously that we will one day run out of oil, no matter where we drill, and that when we do the poor will suffer first and hardest.

Are we seeking the good of all? We can now, in our globalized and connected world take very seriously and literally the idea that we can be a light to ALL nations. Are we seeking more than just our American good as we think about our energy demands and sources, as we think about our labor demands and labor sources? Do our demands for cheap fuel and cheap labor for ourselves sometimes blind us to our call to serve the last first? Are we thinking about all creation, all nations when we ask these questions? Jesus may not have given us a set of charts for our journey through our many rough waters, but he did give us something more valuable – a vision of how God sees the world that enables us, if we listen, to ask the right questions, follow God's course, and not our own. It is a world that sees all creation as a whole, not a zero sum game, a vision that puts other interests first, and the interests of the least – from the poor turtles in our oceans to the millions of human poor in our own and other nations – before our interests.

We have always had noble motives. As much as I worry about the dangers of religious nationalism I do think there is some beauty in seeing our country as more than just a place to live. I think we can hold on to the nobility of the sentiments. We can be more John Winthrop in a ship modeling Christian charity and less Matt in a boat modeling the ugly American. My mistake that day in Bolivia was that I failed to remember that all of us, from whatever the nation, are, in fact, in the same boat. In anger and annoyance I narrowed my vision and quit listening to others. Maybe we simply need to remember that expanding our vision, that seeking the good of all and that listening to all is, in fact, our fundamental Christian task in these rough waters. This might be how we could achieve being a Christian nation in the broadest and best sense of the word – a nation that is a light to other nations, or that reminds us all that we live under the same light and that we are all to meet Christ's call to be a light to the world.

Winthrop may have captured some of this as he road his ship, faced a new shore, and exhorted his fellow Puritans to not just live in a place but live as Christians in that place. As he said, “We must delight in each other, make each other's conditions our own, rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together: always having before our eyes our commission and community in the work, our community as members of the same body.” Winthrop was referring to those in his boat. I think we are now fully aware that we are all, the world over, in the same boat. As we make our journey today, up this aisle and to meet our savior, we would do well to remember that we are of one body, and that we are called to bear each other, and serve each other, and, importantly listen to God for and through each other.

— Matt Seddon

The Rev. Deacon Steve Alder
Fifth Sunday of Easter, Year C
May 2, 2010

In the name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Jesus said to his disciples: “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples…”

Now we’ve all heard these words before, and my sense is that we tend to romanticize what Jesus meant. I mean, don’t they almost make you want to link arms and have a kumbaya moment? And I don’t say this to trivialize what Jesus is teaching, but to point out that sometimes we hear passages so often – and the words become so familiar – that even though they’re beautiful, they begin to lose their impact.

So I’d like you to hear these same words, but from a different translation by Kenneth Wuest, who was a professor of New Testament Greek. If any of you have ever translated from one language to another, you know it can be difficult to capture the nuances present in one languages but not the other. It’s the same problem when translating New Testament Greek into English. The preface to Wuest’s translation says that it “uses as many English words as are necessary to bring out the richness, force, and clarity of the Greek text.”

So here are our familiar verses in that translation:

“A commandment, a new one, I am giving you, that you should be constantly loving one another with a divine and self-sacrificial love; even as I loved you, you also be loving one another. In this all shall know that you are my disciples...”

This translation gives me some new insights. For example, what kind of love was Jesus talking about? Not a romanticized touchy-feely love, but a “divine and self-sacrificial love.” And notice the movement…the action…in this translation. He uses the word “loving” – which implies ongoing movement – not just love. He uses the word “constantly.” Loving each other isn’t just a moment in time, it should be something that’s happening all of the time.

Jesus’ new commandment sounds a lot more serious to me now, and frankly a little harder, too. It’s tough to be constantly loving with a divine and self-sacrificial love.

And it seems to me that if this commandment applies to the individual, it also applies to the body of Christian believers we call the church…that institution that grew up around Jesus’ teachings just a few years after his resurrection. But for some reason, when we gather as loving disciples and form an institution, the structure meant to carry on our Savior’s works of love, it seems more often than not we start missing Jesus’ call to a “divine and self-sacrificial love.”

This pattern of missing the point started with a question that the church has been asking for 2000 years. Who’s in and who’s out?

Our lesson from Acts provides an insight into the early church’s struggle with this question. Some believers thought you had to be a practicing Jew in order to be a true follower of Jesus. Or, to put it another way, are non-Jews allowed in? Now Peter was known to have been hanging out with the Gentiles, the non-Jews, and this was great cause for concern back home. When he returns to Jerusalem he’s basically put on trial: why are you eating with unclean people? How can you betray your heritage? Surely those people are out.

But Peter recounts the vision of a sheet coming down from heaven with all kinds of unclean animals in it, things that no observant Jew would ever eat. Peter sees these forbidden creatures and yet he’s told to “kill and eat.” He refuses, not wanting to be made unclean himself. And note that hard-headed Peter has to be shown this image and is told to eat three times! Now we don’t know if Peter actually did eat, but the vision includes this astounding pronouncement: “what God has made clean, you must not call profane.”

Peter is told not to make a distinction “between them and us” and he gets it: the question of who’s in and who’s out of the church has been answered. No one is unclean – no one is “out” – the gift of the Holy Spirit proves it. Everyone is called into the Kingdom of God!

Actually, that’s a good example of the Church getting it right, But more often than not, the institution has spent inordinate amounts of time, energy, and even blood deciding who’s in and who’s out.

For example, our familiar Nicene Creed was devised as a litmus test for who was in and who was out in the early fourth century. If you didn’t accept it as the authoritative statement of the Christian faith, then you were out. And ironically, three little words added to that Creed, plus a disagreement about using leavened or unleavened bread at the Eucharist, helped precipitate the Great Schism that split the Eastern and Western branches of Christianity in the eleventh century. Who’s in? Who’s out?

And here’s a little something from the Thirty-Nine Articles adopted by the Episcopal Church in 1801: “As the Church of Jerusalem, Alexandria, and Antioch have erred; so also has the Church of Rome erred, not only in their living and manner of Ceremonies, but also in matters of Faith.” All those churches with all those errors. Those guys are definitely out!

Even in our own time, the Anglican Communion is working hard to decide who’s in and who’s out with its reports, and instruments of unity, and meetings, and pronouncements by primates. It’s distracting and exhausting!

How can we all read the same book, hear the same stories, and yet reach such radically different conclusions about who’s in and who’s out? What’s so hard to understand about a commandment to love one another constantly, or to accept that “what God has made clean, you must not call profane”?

I think it’s simply because we’re human. It’s somehow in our DNA to separate people into good and bad, in and out. And when we gather into tribes, or institutions, or churches, we can make it even worse.

So when Jesus commands us to love one another as he loved us, with a divine and self-sacrificial love, he’s not calling us to a fleeting kumbaya moment, he’s calling us into constant action on a number of different levels.

As individuals, we wrestle with Jesus’ commandment and we work hard to follow our Lord’s voice. Let’s never shut anyone out of our lives.

And as the institution of disciples we call St. Paul’s parish, we know that just as God’s love has no boundaries, there are no boundaries at this communion table. All are welcome, genuinely welcome, to share the holy meal that follows. Let’s never forget that.

And the larger Episcopal Church is constantly asking itself: how do we understand the meaning of the story in Acts, and how do we keep widening the circle of who’s in? How do we put into practice, as a large and unwieldy institution, what the voice says: “What God has made clean, you must not call profane”?

As members of these institutions, when Jesus calls us to be constantly loving, I believe we’re also called to be vigilant and to reject any doctrine or theory or law that says another human being is unclean or profane or unworthy to enter the Kingdom of God.

Who’s in? Who’s out? We still struggle with the answer, but I believe we’re making progress, in spite of our DNA. Maybe we just have to remind ourselves – over and over and over again if we have to – that Jesus’ new commandment isn’t static; it’s not frozen in some old book; it’s with us now. Moving. Breathing. Loving.

Finally, I sometimes ask myself: what are we progressing toward? Where are we going? What would the world look like if we didn’t know who was in or who was out?

I think the writer of the Revelation had a glimpse of it, perhaps just a brief flash, when he saw the New Jerusalem at the end of the ages: “Death will be no more,” he writes, “mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.”

Mourning and crying and pain will be no more…

May we be constantly loving one another, with a divine and self-sacrificial love, until that day arrives.

Amen.

The Rev. Deacon Steve Alder
Maundy Thursday, 2010

In the name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another.”

This commandment from Jesus, which begins with the word “mandatum …” in Latin, is how we’ve come to call this day Maundy Thursday. It can also be called Holy Thursday, or Great and Holy Thursday, or even the Thursday of Mysteries, but particularly as Anglicans, we know it as Maundy, or as I like to call it, Commandment Thursday.

And Maundy Thursday’s liturgy is packed with action: we remember the institution of the Lord’s Supper and the Passover, we hear the great commandment to love one another, we participate in the foot washing, Father Emil will bless our oil stock, the Sacrament will be removed to the Altar of Repose, the altar will be stripped, and we’ll begin the watch.

There’s a lot to take in this evening, and as I reflect on all of this activity, the simple act of foot washing keeps coming to mind.

According to John’s Gospel, Jesus gets up in the middle of dinner, takes off his outer robe, ties a towel around his waist, and begins to wash his disciples’ feet.

Why did Jesus do this in the middle of the meal? Why didn’t he do it when the guests arrived, which would have been the normal custom in the ancient Middle East? Back then, a guest would be provided with a bowl of water – plus a slave in a wealthy person’s home – to wash the filth off their feet when they first arrived. This wasn’t a ritual practice; it was a practical response to the reality of walking through dirty streets either barefoot or in sandals.

So why does Jesus choose the middle of the meal to wash his disciples feet? John doesn’t tell us, but the Gospel of Luke may provide a clue. Even at this last supper, the meal Jesus shares with his disciples before he is condemned to death, Luke reports that the disciples started arguing about who is to be regarded as the greatest. You’ve got to be kidding me, right? The disciples are starting this argument again? And at this special dinner?

So I can imagine Jesus listening to their arguments and then – probably with a deep sigh and without saying a word – he simply gets up, ties a towel around his waist, and begins to wash their feet. It’s not the act of a master, or a teacher, or the Son of God. It is the act of a slave. And this unpleasant job undoubtedly prompts Peter to exclaim “You will never wash my feet!”

But Jesus is teaching, by his practical example, that no disciple is greater than any other. By getting down on his hands and knees, he shows them that not only is he their servant, but that they are meant to be servants, too. Jesus shows them that no one in the Kingdom of Heaven is too good to wash another person’s feet. The question of “who is the greatest?” is turned around to become “who will be a servant?”

In a few minutes, we’ll follow Jesus’ example by our own symbolic washing of each others’ feet, and although the context has changed over the past 2000 years: from foot washing done as a practical act by a slave, to foot washing done as a loving act by the followers of Jesus, the meaning is still vibrant: we do this because we understand that no one is greater than anyone else, no job is too low or too unimportant, and we are all called to serve, and to be served, by each other.

So here’s my small confession for today: this part of Maundy Thursday has always made me feel a little uncomfortable. I sometimes I want to agree with Peter and say “you will never wash my feet!” And let’s be very clear: it’s not because I don’t understand the deep significance of Jesus’ act.

It’s because it will require me to remove a shoe and a sock and expose my foot. No big deal, really, but it does make me feel a little vulnerable. And what if there’s some sock lint caught between my toes? And what if I don’t wash the other person’s foot just the right way? It could all turn into something oddly embarrassing.

Because I know I have these feelings, I began to reflect on them in the context of today’s bigger picture: Jesus’ showing, by example, how we should care for each other.

I discovered that my worries about the foot washing parallel the concerns I have about responding to a person in need. When we choose to serve others, we are making ourselves vulnerable. We might worry about what that other person will think about us, and we might wonder if we’re doing the right thing, or even what the “right thing” should be.

These are normal feelings and normal questions, and I realize that just as they can get in the way of my willingness to participate in the foot washing, they can interfere with my willingness to serve. So I promised myself this evening that during our ceremony, I will reflect on these concerns. And I will consider today’s Gospel, and remember that Jesus taught by doing. He didn’t have a lot to say when he got up from that table; he just started washing.

Consider that maybe the best way to conquer any reluctance about our ministries is to move forward by doing. To set aside all those questions about who is the greatest or whether the job is too menial or how vulnerable we feel or how the other person might judge us or whether we’ll embarrass ourselves. It seems relatively simple, I know, and I’ll admit it’s not always easy. But if we follow Jesus’ example, we’ll get up from the table, tie a towel around our waists, and continue to serve each other as Christ served us.

Amen.

The Rev. Deacon Steve Alder
Third Sunday after the Epiphany

In the name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Today marks the middle of the Epiphany season, and as we’ve noted, Epiphany comes from a Greek word meaning “showing forth” or “manifestation.” In secular usage, the word epiphany can be used to mean a sudden understanding or deep insight, and this definition is wholly appropriate for us as well. Our Gospel lessons during this season are designed to reveal – to give us a deeper insight – into the understanding that Jesus is the Christ, the Anointed One of Israel. That Jesus is God Who Dwells Among Us.

Because of these revelations, I think of Epiphany as a season of surprises, not only for the people who knew Jesus well (remember him turning water into wine?), but also for us.

Now I need to tell you that I don’t particularly like surprises. I’m one of those people who wake up at the same time every morning. I make the coffee, watch a little news (probably the low point of my day), walk the dog, then I go into my home office ostensibly to work, but more often than not I check Facebook first.

Anything that interrupts this routine, anything that surprises me, tends to throw my whole day off.

Now I imagine that the people of Jesus’ time, those sitting in the synagogue, were also used to a normal routine. They would gather each week for teaching, and the Gospel tells us that this was also Jesus’ custom. It also reveals that he was one of the teachers. Jesus stands up to read and is handed a scroll of the prophet Isaiah. He finds where it is written:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captive and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

He rolls up the scroll, gives it back to the attendant, sits down and is ready to teach. He must have been an excellent teacher, because the Gospel tells us that “the eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him.” And so he begins:

“Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

Next week we’ll hear how the people reacted to this teaching, but suffice to say they were astounded by Jesus’ words. They were, indeed, surprised.

The words Jesus read, from the sixty-first chapter of Isaiah, are part of a long series of beautiful poems that promise the restoration of the glory of Jerusalem and God’s people. Not to mention, there will be plenty of Holy punishment for Israel’s enemies as well. It must have been extraordinarily surprising for people living under Roman oppression to hear Jesus say that “today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

Really?

And the Church’s answer is “yes!” This is the Epiphany understanding that we receive in today’s Gospel. Jesus claims for himself the mantle of the one anointed to bring good news to the poor, to let the oppressed go free.

“Okay,” you might be thinking, “that’s Jesus’ role, not ours.” But there’s another epiphany in store for us today, and that’s that we, as a community of Christians, are now the Body of Christ, and that we, as a community of believers, now share in Christ’s mission and ministry.

Paul goes to great lengths to make this point in his letter to the Corinthians. There’s a lot of talk about body parts and how they all work together. And he emphasizes this understanding: “Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.”

We, you and me, are the body of Christ, and if that is true, then we, you and me, are also called to bring good news to the poor, to let the oppressed go free.

What I especially like about Paul’s description is that we aren’t loners in this work, that each one of us are a part of the body of Christ, and there is no part greater than any other part. But when you think about it, putting this into practice takes some very loving and intentional work because we do live in a culture that teaches us that some jobs are more important than other jobs, and that some gifts are more valuable than other gifts. I’m sure it was the same in Paul’s time, and I believe he’s saying to the Corinthians, and to us, “don’t bring that attitude into the Church.”

This understanding of how we are meant to be in community is both an epiphany and a challenge at the same time. For we, you and me, are called to participate, together, as the body of Christ in striving to bring healing and reconciliation to a hurting and broken world. And we, you and me, are also called to set aside our judgments and to respect all of our members and to honor all of their gifts.

Surprise! None of this is as easy as it sounds, but it is our calling.

Paul also reminds us that when one member of the body suffers, all suffer, and our brothers and sisters in Haiti are suffering terribly. The Episcopal Diocese of Haiti, which is a constituent member of our church just like the Diocese of California or the Diocese of Utah, is moving as quickly as it can to assist not only its own members, but all those impacted by the earthquake. When I think about all the devastation, I wonder how it’s possible to really do anything to help, but we know we must try…we must start to “eat the elephant one bite at a time,” so I ask you to continue to remember Haiti not only with financial contributions, but in your prayers as well.

We are, indeed, both locally and internationally knit together as the body of Christ through the gifts of the Holy Spirit.

Now, this being Epiphany – a season of surprises – I was going to surprise all of you with a dramatic re-enactment of our reading from Nehemiah.

Picture it: the Jews are returning from the Babylonian captivity and rebuilding the Temple and walls of Jerusalem. The city hadn’t been abandoned, so there were people in town who had never heard the Jewish Law which is contained in the first five books of the Bible. Ezra the priest stands on a wooden tower and starts to read from Genesis, “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth…” and he continues all day until the end of Deuteronomy, “Never since has there arisen a prophet in Israel like Moses….”

The people wept on hearing the Law and are encouraged to have a festival, to “eat the fat and drink sweet wine.” But it’s my sense is that if I started reading from the Bible and kept reading all day, there’d be weeping, too (and a call for wine) – but not for the same reasons! Therefore, I have decided against surprising you with this plan.

But I want you to note that the people were directed, in their joy, to “send portions to those for whom nothing is prepared.” Even as the people partied, Ezra reminded them to share with those who had nothing, and it’s a beautiful reminder for us, as well. To share not just in response to tragedy, but out of our joy as well.

There are three more Sundays in Epiphany and we’ll continue to hear more about the manifestation of Jesus as the Christ, the Anointed One of Israel. We are certain to hear more about community and our role as the Body of Christ. As we listen to our upcoming lessons, I wonder: what will surprise us? What will bring us new understandings?

Let us pray:

Almighty God, by the Star of Bethlehem you made manifest your son as king to wise men from the east; guide us also by your holy light to an ever increasing knowledge of Jesus as Lord. Guide us in community, and through our sorrows and joys, keep us always mindful of the needs of others. Amen.

The Rev. Deacon Steve Alder

In the name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

When I was a kid, about a week and a half before Christmas morning, my expectations would really ramp up. I’d review the social contract we all have – you know, that naughty and nice one – and I’d decide that I was a pretty nice kid after all. And because my brothers and sister were never called in to testify against me, I was pretty much set for some really good gifts. So I’d send a quick mental note to Santa: Hot Wheels track with a loop in it, excellent choice. Box of socks, not so much.

As an adult, I still experience Advent as a season of building expectations that lead up to the Nativity of our Lord Jesus Christ, but I’m much more reflective now. I think of the phrases we hear that are so full of promise. From two weeks ago: “your redemption is drawing near.” Last week, the cry in the wilderness, “prepare the way of the Lord.” This week a bold assertion, “one who is more powerful than I is coming.”

Our lessons today continue to heighten my expectations by focusing on the dreams of the Hebrew prophets and the ministry and preaching of John the Baptist.

In the back of the Old Testament there’s a tiny little book. It’s only three chapters long and it’s called Zephaniah. It’s named after the prophet who preached in Judea around 630 BC and who called the Jewish people to account for their idolatrous followings. He mentions two foreign gods by name: Baal and Milcom and alludes to another. He preaches the destruction of Jerusalem because pure worship of the Lord has been blended with – it has been adulterated by – these foreign gods. It’s definitely not a pleasant forecast.

But today we hear Zephaniah’s glorious and poetic expectation that the Lord will have the final victory...the prophet promises that God “will rejoice over you with gladness, he will renew you in his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.” It will be a transformative victory in which God will “save the lame and gather the outcast” and “change their shame into praise.”

Continuing in this theme we heard Canticle 9 which is from a portion of Isaiah. Again, we are encouraged by a prophet’s voice: “God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid” and we are to “sing praises to the LORD, for he has done gloriously…shout aloud and sing for joy…for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel.”

I don’t know about you, but these readings are definitely ramping up my expectations!

And now…from the Gospel of Luke…we’re caught short when John the Baptist curses the crowds who’ve come out to see him: “you brood of vipers!” he shouts at them. “You snakes in the grass!” I doubt that they expected that!

At this point, let’s go back 2000 years for some context and a feel for what’s going on. About 100 years before John and Jesus’ time, the Romans marched into the area we now call the Middle East: Israel, Lebanon, Jordan and Syria. They brought their civilization, and their values, to the peoples they conquered. They divided the land into their own administrative regions and either installed client kings, such as Herod the Great, or governors, such as Pontius Pilate, to look after their interests. Taxes were imposed to support the empire, and payment and order were enforced by their tax collectors and legions of soldiers.

Although the elite did quite well, the ordinary people of Judea chaffed under Roman rule. They knew that the promises of Zephaniah and Isaiah meant that one day – some day – they would be free and living under God’s rule, but when? Historical research tells us that various itinerant preachers would pop up during this time proclaiming a new dawn for the Jewish people.

John the Baptist seems to have been just such a character. He preached a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, which meant he was really sticking it to the religious elite of his day. Remember that in John’s time, forgiveness of sin could only be conferred through the Law of Moses…with the proper sacrifices…in the temple at Jerusalem…with the priests presiding. But here was a wild man in the desert saying that he could offer the forgiveness of sins without any of that formal stuff. What audacity!

John also proclaimed a day of judgment, a victory for the one who would come after him, baptizing with the Holy Spirit and fire. The one whose “winnowing fork is in his hand” and the one who would burn the chaff with “unquenchable fire.” Could this mean the end of the Roman empire and the world as we know it? What an apocalyptic expectation!

It’s no wonder that the ordinary people of Jerusalem were captivated by this charismatic preacher. They came out in droves, filled with the expectation that he might be the Messiah, that perhaps he would free them from Rome, and yet he turns on them and shouts: “You brood of vipers! Don’t think you’ll be saved just because you’re the children of Abraham, more is required of you than that! Bear fruits worthy of repentance.”

The stunned crowd asks him “what then should we do?” and John tells them his expectations: if you have two coats, you must share with those who have none. And food likewise.

Two other groups ask John, what then should we do? And they represent the most hated and feared people of his day, the workers who enforce the power of the Roman empire: tax collectors and soldiers.

Note that John does not say to them “stop being tax collectors” or “get out of the army.” Instead, he shares with them his expectations for repentance: don’t cheat and don’t beat.

Don’t take any more than the Roman government says you’re allowed to take, and don’t use your power to extort money through intimidation: be satisfied with what you earn.

It strikes me that John’s own ax is lying at the root of the tree of greed. We know that even today, people are tempted to add just a little bit more for themselves, especially if no one else knows the difference, and some use their power to force inequitable deals. John’s point is very clear: although you may have the means, don’t take more than you’re entitled to. It’s as applicable now as it was then.

So I have this image of a charismatic preacher out in the wilderness, proclaiming the dawn of a new age for Israel, and attracting huge crowds of people. He’s baptizing, teaching a message of repentance, and predicting judgment by the one who comes after him.

In my imagination, I transport St. Paul’s – with all of our modern amenities of course – back to Jerusalem and wonder what John would say to us. I’m sure we’d want to go out and see him, too, so we charter a comfortable and air conditioned bus, and off we go!

Once we arrive, I don’t think John shouts at us “you brood of vipers!” but instead he’s softer with us: “you flock of doves,” he says, “you are a gentle and generous people.” He mentions that he knows about the outreach work we’ve already begun.

As we gather around him he goes on: “Do you know that you’re the richest Episcopal parish in all of Utah? Do you know that your parish budget is larger than the entire budget of the diocese of Nevada…or Idaho?” He pauses for effect: “How many coats do you already own? How many coats are enough? And how many more are you willing share?”

We ponder this for awhile, and as we get back on our comfortable bus, we consider what he’s said and we ask ourselves: “How many coats do we own? How many more are we willing to share?”

The third candle in our Advent wreath burns brightly today and reminds us of the expectations that come at this time of year. Some are simple, like a child’s before Christmas morning. Some are transcendent, like the prophetic promise of a new Jerusalem under God’s eternal rule. Some are challenging, like the call of a wilderness baptizer.

As we wait for our greatest expectation to be fulfilled, the promise that God – the Holy One of Israel – will be born among us, I can’t stop thinking about the words of St. Paul: “Rejoice in the Lord always!” he writes, and again he says, “Rejoice!”

Amen.

The Rev. Deacon Steve Alder

In the name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Wow. No one is more surprised than I am to be standing in this spot today looking forward to spending a little time with you. Thank you, Father Emil, for the opportunity!

I’d like to start by telling you something about myself. I *love* the Bible. We’ve all heard it called “the Good Book,” but I actually think of it as the “Good Library.” It’s a collection of 66 books divided into what we commonly call the Old Testament, or the Hebrew Scriptures with 39 books, and the New Testament, or the Christian Scriptures with 27 books. Many of these books are separated by hundreds of years of understanding, but each of them have been given a special place in our tradition.

Why do I love this great library so much? Because some of the most sublime poetry, the deepest angst, and the most beautiful truths can found in its pages. We call our Scriptures the Word of God not because we believe that these are the literal words of God, but because we believe that God chose people throughout the ages to give us an understanding, sometimes just a fleeting glimpse, into God’s desire to tell us how much God loves us, and to teach us what that means in our common lives together and how we use it to serve the world.

An excellent example of what I consider sublime poetry comes from today’s reading from the book of Job. I won’t examine the many ways we can interpret Job’s story, but I will call your attention to the following.

Job has been lamenting his fate in the preceding chapters, and his friend Elihu makes a long a response, but then God answers Job out of the whirlwind:

"Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements--surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it? On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone when the morning stars sang together and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?”

This is the grandeur -- and the joy! -- of God’s creation captured in ancient Hebrew poetry. I find it simply…well…transcendent.

But the Bible also shares with us practical truths and examples about human nature and God’s desire for the restoration of right relationships...not only in our relationships with God, but in our relationships with each other and the world.

Through the words of Jesus as found in our Gospels, we strive to understand God’s desire for these right relationships ever more clearly. Through the words of Jesus, we hear a call for a “new world order” that turns our expectations upside down and literally upends the ways of this world.

OH! Quick segue. I Googled the phrase “new world order” and got 5,200,000 hits. Lots of conspiracy stuff, but a definition from Wikipedia says that the phrase “new world order” is used to refer to any new period of history that exhibits a dramatic change in world political thought and the balance of power. It was first used in the West after World War I.

But you know what really bugs me? For all of this talk about “new world order,” nothing really changes unless God is involved. The names or places of the powerful may change, but the strong still bully the weak. Institutional power still crushes individual freedom. And the wealthy still take advantage of the poor. Without God, it’s just the old world order with different players.

In today’s Gospel, we see two disciples, James and John, approach Jesus and ask to be seated at Jesus’ right and left hand in what they expect to be the new world order.

These disciples do recognize in Jesus something new, something exciting, and something powerful. They believe that Jesus is the Messiah and know great things will soon take place.

So James and John take it upon themselves to ask for special honor and recognition when Jesus comes into his glory. Remember that during Jesus’ time, when a king or wealthy person would throw a banquet, the most important guests would be seated at the host’s right and left side. These were the seats of the greatest honor. James and John do expect something new and wonderful, but they’re still measuring success in the ways of their world and not by the standards of the Kingdom of God.

After all of their time with Jesus, these two disciples are still thinking about the Kingdom of God in a way that reflects just a change in who gets to sit where, not about a radical change in the value system.

And there is another very important point to be made here. Notice in this reading that the singular ambition of these two brothers, their desire to elevate themselves above the other disciples, has consequences for their community.

The Gospel tells us that “when the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John.” That’s totally understandable, right? I can imagine the brothers sneaking off one evening, finding Jesus – maybe even interrupting him while he’s praying – and then asking for something for themselves. And when the others hear about this, they have a normal, human reaction: “that’s not fair,” they might have said, or “how can they stab us in the back like this,” or “who do they think they are?”

All of these complaints are valid when measured by the value system of this world, and who can fault them for this reaction?

Jesus now has to call them all together and repair the damage that James’ and John’s ambition has done to the community. He has to teach them again, in another way, that the Kingdom of God doesn’t share the values of this world. He turns their expectations completely around: “whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”

This is extraordinary and completely backwards. A servant can be great? A slave – a person who is someone else’s property – can be first? It seems that Jesus has to explain, over and over again in a dozen different ways, that the principles of Kingdom of God are not the principles of this world.

And it strikes me that the world’s values have remained pretty much unchanged after 2000 years. In fact, we are not unlike Jesus’ first followers because we, too, live in continuing tension between our understanding of God’s Kingdom and a world that elevates and honors those who sit at the right hand of the powerful, or those who can score the most buckets, or those who can make the best blockbuster movies.

Yet time and time again, through the words of Jesus as found in the Bible, and through that Good Library that I love, we hear God’s call for change and for reconciliation, for a true new world order that’s not just a reshuffling of the seating arrangement.

So we continue to work together, just as those first disciples did, to be the best followers of Christ that we can be. We might stumble and make ambitious assumptions – just as James and John did – or we might feel anger over an affront – just as the ten did – but Jesus calls us back into restored relationships in order to continue our work.

You have no idea how often I give thanks for this community of disciples… the one we call St. Paul’s. Together we balance the call of the Gospel with the values of this world, and together we strive to bring about the Kingdom of God and to upend the world’s expectations.

We, too, have been called to be servants, to be the slaves of all. And through our Food Pantry and Housing Ministry, through our knitting and canning and teaching and caring for each other, we are living out Jesus’ call to bring about true change – God’s change – to the world in this place and at this time.

And I have just one more quick thought for you: who are we called to serve next?

Amen.

The Rev. Dr. Frederick Quinn

Who is Given Bread? Guidelines for Christian Relations With Other Religions

A question facing Christians today is: What is the relationship of Christianity to other religions? How do we engage in dialogue with persons of other faiths? It is not a question for tomorrow, but a question for today.

Utah numbers are not exact, but in 2000 Salt Lake City’s population was roughly 180,000 persons, 56% of whom were Latter-Day Saints, 6% of whom were Roman Catholics, and ½ of 1% of whom were Muslims, Jews, and Episcopalians, about 4,000 members each in roughly equal numbers.

We used to live in downtown Salt Lake City, and I began each day by buying the morning paper from an Afghan shop, which also sold Afghan spices, dried soups, and the Koran. A Korean restaurant was next door. Across the street was an Iranian rug dealer and a Bosnian restaurant, also run by a Muslim owner. It gradually dawned on me, as I made these daily rounds, that a multicultural world is not on its way, it is here, now.

As people move about the world, they take their religions with them. Migrants represent more than 15 percent of the population of over fifty countries. Today more than 140 million persons live outside the countries of their birth.

Christians are only beginning to explore the world of other religions. W.E.B. DuBois once said that for America the race question would be the dominant question for the twentieth century. How religions relate to one another is an equally dominant question for the twenty first century.

I was at a gathering recently and said to a Muslim, “That was an interesting presentation you made. I’d like to talk with you sometime about it.” He replied, “That is what you Christians always say, and then you try and convert me.”

I stopped short. In high school I was a debater, skilled at the verbal game of “Gotcha.” Ask an innocent question or two, back an opponent into a corner, and declare “Gotcha!” But the encounter between world religions is not a game of “Gotcha!” The word conversion comes from an Old English word “Convertere” meaning to turn. At its heart conversion is about turning, all parties turning, moving ahead in a new direction.

How then do we answer the question about the place of other religions to Christianity? Are they all equal in the mind of a loving God? Or are all but our brand of Christianity deficient, to be ranked like baseball or football teams into a list of winners and losers?

One answer is to, with humility, leave the final judgment to God. “It is a question above my pay grade,” an old sergeant used to say. But there are some very strong biblical clues that will help us in the present.

To begin: there are common deep hopes at the heart of all the world’s religions. Religions are like a great tree with various faiths representing common roots expressed through different branches. This leads to what the British theologian Keith Ward calls "convergent spirituality." But convergence does not mean all traditions will move to a single place and all differences will be erased. Nor will it lead to a single global religion, but to the gradual shifting of older religious borders that is going on now.

The old imperial attempts to enforce authority from one central point represented by popes and covenants are increasingly irrelevant, as Christians find new ways of living out the vision of God which the church in each generation discovers anew in the person and teachings of Jesus.

And as a person looks seriously at the content and history of other religions, it will strengthen their own faith, sharpen their responses, and add fresh wind to their sails.

Clearly we are in a place where we are in growing contact with members of other faiths. What should be our ground rules in such contact? Five short points come to mind:

Be a careful patient listener. Let others tell their story, say what is important to them.

Read a book about another religion, and look at one of the excellent PBS videos about other religions. The works of Karen Armstrong or Houston Smith are good points of departure.

In discussions with members of other religions, do not hesitate to clearly state where the differences are. It is fine to say, “Here is where our two traditions differ” or “I can’t go there with you on that.”

Find a friend who is a member of another religion. Someone you can have lunch or coffee with occasionally, and ask a question like “What do Muslims believe about Jesus?” If you have a friend from another religion, it takes the rough edges off religious argument. The exchange is no longer like a dispute between an umpire and the team manager, but becomes more informed, and hopefully more civil.

Remember that interreligious dialogue is not some great, complex theological battle, but at its heart a local encounter. It will find its greatest impact in a joint effort to provide local literacy courses for new arrivals, care for expectant mothers, food for the hungry, and helping refugees register for community services. It is there that we see glimpses of the mercy and compassion that are at the heart of all religions.

What does the Bible say about the compatibility of world religions? Each time we read the New Testament we discover things we never saw before. In John’s gospel (6: 56-69) the question is -- who has access to bread? Gnarled hands of all colors reach out around the globe for the bread of life given in a hundred different forms. Jesus will not deny them.

Last year a group of pilgrims from this Diocese gathered in Myanmar near the Chinese border to receive the hosts made from freshly pressed rice cake. At the celestial banquet there will be more than one kind of bread on the menu. Bread from Africa, Asia, and Latin America will all be on the table in God’s welcoming kingdom.

Such an inclusive, global Christ is a relatively recent discovery for many of us. This is the Jesus who preached the wider Israel of God when he was rejected by the political Israel of his day.

This is the welcoming Jesus who spent time with lepers, with the dreaded Roman occupiers, who sat at meals with prostitutes and tax collectors, and saw deep good in the reviled Samaritans.

The lowliest of marginal people, wandering shepherds, announced his birth, and among the first to honor him were magi, mysterious visitors from the distant East, coming from Asia.

That is the context of John’s gospel. Jesus has made a strong statement, that the Father has sent him, representing the bread that came down from heaven.

But what happens with this news? Is everyone happy? No, just the opposite. This was a decisive moment, time to fish or cut bait, and many of his disciples turned away and abandoned Jesus. So Jesus turned to twelve of his closest followers and asked them – are you still with me? Or do you want to cut your losses and leave?

It is a sometimes hesitant Peter who clearly responds, “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.”

Where does that leave us? With three conclusions: first, we are fully part of a multicultural world where religion is deeply part of its DNA.

Second, Jesus is present in all parts of that world, welcoming its inhabitants lovingly as equals.

Third, if we engage with this newly emerging world and its religions, we will find in it the living presence of Jesus, our savior and the equally welcoming friend of all humanity. Amen


A sermon preached by the Rev. Dr. Frederick Quinn at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Salt Lake City, Utah, August 23, 2009. Dr. Quinn is a former chaplain of Washington National Cathedral and has written extensively on world Christianity.

The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost - Proper 14B
II Samuel 18:5-9,15, 31-33
Psalm 130
Ephesians 4: 25-5:2
John 6:24 – 35
The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
Farewell   
Salt Lake City, Utah

Writing a sermon is, for me at least, all about making connections.  Connecting my head and heart with the scriptures outlined for the day. Uncovering the connection between each of those lessons. But chiefly, it’s about discerning the connection between the word of God as found in scripture and what God’s word means for us in this space, at this time in our lives together.

The Old Testament lesson offers us a very human story about connection — we heard today of David’s deep grief over the death of his son Absalom, even as Absalom was in active rebellion against David and his kingdom. We, too, know the pain of losing someone we love, either through death, or saying  goodbye to those to whom we are deeply connected. Psalm 130 is David’s attempt to articulate that grief. His act of crying out to God in agony over his loss enables him to connect his despondence to some sense of hope for the future.

The faithful life of a Christian is all about making connections as well. St. Paul always begins his discourses with a flurry of theology, but they always purposefully become suggestions about how to connect our theological beliefs with our behavior.

Paul outlines how we as faithful people can and should live together in ways that intentionally keep us connected, because we are already connected as members of the same body. Paul loves talking about us being members of a body. Membership of this body does not just mean being a name on a list of participants in an organization, but being a member, surrounded by other members of the same body, means that we can’t NOT affect each other. We must move in the same direction if we move at all. When one hurts, we all hurt. When one succeeds, we all rejoice. We can either work together in ways that benefit the entire body, or we can work together to tear it down.

Paul says that our new lives in Christ, as members of the body of Christ,  must be manifest in  new behaviors and new ways of connecting with each other. Honoring each other by being truth tellers in the community, even when it’s uncomfortable.  Strengthening our relationships by speaking kindly of each other, even if we know something that would not present someone else in a favorable light. Recognizing that the forgiveness we have freely received by the grace of God must be reflected in the forgiveness we offer to those around us.

Don’t grieve the Holy Spirit, Paul tells the Ephesians. He doesn’t explain what grieving the Spirit looks like, but I have some ideas. I believe we grieve the Spirit when our beliefs and behavior are disconnected. When those around us aren’t able to recognize by the way we treat them or the ways we treat each other that we are living members of the body of Christ. I believe we grieve the spirit when we let what we “know” get in the way of what’s true: like the people around Jesus did in today’s gospel: They knew Jesus, and Jesus’ parents. And when he said he was the bread come down from heaven they talked themselves out of recognizing that Jesus was the very gift from God for which their souls yearned.
   

I  believe we grieve the Spirit when we live in fear. When we are afraid to make new connections between ourselves and those we deem to be “other”. When we are afraid to make the connections between our money and our mission. Between what we have and what we are willing to share with others. We grieve the Holy Spirit when we hear the gospel but don’t respond to its call to be transformed, to serve, to walk in love.

Perhaps the opposite of fear is faith. And the witness of the faith we have within us is living lives of love, moving forward making connections between hungry people and food, between lonely people and genuine compassion, between those who hurt and God’s goodness.

The opposite of grieving the Holy Spirit, is imitating God, reflecting God’s reconciling love wherever we are, just as Jesus did.  When we, as God’s beloved children live in love, and conduct ourselves in ways that honor God’s grace in our lives, we are delight God to no end, just as his Son Jesus Christ delights him.  A life lived in love, Paul says, is like a fragrant offering.

God seeks to connect with each of us. God connects with us in a very tangible way in the baptismal waters at the heart of loving communities. God himself invites us to connect with God in a very real and simple way at the altar, in the form of bread and wine. When we respond to his invitation with open hearts and outstretched hands, we receive God himself, and he becomes part of who we are.

So in a few minutes, when you come to the table, expect to connect with God himself when you receive a morsel of bread and a sip of wine. Expect to connect with God himself when you treat each other like beloved children of God, members of one Body. And when you leave this place today, and every Sunday, look for the many ways to connect with others.  Be the connection between God’s love and the world.

The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost - Proper 13B
II Samuel 11:26-12:13a
Ephesians 4:1-16
John 6:24 – 35

The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs
St. Paul's Episcopal Church
Salt Lake City, Utah

Have you been following along with the soap opera that is the story of King David? We’ve been reading for several Sundays now what David, the ancestor of Jesus, has been up to. If you happened to miss a weekend, let me catch you up. David is King of Israel, has many wives, and can basically do and have anything he wants. He sees Bathsheba, wife of Uriah, one day. And he wants her, too. So he sends his “people” to get her and bring her to him. She finds out she’s pregnant by David (as her husband is away at battle.)

A cover-up ensues. (Why anyone thinks this is a good idea, I’ll never know. Didn’t David’s mother ever tell him that covering up what he did would get him in more trouble than just owning up to what he did?)
Anyway, David, trying to cover up, sends for the husband, tells him to go home, so that he can think the child is his, not David’s. The husband, Uriah, says, no while my men are away from their families and fighting for the good, I will not go home. I will stay with my men. David cannot talk Uriah into helping him with his scheme. So, instead, David then tries to get Uriah drunk, hoping he then can manipulate him into heading home to his wife. That scheme fails as well.

Finally, David gives up with his ‘decent’ plan – that of deception. And orders Uriah to fight on the front lines, tells everyone to not defend him, knowing that he’ll be killed. And he is. Pregnant Bathsheba is now a widow, and is ordered to David’s household, where he takes her as his wife, after an appropriate time of mourning, of course.

Of course, it is obvious to us, this entire scheme was evil. It wasn’t obvious, however , to David. The prophet Nathan came to talk to David, and that is where this wekeend’s lesson is.

Nathan tells David a story about a man who has many sheep wanting and taking the one sheep that a poorer man loves as his own pet. David was outraged at the injustice in this, and swore he would do what was right by the poorer man. When Nathan convicted David himself as the rich man who stole from the poor man, David understood that he had done wrong.

We all know its easier to see what someone else is doing wrong, rather than seeing what wrong we ourselves do.

So, my question for you is,  was David good man, or bad?

My answer for you, is Yes, he was.

David wanted more. He would do anything to satisfy that desire. When David was confronted with the real picture of himself as a thief and a murderer, he understood and repented.

The drama doesn’t end there, but the course of David’s life changes when he understands who he really is and what he is capable of doing in order to get more than he already has and deserves.

That’s a very real man who painted himself into a very real mess.

In the New Testament lesson, Paul writes about the “ideal” --- one body, one faith, one baptism. Grace abounding and the full stature of Christ. Building up the body of Christ in love. It sounds great. But we all know that only every once in a while we faithful churchgoers get a glimpse of the ideal Body of Christ. Paul knew that too. Most of the time in the epistles he’s lambasting young churches for their fighting, stealing from each other, hauling each other into court, calling each other names.

Are we faithful Christians good or bad? The answer to that question is also Yes.

David, the early church, and us --- we’re all human. We know what faithful living looks like. (and it didn’t look like what David was doing.)  We know what behavior builds up the Body of Christ.  We know we have difficulty living up to the ideal as individuals and as faithful communities. All humans live in the tension between the ideal and the real.

We can be paralyzed by the realization of how evil our deeds can be. We can live with our head in a theological cloud, imagining ourselves to have already become all that God had intended us to be.

Or we can participate in the process of sanctification. That is, using the tension between who we really are, and who we can be ideally, to move closer to God’s ideal and purpose. Using the gift of longing, not to get more of what we want, but to become more of whom God would have us be. God’s grace holds this tension together to work for good.

That is what we are doing here tonight. Having confessed our sins at the top of the service, having heard God’s abundant forgiveness or who we are and what we do, we can now move forward, again, having been fed, spiritually and physically, really and ideally with the bread of life, quenching our thirst, spiritually and physically with the cup of our salvation.

Sanctification is a process. Meaning, we aren’t handed new identities and new natures when we are baptized, but we are moving together, with the rest of the faithful, moving sometimes two steps forward and one step back. Longing to live into the  new, transformed life which we’ve been promised, knowing we disappoint ourselves and God along the way.

Sanctification – a process of giving up ourselves both the bad that we do and the good that we are over to God for God’s purposes. Letting God use our imperfect selves, as God could use King David’s imperfect self, for the building up of God’s kingdom. Sanctification is good stewardship of all our longings.

Jesus calls us to himself to receive the wholeness he offers. Because we are human, we have to return, get to return again and again to the table to receive this wholeness, this forgiveness, this bread of life. 

It is with each other, in this place, that we can get real. Where other trusted voices can tell lovingly us when we are moving off course.  Where we receive real bread, the bread that matters and satisfies us: the promise and the presence of God in our lives. The food and drink for our real human journey.

Pentecost VII
The Rev. Emil Belsky
July 19, 2009

Since its passage earlier this week, I have been asked by a number of you, in e-mail messages and on the phone, to address the passage of Resolution D025 of the 76th General Convention of the Episcopal Church just concluded.  This is the resolution stating our church’s practice of opening the ordination process to all the baptized regardless of sexual orientation.  Given the notoriety surrounding the adoption of this resolution by wide margins in both the House of Deputies and the House of Bishops and the publicity it has received in the media, I thought it important that you have available to you a copy of the actual document to read and review. I made it available via our parish e-mail listserv and I asked you to give it your prayerful consideration.  Hard copies are also available in the Library.

Speaking for myself, I want you to know that I support this resolution wholeheartedly and without reservation.  Having said that, I think it’s important that we provide some historical context for this decision; something almost completely lacking in media coverage—coverage tending, as it often does, to the sensational and largely devoid of any historical or theological content.

First of all, I offer a word about Biblical interpretation.  As background to many of the issues facing the Church today, we need to understand that there have existed among Christians of good will for some time now two very different hermeneutics, two differing approaches to understanding and interpreting what we find in the Bible—both of them accepting the Bible as God’s inspired word, but understanding biblical inspiration in different ways.

One approach understands the Bible to be a divinely inspired book, the contents of which are meant to be taken literally and accepted without question.  Here even culturally and historically conditioned teachings and practices like the tenets of the holiness code in the Book of Leviticus are understood to have a timeless quality, exercising a universal and eternal claim upon men and women everywhere.

The other approach to interpretation understands Jesus, the person, to be the definitive revelation of God and God’s ways.  More than any book or collection of books, Jesus is God’s incarnate Word to us, and the scriptures are understood to comprise the divinely inspired account—written by men and women of faith—of the preparation for his coming, his birth into our world, his ministry and preaching, his saving death and resurrection, and the outpouring of his Spirit beckoning the Church to mission and ministry.  In this approach, the Bible is accepted and revered as the inspired source of revelation about Jesus and what we might refer to as “the Christ event,” but it is also understood that God has not left us bereft of any other guidance. It is the Holy Spirit—the movement and promptings of which the Church must prayerfully discern—that will lead us into all truth.  Not to acknowledge the presence of the Spirit in the on-going life of the Church is to deny a fundamental aspect of God’s plan for God’s people.  God is still present in our world, and God still guides his Church.

Secondly, there always have been issues that are central to our faith in Jesus and others that are not.  In the Windsor Report commissioned in 2003 by the Archbishop of Canterbury, we are reminded of an important distinction made by the ancient Church between those core beliefs central to Christian life and faith and those described with the Greek term used in the Windsor Report: “adiaphora” (“things that are indifferent”) i.e. matters not regarded as essential to faith.  These are issues upon which Christians of good conscience can disagree while holding to the essence of Christian faith.  For example, while the Christian Church holds belief in the reality of God being a community of persons—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—and historically has understood this to be at the heart of Christian faith, the same Church (in professing belief in God’s presence and action through the sacraments) has at times numbered the sacraments variously as five, two, and seven.  What matters is not the numbering, but the belief in God’s action.  By this resolution, the General Convention is saying that the sexual orientation of an individual does not in and of itself disqualify them for ministry; it is not of central importance. 


Third, there exists within the Anglican Communion a variety of approaches to the discernment of who should be ordained.  It may surprise some of you to know that in some provinces of the Anglican Communion the whole process of discerning a call to ministry is vested in the hands of a very few, and in some instances, in the hands of only one person!

As pointed out in the Resolution’s “Explanation” section, the Episcopal Church already has in place extensive criteria for discerning whether or not an individual (gay or straight) is being called by God to serve as an ordained minister.  This criteria takes into consideration Lambeth Conference resolutions of 1998, 1988, and 1978.  It is very specific in what is expected of candidates in terms of acceptable behavior.  The Episcopal Church’s discernment process for ordained ministry involves multiple interviews with a parish Discernment Team, a Bishop’s Advisory Committee, a diocesan Commission on Ministry, the diocesan bishop, and personal spiritual direction with a trusted guide.  I would hate to think that in the future we at St. Paul’s could be deprived of the possibility of ordaining to the diaconate or priesthood someone determined by this process to be called to ministry because of the reservations, however well-founded in their minds, of Anglican churchmen on other continents.  While the wider Church continues to discern God’s will in these matters, it is important to remember that sacramental theology since the 5th century has affirmed that the validity of the sacraments does not depend on the character of the ordained person celebrating those sacraments.

In our second reading today the writer reminds us that in Christ the dividing wall between people has been broken down; that in Christ the Law with all its commandments and ordinances has been abolished, so that he might make for himself a “new humanity,” a humanity without hostility and enmity.  Hopefully, this is what we all aspire to and are striving to work toward.  As a former parishioner of mine in Omaha once said, “You know, we don’t have to agree with one another to love one another.”

In most parishes that I have served in my priesthood the affirmation of the ideas contained in Resolution D025 would have been met with distress and sadness and, as someone who would have supported this resolution, I would have been made to feel very much like an outsider.  I know that feeling firsthand, and I also know the toll that it can take in one’s life.  We can’t allow that to happen here at St. Paul’s to those who disagree with the resolution.  There will always be issues on which we will disagree, but in faith we are still bound by Jesus’ command to love one another; we are still bound by our common baptism into the very life of God:  Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  If we are serious about our commitment to inclusiveness and the fact that in Christ’s church there can be no outsiders, we need to heed the words of scripture, “It was not you who chose me, but I who chose you.”  For those whom God has brought together by baptism, there can be no insider or outsider, only Jesus at the center of our lives together.  Indeed, even the labels we sometimes use to distinguish differences should not be allowed to cloud our eyes to the basic fact that in Christ God has blessed us with a fundamental unity; a unity that we need to struggle with and learn how to live into; a unity where labels like progressive or conservative, Episcopalian, Lutheran, Methodist, LDS or Roman Catholic, gay or straight, have very little meaning; a unity where all that really counts is our care for one another in the Lord, for he is the Church’s one foundation and he and he alone is our peace.  Amen.

The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost - Proper 9B                
Mark 6: 1-13    
The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
Salt Lake City, Utah

It has been said that Napoleon’s fatal error was that he had a plan for victory, but no plan for defeat.

Defeat is a common human experience. We might as well prepare for it. Jesus shared in that experience. Long before his arrest and crucifixion, he knew rejection. In last weeks’ gospel we heard of the rejection he suffered in his hometown. In today’s  gospel we see him not only surviving, but thriving following that rejection.

Jesus attracts the crowds with “deeds of power”: in the first five chapters of the gospel of Mark these “deeds of power” or miracles come fast and furious : like the fireworks we watch on the fourth of July: each new deed of power is bigger and more awe-inspiring than the last.  He rescues people from the bondage of evil spirits. He heals a woman who had suffered  for 12 years and restores her to the community which had shunned her. And he raises a young girl from the dead and returns her to the loving arms of her  parents. Everyone is astounded. And the crowds grow along with Jesus’ reputation.

Then Jesus comes to his hometown. People are astounded with his teaching. But they reject his message and his healing power because of the person they think he is. They can’t get past the person to get his message. Our narrator tells us that Jesus is now the one that who is astounded - astounded at their unbelief. So he leaves.

It’s a good thing that Jesus is not attached to any one plan. It is clear that he knew what it has taken me years to figure out : that it really doesn’t matter what you had planned. It only matters what you do with what has actually happened.

What actually happened was that Jesus had failed.  And it hadn’t been the first time. Jesus was a good teacher. Early on in his teaching ministry, he realized that we all hear differently, and all learn differently. When one method of illustrating God’s kingdom didn’t seem to work for everyone, he tried speaking in parables. He didn’t give up -- he responded creatively. And because he responded creatively, his ministry was blessed and it multiplied.

After Jesus’ message is rejected in Nazareth,  he takes his message into the  countryside, and the Greek tells us he circulates among the villages, literally, he walks in circles among the people. And the next thing we know, he has a new plan for getting his message of God’s love to God’s people.

 His new plan is this: to share the responsibility of his mission and ministry with other people. Up to this point Jesus has said to his disciples, “Come.” Up to this point, Jesus has been preparing his disciples. Preparing them for what they are not quite sure. They listen to his preaching. They watch him heal people. And they have grown into Jesus’ family. Now he needs them to do something for him. He needs a way to extend his ministry to more people in more places, and to different people with different needs. He needs them to go.  Go in God’s name with God’s message. This is the point at which Jesus’ disciples become apostles.  In Greek the word apostle means “ one who is sent.”

Jesus’ mission becomes their mission. And their mission has become ours. Each successive generation in the church has received that same charge, given directly to the apostles, to be an extension of Jesus own ministry. The mission is this:

1) to preach the message that Jesus preached: that God is love and that God’s kingdom is here and accessible to all
2) to confront ‘evil’ where it possesses people’s hearts and minds
3) to lead people into peace and wholeness. To be a living testimony to the healing power of God’s love.

The commentaries warn not to take Jesus’ further instructions as instructions for our ministry: the commission and specific instructions in today’s gospel were to those twelve people and for a temporary, specific mission. Jesus’ counsel to them is quite detailed: ‘go two by two, take nothing but a staff; no bread, no money, wear sandals but not two tunics.’ We may not be called to duplicate these instructions, but I believe know that individually and in our ministry together we can benefit from the wisdom in Jesus’ new plan. Hear these words of mission, spoken to you:

1) Come when Jesus invites you to come to him. Spend the time necessary to become part of God’s “family”. Jesus summons the disciples to himself as he summons us to himself: to learn, to grow, to be healed before we too become his representatives in the world.

2) Understand what it is you are supposed to do. Pay attention to the instruction     given by God through his word, through your experience and through the counsel
of people who cross your path.

3) Don’t let who you are or what you do get in the way of your message. 
When you offer, whatever message you leave them, is a gift from God. Then, make sure you are a person whose life matches the message.

4) Leave behind that which will be an obstacle to your mission.
In other words, travel lightly. Figure out the difference between your wants and your needs. Take only what you need and open yourself to God’s goodness

 5) Know what you are responsible for. Do what you are asked to do, and leave the results to God. Jesus told the disciples to expect their audience to take some responsibility for what they hear.  You are not responsible for results. You are responsible for your efforts. What we do in His name is less about success or failure than it is about faithfulness to the gospel.

6) Don’t wait until conditions are perfect before you carry out your life in Christ. There is some urgency to your life and there is some urgency to God’s message. The abundant life is now.

7) Go when Jesus asks you to go. Pay attention to God’s call to you and be always ready to respond.

8) Go together in Jesus’ name with Jesus’ message. This is the basic definition of church. And it is the best part of God’s plan. Jesus knew that even he could not carry on alone. Our ministry is strengthened and multiplied by sharing the successes and the failures and the responsibilities with others.

We are each called to work out the details of our relationship with God as well as our particular call to mission. But thankfully we are not left alone in this task. As members of the Body of Christ we have been given a common mission and we have been blessed, as Jesus was blessed, with companions on the Way. 

Let us pray.  Gracious God, Open our hearts to your love and our ears to your call.  Grant that we may become the people you have called us to be so that we may be witnesses to your healing presence in the world. Amen.

The Rev.  Lyn Zill Briggs

The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 8B
Mark 5:22-43
June 27-28, 2009

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                Today’s gospel lesson reminds me of all the reasons I love studying the Bible. The story itself, the story behind the story, the story within the story, the use of the language, the lessons learned, the new insights into who Jesus was, and is and will be in our lives.

                If you look closely, you will see that the gospels are not arranged in a linear fashion, but as a series of vignettes, pasted together, and not always in an organized way. Since the 3^rd of 4^th century, the church has carved out chunks of the scriptures to be used for teaching purposes when we gather in an assembly to worship. These individual chunks are known as “pericopes.”

                These pericopes are strung together into a calendar or schedule of readings, known as a lectionary. If you look in the back of the prayer book, on page 908 you can see this list of scheduled pericopes. The assigned readings for today in this lectionary, known as the Prayer Book Lectionary are found under Proper 8. Well, now that you’ve learned about this lectionary, I will tell you we don’t use it any longer. New prayer books printed this last year use the Revised Common Lectionary. And in this new lectionary there are a few important changes. Today’s gospel reading is one of those changes.

                I’ll bet you are wondering why I’m lecturing you about lectionaries. Well, I’m lecturing you about lectionaries because the way lections are organized makes a difference to the story itself. In the lectionary appointed in the BCP, the only story is the story of Jesus healing the bleeding woman. But in the new lectionary we’re using, a larger chunk has been carved out in one piece --- the chunk which shows us that it was while Jesus was on his way to heal someone from the synagogue, the 12 year old dying daughter of synagogue leader, an unclean woman was healed. In fact, the bleeding woman is a story within that larger story. When we hear these stories together, we uncover layers of meaning we never would have gotten from either story alone.

                The culture of the day was deeply invested in the holiness system – which marked many things not to be touched.  Faithful people understood that holy things were not to be touched by unholy hands, and that all things would be defiled by unclean hands. Diseased people, bleeding people, which included women half of every month, dead people, are unclean and all those who came into contact with them became unclean just by contact, intentional or not.

                Uncleanliness and the healing power of touch runs through our gospel stories this morning. Jesus is in a crowd and touch is inevitable. The Greek word used to describe just how crowded that crowd was – is the word Greeks used to describe grapes being pressed or crushed for wine. So the crowd is pressing, is crushing Jesus.

                Jesus is in a crowd: and touch is inevitable.  The idea of the Son of God in a crushing crowed is a huge reversal of how Israel had previously viewed God. For in this scene God has gone from too holy to be touched to being so sensitive to human touch that a woman’s finger on his outer hem stops him in his tracks.

                Back to the story; Jesus is moving through a crowd when an important man of the synagogue falls at his feet and begs him to save his little girl who is dying. Jesus agrees and is making his way to this man’s house when…..

                Jesus stops.  Something is not right. Someone has touched him. He stops and sees that it is a woman, alone, in a culture which deemed it inappropriate for her to be unaccompanied outside her home. A woman, who has been unclean by societal standards for 12 long years. By the time Jesus lays eyes on her, she already knows she is healed.

                She’d heard about Jesus. I imagined she’d planned this encounter very carefully. She had taken advantage of the large crowd so she could perhaps slip through unnoticed. Who would even notice her? She had, after all been invisible to the community for 12 years.

                Her plan had worked. She touched Jesus’ clothing and was healed. She had indeed been in contact with a holy one of God. Then Jesus ruined her plan. She got caught. This woman knew what would happen to her if she had been discovered. Trembling with fear, she concluded that her courageous reach for healing had gained her nothing. She gave herself up.

                Rather than shaming her, or threatening to take her to the authorities, Jesus calls her Daughter. I can imagine her hanging her head in shame, and Jesus’ hand lifting her chin so that he could look her in the eye when he says:  daughter.  Your faith has made you well. Go in peace. Be healed. Jesus could have allowed this woman her healing in private. No one would have known. Unmarried women in her day were identified as their fathers’ daughters. So when Jesus addresses her as daughter, in the midst of a crushing crowd, he proclaims to this crushing crowd, that she, an unclean woman is acceptable to God. She is now a member of the new community in which all experience a new way of being themselves and a new way of being with each other. Jesus recognized and honored her faith which gave her courage to take great risk and cross great barriers.

                The text tells us that Jesus felt the power, the capacity to heal, diminish with her touch. Something outrageous happened when she touched Jesus hem. She changed him.  She mattered to God. Even as he had made a difference in her life, she had made a difference in his life,

                Jesus continues on his way to bring life to Jairus’ daughter, who died while he healed another. As the crowd laughs at his suggestion that the girl will live even though she’s dead, jesus speaks again. Our translation says “Do not fear, only believe” The translation is more authentic with the continuous imperative tense: Stop fearing. Do you hear the difference? Not just do not fear right now in this instance, but stop acting out of fear. Stop living in fear. He takes that little girl’s hand in his own and says to her, Talitha cum, “get up” in our translation. It’s actually translated, be continually arising. Always be getting up and moving.

                At the end of the day, life is different around the sea of Galilee. Jesus would have been banned from the home of a synagogue leader, having been touched by an unclean woman. Jesus broke the rules, and everyone was healed. We see that everyone broke the rules, everyone was healed .Everyone’s lives were interrupted. All witnessed this new thing God was doing.

                A young woman is restored to a life of promise, having heard the voice of Jesus and continues her life with a precious memory of her hand in his.

                A father, grateful for the gift of life given his family, has a daughter, no longer dying but well enough to walk around and eat.

                An invisible woman is not only noticed, but called daughter. She goes her way into peace rather than back into her familiar world of despair and shame and fear.

                Both these women died eventually you know. Their stories are examples of what God’s world is meant to be for all people: a world in which even God can be interrupted and moved to respond to the needs of another.

                A powerful, yet vulnerable Jesus, willing to be touched by unholy hands, not only remained holy, but drew those touched  him that day into holiness, into wholeness. Into health. Thus ends another biblical story of healing and reversal: the crowd amazed, People healed, with relationships restored.

                Because God touched them.

                And God was touched by them.

The Day of Pentecost
Acts 2:1-11
Romans 8:14-17, 22-27  
The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
May 31, 2009

   There’s something in the air. We’ve all said that at one time or another. My husband says it everyday of hayfever season, when he begins his endless string of sneezes for the day. We say it when we can tell a storm is brewing and we don’t know when its coming or how big and bad its going to be, but we’re pretty sure it’s heading our way. We say it when we know something is about to change, though we’re not sure what or how. When something is in the air, the anticipation leaves us anxious or excited, perhaps a little of both.

    I would imagine that’s how the disciples felt “together in one place” on that first Pentecost, waiting for something to happen.  When Jesus left them to return to his Father, he told them the Holy Spirit would come upon them. What He didn’t tell them was when or where. Or What that would feel like, sound like, or look like. That had to have left them anxious.

    The first Pentecost they were gathered, as we are today, with the community of faithful believers; they were listening to someone preach about the Holy Spirit just as you are today. Then suddenly, something was in the air. They heard it. They felt it. And I’ll bet they were very, very anxious about what would happen next. Was a storm coming?  Would the roof cave? For all they knew, the world was coming to an end.

    They were confused at first, but by the end of the day after listening to Peter’s preaching, they knew that The Holy Spirit had been poured out upon them, as promised. The Holy Spirit did not just fill up the empty spaces left by Jesus’ return to the Father, those empty spaces positively overflowed with God’s latest gift.  Just as the movement of the Spirit as fire and as rushing wind could not be contained, after that day, their passion of the disciples for the Good News, their expression of God’s goodness could not be contained. Their transformation amazed and perplexed those who witnessed it. From that day, the Spirit changed the way they moved in the world, such that people did not recognize them.

    The Holy Spirit rushed in, as promised and yet unexpected, But the Spirit’s intent was not to make them feel better, even though the Holy Spirit is also called the Comforter.  The Spirit was there to breathe new life into them, and to make them move. Wind stirs things up and makes us uneasy about what might be next. And so does the Spirit of God.

    The Holy Spirit has an overwhelming job description, literally: To overwhelm the lives of God’s people, just as the Spirit overwhelmed Mary at Jesus’ conception. Jesus in the gospel of John says the Spirit will “teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.” The Spirit offers Jesus’ disciples new ways of sensing the presence of God in their world. In the rush of the wind, and the fiery explosion of words. Even in the breath of life within them. 
 
    The Spirit is evident in compelling Jesus’ disciples to clearly articulate the Good News in their words and in their actions and  In helping all to understand that Good News in their own context. The Scripture says the Spirit connects us with all of creation which groans. The Spirit helps us in our weakness and prays in, with and under our prayers, advocating for us with God.

    The Spirit heightens our awareness of God at work in the world; The Spirit is the One who spoke through the prophets, and who completes Christ’s work in the world,  through us. The spirit sanctifies bread and wine and us, and makes ordinary things holy.

    There is something in the air. I think I sense the spirit’s movement most when I am anxious.
For the Spirit feels a lot to me like anxiety.  Anxiety, like the Holy Spirit, is uncomfortable and makes us uneasy because we can’t control it. But anxiety, like the Spirit of God, also heightens our senses and makes us most alive.

    We can deal with anxiety in many ways. I can think of some very unhealthy ways right off the bat and I know you can too. Equally unhealthy,  I think, is inviting the Spirit to be with us in ways we dictate. or by asking God’s Spirit only to remove those feelings of anxiety and discomfort. Domesticating the Spirit, inviting the Spirit to do our bidding, is a dangerous thing. And a waste. I believe  we can and should be good stewards of our anxiety.  We can and should use that excitable state to enable us and imagine things can be different with the prompting of God’s Spirit. We can open our anxious selves to the Spirit of God, who goes before us, leading us, and who moves behind us nudging us to new and exciting places.

    Back to that first Pentecost. The appearance of the Spirit as wind and tongues of fire, and anxious chatter in various languages wasn’t Holy Spirit’s debut in the world. For remember the Spirit of God was there hovering over the chaos at creation, and spoke through the most unlikely people whom God had called as prophets.

    But on Pentecost the fact that the Spirit was recognized by Peter, and that all came to an understanding of the Spirit in their own context was proof that the Holy Spirit was doing a new thing. Witnessing to all the new connection Jesus had made between us and God. The disciples on that first Pentecost were witness to that: even as they were anxious about the future and wondered why they had flames on their heads. The Spirit had been poured upon them, they were changed and became witnesses, along with the witness of the Holy Spirit, to the new creation they were in Christ. They became Christ’s Body.

     Yes, There is something in the air today. Each time we gather at the Table, we wait again on the gift of the Holy Spirit. “Send your Holy Spirit, we pray to descend upon us and upon these gifts of bread and wine,  sanctifying  them.” The Holy Spirit sanctifies bread and wine; the Spirit also sanctifies us, ordinary people and transforms us into vessels of grace for God’s world about us.
    The Spirit of God is with us today as we celebrate Pentecost and today as we move into the future. That doesn’t mean we won’t be anxious about money or jobs or the futures of our ministries here at St. Paul’s. We don’t know what form that future will take. But the Spirit of God promises that we are not alone.  And will be with us in all the possibilities which lie ahead for the people of God.

    I believe that ordinary people are swept up by the Spirit, and sent into the world to make the story and love of Jesus vital in the world, in the bread and wine we receive, and in our shared lives of mission. We can choose to breathe deeply this fresh Breath of God poured upon us today and move forward with excitement in faith. Amen.

The Rev.Emil Belsky
St. Paul's Episcopal Church
Salt Lake City, Utah
Easter IIIB

+ A few years back, a movie titled Places in the Heart was showing in theaters nationwide.  It starred Sally Field, Danny Glover, John Malkovich, Ed Harris and several other talented actors and actresses.  You may remember seeing it.  The movie is set in Waxahatchie, Texas, in the pre-World War II South, and its action takes place against the backdrop of the prejudices and barriers present in American society at that time.  The film's opening scene depicts the shooting of the young town sheriff, a good man, by an equally good but drunken young 16 or 17 year-old black male.  The shooting is one of those absurd, avoidable, nonsensical accidents that happen in life, but which have far-reaching and permanent consequences.

The film then proceeds to tell the story of the sheriff's young widow, played by Sally Field, and her attempt to make a life for herself as a single woman raising a family and trying to save the cotton plantation that is the source of their livelihood and their sole means of financial support.  We meet Mose, an itinerant black laborer, who comes to bear the brunt of the town's anger and prejudice.  We meet a conniving banker who happens to be a deacon in the local church.  Embarrassed by his brother-in-law's blindness and not wanting to be bothered with his care, he manipulates the situation to his own benefit by capitalizing on the young widow's inherent kindness and by using his position as banker to coerce her into taking in the unwanted brother-in-law, who is equally resentful of being placed with her in this way.  We meet the emotionally immature and sad husband of the town hairdresser, who cheats on his wife with one of her best friends.  The movie is filled with contemporary themes, ranging from racial prejudice, feminism, and the treatment of the physically challenged to perennial questions of good versus evil, the presence or absence of God in human life and suffering, and the need for cooperation and forgiveness among human beings.  It is about the barriers of prejudice we erect among us:  barriers of hurt, fear, and anger; and how these barriers come to be removed.

Throughout the week, as I reflected on the readings for this weekend, particularly today's gospel lesson with its portrayal of Jesus' disciples hiding in the upper room and the gospel's command to go forth and proclaim repentance and forgiveness of sins, the closing scene of Places in the Heart lingered in my mind.  The film ends with the camera slowly panning the faces of townsfolk gathered for a communion service at the local church.  We see, first of all, the faces of anonymous townspeople and incidental characters in the film but, as the bread and wine comprising the elements of holy communion are passed along from person to person in the pews, we see the faces of the movie's main characters.   The remorseful adulterous husband, now hand in hand with his forgiving wife, receives communion along with her.  The conniving banker receives communion.  Then, in a sequence sure to widen one's eyes and provoke question, the young widow is seen passing communion to her husband—once dead, but now alive.  Her husband, in turn, passes communion to the boy responsible for his death as the screen begins to fade to black to the strains of the choir singing now familiar words:  "And he walks with me, and he talks with me, and he tells me I am his own."

What is the film's writer-director, Robert Benton, trying to say with this closing sequence?  I have no idea as to his religious affiliation, or even if there is one.  But he seems to have grasped intuitively what is at the heart of the Eucharist:  namely, that in God's unconditional love, human barriers erected by prejudice, hurt, and anger, and even the barriers imposed by space, time, and even death itself, are irrelevant and have no power.  Instead, in our communion, the words spoken by Jesus in his high priestly prayer come true:  "As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be one in us..." (John 17:21).

The short catechism at the back of our Prayer Book asks, "What are the benefits we receive in the Lord's Supper?" and answers, "The benefits we receive are the forgiveness of our sins, the strengthening of our union with Christ and one another, and the foretaste of the heavenly banquet which is our nourishment in eternal life" (BCP, pages 859 & 860).  Maybe it’s because I am growing older and the process of aging finds me leaning into the future in hope of getting a hedge on what’s out there, much in the same way a swimmer tests the waters before diving in, but I find myself drawn more and more to the image of the Eucharist as the foretaste of the heavenly banquet in God's kingdom.   As I grow older, I want more and more to participate in an Easter meal where I find forgiveness for my sins and reconciliation with those I have wronged and those who have wronged me.  I want more and more to share in a resurrection feast where I can enjoy union, real union, with those I love, unbound by the constraints of time and space.  This is what the Eucharist directs us to, and also what will mark its fulfillment.  Until then, we must be content with the experience of love and acceptance we find promised and communicated here in an imperfect church community at this communion rail, where young or old, rich or poor, sinner or saint, all are equally welcomed without prejudice to take pleasure in one another's company and to receive, and become one with, their Risen Lord—the first fruits of what we shall all one day be.

To believe in Christ's real presence in the consecrated elements of bread and wine without also discerning his presence in one another is to miss an essential aspect of the eucharistic mystery.    Without denigrating the former, we must insist upon the latter; for it is to flesh and blood that the kingdom of God is revealed.   We do not love the God we cannot see if we hate the brother or sister we can see.  We should never forget that the ultimate end of bread and wine transformed to be the sacrament of Christ's abiding presence among us is the transformation of each of us as human beings.  To make it anything less is to render it a quaint mythological curiosity.  We in the Episcopal Church see the Eucharist as more than merely a symbolic memorial.  We understand our Lord to be truly present to us in these elements once consecrated by our prayer of thanksgiving.  But, Christ's sacramental presence in the Eucharist should not be seen as an end in itself but as a means to an end.  The saying of the Apostle Paul must become an accomplished reality-- "I live now, not I, but Christ liveth in me" (Galatians 2:20). 

Christ's love for us is unbounded, and he is willing to suffer even the desecration of reception by a hardened, unbelieving heart to the end that that heart be softened by Love and share in Love's joy.  Until that time when all things find their fulfillment in him, as we approach the table of the Lord, we heed the admonishment spoken of old by the Church to... "Be and become the sacrament you consume!"  +

The Fifth Sunday in Lent – Year B
Jeremiah 31: 31-34
Hebrews 5: 5-10
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
Salt Lake City, Utah
March 28-29, 2009
The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs


I’ve only shared with one other person in this congregation what I’m about to tell you: I have seen none of the Indiana Jones movies. I have no apology for that fact, nor really any explanation. I simply missed them. But I do know that the first movie was entitled Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. People around the world are still fascinated by the possible location and the powers of that lost box made of Acacia wood. In fact if you Google “Ark of the Covenant” 2000 years later, you get over 800,000 hits. The lost ark of course refers to the ark of the covenant which housed the Ten Commandments, God’s covenant given to Moses on Mount Sinai 1300 years before the birth of Christ.

The law to the Hebrew people really represented more than a set of rules which were meant to keep them in line. The giving of the law was the establishment of a formal relationship, and not a relationship with just one person — as God had done previously — with Noah, Abraham, with Jacob. God offered the law to an entire people and established them as a community.

The law represented God’s willingness to be with them in the way they lived their lives. It was a gift to them. And they honored that gift by honoring the tablets on which the law was written — by taking those pieces of stone with them where they went. They fashioned a special box, designed by God himself, and it traveled with them. When they saw the ark, leading their procession through the desert, they knew that God was with them. When the ark was with them in battle, they knew God was leading them to victory. The box which held the covenant became synonymous with God’s promise and God’s presence in the world.

Four hundred years later King Solomon built his temple in Jerusalem to house that ark permanently, so that God would always be with the people of Israel. And everyone would know exactly where God was. Four hundred years after that, Jerusalem was under siege, the temple destroyed, the ark was gone. Did someone bury it in the sacred temple mount in Jerusalem? Is it in a cave where Solomon hid it by the dead sea when he saw that it was at risk? Or is in present day Ethiopia, the Church of Saint Mary of Zion, guarded by a single monk known as the "Keeper of the Ark,"?

Following the destruction of the temple the chosen people were exiled to Babylon where they believed because the ark was no longer with them, because the temple which housed the ark had been destroyed and because they weren’t even in the land which God had promised them, that God had abandoned them altogether.

It is to these people, with this long and rich history of God tangibly in their midst, that we hear the Prophet Jeremiah speak. Jeremiah continually preached that the people had broken their covenant with God. That their sins would bring upon themselves their destruction. He was disgusted with the lot of them.

Chapter upon chapter in the book of Jeremiah one hears of the unfaithfulness of the people, the stupidity of their actions and their blackened hearts. Page upon page one reads of corruption, degradation and finally defeat and exile

In the midst of this utter hopelessness, tucked away in a few verses read this morning, there is a kernel of hope. A Kernel which takes hold in the fertile soil of our hearts during Lent and blossoms with the hope of new life at Easter. It is a promise that God is approaching us with a new covenant. All the prophets Isaiah Ezekiel and Jeremiah proclaim that God is doing new things in us, and has promised to transform us from the inside out.

Listen once again to the words of Jeremiah: But this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. I will forgive their iniquity and remember their sin no more.

This passage in Jeremiah is known as “the little book of comfort." And the comfort is that in the midst of Judgment is hope. God’s judgment is NOT God’s final act, the word of judgment is not God’s final word. The hope is that God transforms human hearts.

God has revised not his commitment to his people, but his approach to that commitment. God’s new covenant is a promise not written in stone, but written in our hearts. With this new covenant, God has removed physical limitations to God presence in the world --- God does not reside in the ark, or in the temple or even in the things of God to which people of God became so attached. God presence and promise resides and thrives in the hearts of God’s people.

The covenant on Mount Sinai was given to a loose gathering of folks, desperate for freedom, and it made them “a people”, binding them not only to God but to one another. belonging to God together, no matter what is the core of this new covenant. In this light, Sin is our intentional or unintentional negligence of our relationships.

The earlier covenant was broken by humankind. This renewed covenant, cannot be broken, because it does not depend on us, what we do. It is dependent on who we are, and who God is making us through Christ. God gives us a new center. And now promises to change us from the inside out.

Jesus Christ, our high priest as the book of Hebrews says, is God’s pledge on his promise that this new covenant will hold together by connecting God and humanity. Jesus Christ is the embodiment of God’s willingness to be among us. Because we have been made the Body of Christ through baptism we have become the stewards of the new covenant.

This new covenant cannot be carried around in a box, or contained in the Holy of Holies in a temple. It is in our hearts. And it is sealed by baptism, nurtured by bread and wine, renewed each time we affirm our commitment to God and each other, as a community of faithful people in the sacrament of the eucharist. In this new covenant, we can know God in a new way. One that speaks directly to our hearts. we can know God and God’s love at the very core of our being

God re-thought how God could be with us, faithfully and forever. And now we are challenged to re-think how we can be faithful people of God, as the Body of Christ,

Many things have not changed since the time of exile. It is still our tendancy to focus on what God has given us more than our relationship with God , or on God himself.

We feel at times that we too been abandoned by God, and we doubt that God has kept God’s part of the bargain. But God has not changed. God’s promise that God will continue to be our God has not changed.

We keep our part of the covenant when we as God’s people we do the two things the prophets of old demand: acknowledge the ways we have lost sight of God, and gather to hear of God’s unshakable love of God’s people. In spite of our forgetting God, God will not, cannot forget us. For God is relentless in God’s pursuit of the hearts of God’s people.

And those still in pursuit of the Lost Ark of the Covenant after 2000 years, can abandon their efforts. For our hearts have become the very ark that carries that covenant. And we are the stewards of the new covenant in the world, Along with new hearts we have been given a new purpose: It is no longer the Ark of the Covenant which represents God with us. We are the Body of Christ. We now represent to the world and to each other God’s presence and continued promise of hope.

We are the Ark of the New Covenant.

The Third Sunday in Lent – Year B
Exodus 20: 1-17
John 2: 13-22 March 14-15, 2009

The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
Salt Lake City, Utah





I have many friends, you may be among them, who know a great deal about wine. They speak a different language, a wine language, which I can’t really understand. When I’m at the wine store, I am drawn to try new wines by clever labels. This week, I picked up a bottle of wine which I hadn’t tried before. For some reason, when I opened it the other night I did something I don’t usually do. The design of the label caught my eye, and I read the label.

It said, This is our invitation to a new way of being. What a stunning claim – that a particular wine could transform you, or your way of being in the world. I couldn’t wait to taste this life-changing bottle of wine.

The wine was good, but I don’t think it ushered in a new way of being. I paired it, however, with some food for thought which I now share with you. My thought is this: That design matters as well as content.

Have you ever wondered why there are four different gospels from which we read over the course of three years time. Four different takes on Jesus’ ministry?

May I suggest that each gospel has a different label. And the design of that label as well as the words from Jesus mouth, and the narratives speak to us in different ways. Each gospel offers a different perspective on the same theme — that Jesus offers a new way of being. Three of the gospels seem to view and reveal Jesus ministry in a similar way — they are set up a little like biographies, or histories. This happened. These people were around when it happened. When they were done doing this, they moved on to that.

The Gospel of John has a unique label. John’s gospel is not all about the narrative, about what happened and who was there. John invites us into a new way of being, by exploring Jesus ministry not by what he did, but by who he is.

There are only a few stories which appear in each of the 4 gospels: Jesus baptism, the feeding of the multitude, Jesus passion and death, and what is known as the cleansing of the temple. Each of these stories is especially important to the church, and our understanding of who Jesus is.

The story of the cleansing of the temple which we heard from John today is one of those pivotal stories. Matthew, Mark and Luke have designed their gospels so that this story is placed at the end of Jesus’ ministry. Placed there, it might seem as evidence that Jesus was at the end of his rope, and his disturbance of the peace in the temple ultimately led to his arrest the climactic peak of the tension between the authorities and Jesus. But John places this same account at the beginning of Jesus ministry.

John’s story of the cleansing of the temple follows the story of the wedding at Cana. You remember that story – here is it in nutshell. Jesus was at a wedding. They ran out of wine, and Jesus consented to fix things by turning water — what they had — into excellent wine. John concludes by saying, “Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him.”

For John, Jesus’ miracles are signs of who Jesus is. And this sign was for the disciples to see Jesus, not just as teacher and friend, but as a unique bearer of God’s glory, with the power to transform the ordinary to extraordinary.

The gospel of John is designed to take us deeper — from ordinary to extraordinary. John wants us to be transformed by this living and eternal Word, known to us in the gospels as Jesus.

Once the disciples believed following the changing of water into wine, they are called into a new way of being. The very next thing they knew they saw Jesus with a whip in his hands, driving animals out of the temple and overturning tables and coins were flying everywhere. They heard Jesus claim that this temple was his Fathers house — blasphemy — and even more blasphemous, that his body was the real temple — the real locus of God’s presence in the world . This revelation was foundational for their new way of being.

Those in the temple didn’t offend Jesus by what they were doing. Jesus visited the temple at Passover time, when faithful pilgrims came to the Temple in Jerusalem from all over the countryside in order to offer sacrifice to God. These sacrifices required unblemished animals. If you were walking miles and miles to Jerusalem, it made sense to not carry an unblemished animal from home,. Once they made it to the temple, people sold them unblemished animals. In order to buy them, they needed to exchange their secular money — coins with the image of the Roman ruler on them — into temple money. Money which would be acceptable. The religious institution had figured out how to make this things happen for the people.

Jesus was not reacting to what was happening. He was reacting to the way what was happening had replaced what God actually desired. The hearts of the people. A relationship with the people. those in the temple that day were doing exactly what the institution required, without placing their relationship with their God first.

Jesus was the living God in their midst. The heart of Jesus message is: God wants your heart, not your money, not your sacrifice, not your devotion to worship or the institution of the church. God wants to be in relationship with you and to transform your way of being in the world. Jesus models that relationship, which is not set in stone, but is living and evolving.

We also heard in this morning’s readings the giving of the 10 commandments. Before God hands over these commandments to Moses, however, God begins by reminding God’s people who God is. “I am the Lord your God. Who brought you out of Egypt. You shall have no other gods before me.” Once again, design and placement matters. Remembering who God is, shapes our lives, shapes our response to God. And shapes how we live together in the world.

The children of Israel found themselves freed, but wandering in the desert, not knowing how to be a community. Their first loyalty is to God, and their new way of being is designed around God being first in their lives. With the giving of the commandments, they learned that community is only possible with trust, honesty, loyalty, respect for life, family and property.

Designing one’s life as a faithful person is not a solitary task. It is by God’s grace that we have been formed into the body of Christ, the place where God dwells, and where God’s message turns into action. May we, the Body of Christ at St. Paul’s Church, be the place to remind ourselves and each other of who God is; May we pay attention to the placement of God in our lives, and to turn, together, in God’s direction. May St. Paul’s be the place we can learn to live deeper in God’s love, where we come not for solace only, but for renewal. May this be the community in which we are challenged to a new way of being, redesigning our lives so that God is first, not our selves, not even the church, but God, the one who loved us first and loves us best.

The First Sunday in Lent – Year B
Mark 1:9-15          
The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs
St. Paul's Episcopal Church
Salt Lake City, Utah
Feb 28 – March 1, 2009

Earlier this week, I discovered an online site which featured a Lenten Calendar, much like an Advent Calendar. On each of the 40 days of Lent, one could click on a box, receive one word on which to meditate for that day. So, on Ash Wednesday I opened the Ash Wednesday box. Inside was the word silence.

I really liked this idea. My brain started working: I know. Why don’t I open up all the boxes, grab ALL the words, see if I can repackage the words and offer them in my sermon this weekend, or paste those words in the cloister and suggest you all pick a word off the wall on the way to coffee hour, and claim it during the Lenten season as your “watchword.”

So I clicked on the box for the day AFTER Ash Wednesday and Guess what happened. it wouldn’t open. Of course I’d totally missed the point of this web-offering. I wanted to get Lent, such a good idea, all at once. All 40 days at once. And it didn’t work. I was reminded, once again, the truth about myself. If am honest with myself, I know that I am an impatient person who gets impressed with my own good ideas which carry me away. If I’m honest I see that I’m not that much different from the little girl who used to rush through things, often without focus, without really paying attention. Not much different than the little girl whose heard her mother’s voice constantly telling her to slow down, take the time necessary to do things well. Don’t rush.

Lent is a time that we are invited to be honest with ourselves and slow down. Lent is a time we might as well be honest with ourselves. We should probably use the entire 40 days given us to practice doing just that.

Jesus was whisked into the wilderness with the voice of God Almighty ringing in his ears from his baptism at the Jordan River. In Matthew’s version of Jesus baptism, that voice says to the crowd This is my Son the beloved, with whom I am well pleased. But in the earlier versions, from luke and from Mark, the Voice from the clouds speaks directly to Jesus — You are my beloved, with you I am well pleased. How astounding that must have been to hear. Perhaps Jesus might have needed some time to absorb the meaning of those words.

Immediately after hearing that voice, “ You are my beloved” the gospel of Mark says, Jesus is driven into the wilderness by the Spirit and remained there for 40 days.

What do we know about those 40 days? The gospels of Matthew and Luke fill in the gaps with the details of three temptations. Matthew and Luke both say Jesus ate nothing for 40 days. Luke tells us the Jesus was tempted by the devil for 40 days. Mark doesn’t say that. Mark doesn’t say how many temptations there were or how long they lasted. In fact Mark doesn’t say very much at all. Mark spends two sentences on those 40 days. And we get few very details beyond these words: Spirit. Wilderness. Satan. Wild beasts. And finally, angels. Mark leaves it to our imaginations how Jesus might have spent his 40 days in the wilderness.

This week, on that same excursion through the internet I referred to earlier, I found a 5 minute long animation of the 40 days which Jesus spent. [1]

There is a separate illustration of what Jesus might have been doing for each of those 40 days. Much of what is imagined is what we do in our every day lives: One day he is removing the hem of his robe from the thorns it got caught in. On one day he is drinking water from a stream on another he is on his knees in prayer. he is curled up in a ball, trying to sleep, frightened, in a cave. He eyes one last apple on a branch of a tree and befriends a little smiling bird. One day he is joyously running with the wild beasts Mark talks about: who turn out to be chickens.

Some time is spent bowling with stones he’s found, or rock climbing, or just waiting for the days to pass. Or gazing up at the glorious glow of the moon, the same moon by which you and I mark our time. The temptor does not show up until the 35th day. When the one who tempts him finally appears in the frame, he looks just like Jesus does. (There’s some food for thought.) On the 40th day, when Jesus has had enough, he is exhausted and the angels come to and he accepts the care of those God has lovingly sent.

He begins his time in the desert with the voice of God telling him exactly who He is: the Son of God, the Beloved of God. And it might have taken the voice of God from a cloud, and 30 years and 40 days to claim that for himself and be ready for what God would have him do next.

Jesus spent some of his time being tempted. And some of his time praying. But perhaps he spent most of his time thinking about who is was. Making sense of the first 30 years of his human experience. Without distractions, without responsibilities, without other people. Testing who he is.

In all those 40 days, the animated Jesus never lost his halo which lit up his being, the glow of the Spirit received at his baptism. I suppose that memory of being told he was Beloved, at his baptism, at the transfiguration, of being filled with the Spirit was a resource he drew upon throughout his earthly ministry.

Very few of us have 40 days to remove ourselves from our responsibilities and distractions to explore our interior selves. However during the season of Lent, we are given permission to take some time, perhaps a little time on each of 40 days, not counting Sundays, to pay attention to who we really are. While remembering whose we are.

As a community of faith we have the same resources available to us as Jesus did to remind us whose we are during our Lenten journey: the words of prayer and worship, the quiet found between the words, the ancient stories of covenant and relationship, the expressions of identity and encouragement direct from God from our baptisms, the care we receive from others.

Jesus carried with him all his life the voice he heard at his baptism: You are my beloved. It is the same voice which echoes from our baptism: You are mine.

As we begin our Lenten journey once again this year, I encourage you to find time to be quiet so that you can hear that voice which tells you: You are mine. Take the time to incorporate it into your life and make it part of who you are. Discern which voices are helpful, and which entice you away from the life God would have you lead. Reflect on the good and bad which you have brought to this point in your life which makes you who you are. Then be still, and ask God what God would have you keep and what God would have you discard.

It would be a shame to try to hurry through Lent. So slow down, Don’t rush. Take the time necessary to do Lent well. Consider it a gift to be opened slowly, a day at a time for forty days. Use the time to be honest with yourself about who you are, always remembering whose you are.

The Conversion of St. Paul
Acts 26:9-21
Galatians 1: 11-24
The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church

Epiphany is not only a feast day, but an entire season, this year lasting 7 weeks. A
season in which we recognize and celebrate Christ coming into the world as the light of the
world. A season in which we recognize the ways we welcome that light, and block that light. A
season in which to pay attention to the good things God is doing and continues to do.

Three weeks into this season, we celebrate the Conversion of St. Paul; that
extraordinary moment between Jesus and Saul on a dusty road in Syria which changed the
course of Saul’s life and shaped the course of the Christian world.
That encounter between Jesus and Saul, was more like a collision. Saul apparently required a
brighter light, a louder voice, and some theatrics to recognize God’s presence in his life. But
once God grabbed Saul’s attention, he became Paul, and God shaped him for ministry.

The story of Jesus and Saul on the road to Damascus is told three times in the book of
Acts, which suggests that this story of conversion had a powerful effect on the life of the early
church. In one version there is a light brighter than the sun, so powerful, that Saul and all the
people around him are knocked to the ground. In another version Saul says the light is so
intense that he is blinded for 3 days, that people around him see the light but do not hear a
voice. In a final version, those around him hear a voice but see nothing. Paul is left not only
blinded, but stunned physically, emotionally such that he cannot eat. In a version we did not
read today, Paul requires the help of others to direct him into town, to restore him physicially,
and discern what the encounter might mean. Eventually Paul came to his own understanding
of his purpose and claims his call as apostle to the Gentiles. Leader of the Christian Church.

Saul’s striking experience of the risen Jesus reshaped his personal identity. In this
moment he became the premier proclaimer of Christ, when he once persecuted him. But this
moment was not so much about changing who he was, or even about changing his direction, as
it was about becoming all of whom God had meant him to be. It took an extraordinary event for
Paul to re-interpret all that he was, all that he had and all that did in the light of the gospel.
When Saul claimed God’s call as his own, he came to recognize himself as Paul, by whose
preaching our collect says, ‘You have caused the light of the Gospel to shine throughout the
world.

The man Saul was not replaced by the Apostle Paul. Rather, when Saul claimed his
call, God used the man Saul already was --- with his huge personality, his natural intellect, his
networking skills, his experiences in the church and the world, and his enthusiasm and even the
way he is so confident and full of himself -- God used all of who Saul was and redeemed him
for work in a new direction. Paul himself says in his letter to Galatians, that God set him apart
before he was born, and chose him to be an epiphany – a revelation of God’ love to the world.
After the light knocked Saul to the ground, he was filled with it and in turn became that light to
an ever-expanding world.

The Holy Scriptures are full of stories about God working in and through people in
God’s world. God’s presence, God’s purpose shines through the stories of creation, of rescue
at the Red Sea, through the accounts of God’s good care of each human generation. God’s
voice is heard in the still small voice in the wilderness, in the specific call to each prophet, from
the clouds at the Jordan River at Jesus’s baptism.

The revealing of God in history, finally realized in the life of Jesus, revealed dramatically
to Saul has been handed through each successive generation of faithful people since.

The conversion of St. Paul suggests a simple directive for the modern church.
Recognize who Jesus is in your life. Explore and nourish that relationship. Connect Jesus to
others by what you say and what you do. An epiphany to one, a revelation to one blessed the
lives of countless others through faithful stewardship and committed discipleship. The promise
of God’s presence and purpose is revealed here in our committed discipleship, and through our
faithful stewardship of all God has made us and given us at St. Paul’s. Together we expand that
promise beyond these walls.

God continually calls St. Paul’s Church to stop, evaluate who we are, what we have and
what we do in the light of the gospel. God invites us to offer our intellect and skills, our unique
and various personalities and experiences, our laughter and delight and direct them into the
world in order to reflect the light of Christ. In that manner, we actually become epiphanies,
revelations of God’s presence in the world.

So today we celebrate the Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul as we continue to
celebrate Epiphany. We celebrate God’s act of seizing all of us God’s claim of each of us;
empowering us for tasks which we ourselves would never have imagined. Paul was called to a
very specific ministry – the expansion of the gospel beyond the barriers of his time. We in our
baptismal covenant have promised to pick up that thread and carry the good news to all the
people and places of our time as well.

I thank God for the people of St. Paul’s church. I thank God for our discipleship and the
ways we manifest God’s goodness in this place through our worship and faith formation,
through loving care of each other. I thank God for the ways we manifest God’s goodness to the
world around us, through our presence in this neighborhood, our programs and our voices.

Let God grab your attention as we worship during this season of Epiphany. Take notice
of the words of the Eucharist prayer in which we recount the ways God’s love has been
revealed to every generation. As we sing the hymns of the season, listen for that thread of light
and promise and call that we celebrate.

And pay close attention at our annual meeting today. Discover how God has blessed us,
how our actions , our budget, our programs reflect the light of Christ in us. Discover how we
have claimed our call and interpreted our life together in the light of the gospel.

The Second Sunday of Christmas – Year B
The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs
Matthew 2: 1-12
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
Salt Lake City, Utah
January 3-4, 2009


It doesn’t happen every year, but this year - because Christmas fell on a Thursday and there are 12 days of Christmas, we have two Sundays in the Christmas season. That means extra Christmas hymns. And as preacher, I get one more shot at the Christmas story. We all get to spend more time with the crèche in front of the altar. Before the members of the Altar Guild pack up the crèche and store it in boxes in a closet for another 50 weeks, let’s take a closer look at this nativity scene before us and discover who exactly we see before the manger, adoring the baby Jesus.

There are two Christmas narratives in the scriptures. The gospel of Luke tells of shepherds who came to visit Jesus. It’s in the gospel of Matthew we read of magi, or sorcerers’ who came from a foreign land. In neither gospel are they together, with shepherds on one side of the manger, wisemen on the other side and Mary Joseph and Jesus in the middle. The visits of the shepherds and wise men were separated by several years’ time. Yet we clump them together on Christmas cards, in our Christmas music, and in nativity scenes every where we look.

So, this scene isn’t historically accurate --- but apparently we have assigned meaning to these people together at this place. I believe we need this scene with all these folks together, as sentimental and incongruous and inaccurate as it is, because it is a disclosure of God’s very nature. Always Open to all, inviting to all, accessible to all.

We know very little about all these folks – yet we all recognize them immediately each time we set up these figures. Mary and Joseph of course are at the center of the every scene. Sentimentality aside, they epitomize cultural and religious scandal. An unmarried mother. A man who kept her as his wife anyway, raising the child as his own, disregarding the norm to reject her as blemished. But these two had been prompted by what God was doing, within them. God asked a lot of them and they responded in faith. They placed their future and that of their son in God’s hands.

They are joined by the shepherds. How silly and wonderful that these clueless and curious shepherds were the first to learn of Christ’s birth. They weren’t just prompted by God, they were knocked on the ground by God and, by God’s grace, were gifted on that first Christmas Eve with the greatest choral concert ever. They found their way to the baby’s side. They were nameless, faceless, and after that night never the same. They were left with the best story to tell everyone they knew.

With the reading of today’s gospel, the scene is completed with the three magi from the East. They add a lot to the picture --- some diversity, we assume some color and richness in the clothing they wear and the gifts they bring. The camels they rode in on add an exotic touch, and the oriental music which accompanies them is always welcome. Although later writers have assigned them names, We don’t know who they were. Were they well-respected scholars of natural phenomena? Were they quacks who saw meaning in the skies when there was none? The magi were certainly those whose lives, nationality, and occupation did not fit the standard of orthodoxy among those to whom Matthew was writing.

We do know they were kind of naïve in the political sense. What did they think paranoid, fearful King Herod’s response would be to them when they asked about where his rival king was born? The scripture never says there were three of them, or that they were kings. We don’t even know if they came together. But they ended up together, having been prompted by what they found in their search for meaning, being led by a star.. They didn’t stumble upon Jesus. They were prepared. They found Jesus on purpose.

For years astronomers have been trying to figure out an explanation for the star which led them to the newborn Christ. It could have been a supernova, well documented around the time of Jesus’ birth. Or was it a miraculous star God sent as guide? Perhaps it was an ordinary star, but their hearts had been made ready by the search, and opened by God’s grace to follow where God would have them go. Perhaps there was nothing extraordinary about the star at all, but their response to God’s promptings was extraordinary.

The men from the east provide a connection to God’s inclusive promise which appears throughout the scriptures, spoken first to Abraham as he watched the heavens. God said to Abraham, the father of faith, “in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” [i] Their appearance anticipated Paul’s pronouncement that “ all of you are one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s children, heirs according to the promise.”[ii] Their appearance points to a promise fulfilled in the Book of Revelation: “there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before God’s throne, praising God. “[1][iii]

The men from the east also provide us a reminder of the conflict which will always exist between the Kingdom of God and the kingdom of the world. For they found themselves in between Herod and God. A conflict will always exist between God’s purpose and the powerful people, who believe they deserve it. The kingdom’s message of grace will always be a threat to those who are among earth’s powerful, and believe they deserve to be.

Unlike Mary and Joseph, these wise men took things into their own hands, acted upon God’s promptings. but were still open to new learning. Once the magi arrived and found the baby Jesus, they had their research confirmed. They remained open to what else God had to say to them. For they left the Christ child, and prompted by God’s grace, went home by another way

This manger scene is not a final destination, and wasn’t for any of those folks who were there. They each had different reasons for being there. Mary and Joseph hadn’t intended to spend the night there. The shepherds were there to prove to themselves they weren’t crazy. The wisemen were there to prove themselves right.

Who would we be in this scene? Is there room for us? Each of us is different. Each of us comes to the Christ child with different yearnings, by different promptings. But each of us is welcome. Each of us is invited by the God who himself is love, manifest in a gathering of many, many, many different kinds of people. We are community, because of divine prompting, either from within us as with Mary and Joseph, from beside us – as with the shepherds or from above us --- as the magi followed the star. I imagine that the star that led the wise men to Jesus is still in the night sky reminding us to follow God’s prompting.. And if we are true to God’s inclusive nature, we must always examine our life together, to make sure we too are inviting, welcoming and accepting of all people and their gifts. How wide are our doors here at St. Paul’s? How open are we to following God’s lead? Who is missing from this community?

Even if this scene had existed historically, the manger scene is a snapshot of only a moment in time. The wise men didn’t stay there. The shepherds didn’t stay. Mary and Joseph moved back to Nazareth – they continued to live their lives. But for one moment, in this unjust and conflicted world, things were as God meant them to be: different kinds of people focused, together, on God’s little holy one, and when they went back to their usual lives, just as we must after Christmas is over, each had a really good story to tell.

And so do we.


[i] Genesis 12:3

[ii] Galatians 3: 28

[iii] Revelations 7: 9

The Rev. Emil Belsky
St. Paul's Episcopal Church
Salt Lake City, Utah
Christmas Eve 2008

“Sing a song of Christmas, of emperors and angels;
Sing a song of Christmas, of darkness now past;
Sing a song of starlight, of shepherds and of mangers;
Sing a song of Jesus, of peace come at last.”

So goes the old rhyme. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? You can’t hear the song of the angels, or the prophecy of Isaiah, in today’s dangerous and chaotic world without sighing, “Yes! Wouldn’t that be a great Christmas present: all the debts piling up because of our economic uncertainties, all the hard and un-rewarded work, all the trampling soldiers’ boots and the bloodstained clothing—let’s do away with it all?” But, like the angels ascending into the heavens, the vision fades; and we go back to thinking of our faith as a private affair; for some a once-or-twice-a-year thing, all right for old ladies and young children, but not of much use when it comes to the pressing problems we face in the real world. And though I—and I hope you—are thrilled at the prospect of new hope and promised cooperation arising from November’s national election, we wonder if anything will ever change. One thing we know for sure: this year we are certainly hearing Isaiah’s prophecy through the filter of a different economic reality. Should we be content just to read and hear this portion of Isaiah and forget about it for the rest of the year? Shouldn’t we want to know how we can make this vision a reality?

Now you’re probably thinking to yourself, “I didn’t expect, or want, to hear about politics, money and war when I came to church tonight. I wanted to hear words of comfort that would make me feel good inside. But that’s the trouble with how we’ve treated Christmas in recent years. We’ve screened out the emperors, and so we’ve missed the point of the angels. The lowly shepherds and the manger scene have become incidental Christmas props, and so we’ve missed the social and political importance of their place in the story of Jesus’ birth. The Christmas story, like Isaiah’s prophecy, isn’t about an escape from the real world of politics and economics, of empires and taxes and wars. It’s about God addressing these problems at last, from within, coming into our world—God’s world!—and shouldering the burden of authority, coming to deal with the problems of evil, of violence and oppression in all their horrible forms. Only when we look hard at those promises, and come to grips with what they really mean, are we able to grasp the real comfort and joy of what Christmas celebrates. Otherwise we are purchasing false private comfort at the inflated price of allowing the rest of the world to continue in misery.

You see this more clearly in Luke’s story of the birth of Jesus which we heard a moment ago. Luke takes the trouble to tell us about the Roman emperor Augustus, and his desire to take a census of more or less the whole known world. This isn’t just background information, or local color to spice up the story. Empires, censuses and taxes were hot topics in the Middle East of the first century. When we have a census, we just fill in a non-descript form and send it in. We know the IRS will tax us anyway. But every time they had a census riots resulted and people were killed. A census back then raised the sharp and dangerous question of who runs the world, of how it’s run, of who profits by it all, of who gets crushed in the process, and, perhaps more than anything else, when is it all going to change? Luke has placed his story of Jesus’ birth and the angels’ song within this everyday story of imperial prerogative because he wants us to know that Jesus’ birth is not an invitation to a private religion into which we can escape and feel cozy, but a summons to us, as it was to his first followers, to sign on under his authority, to celebrate the birth of the Wonderful Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace, and to work under that authority for the growth of his promised kingdom of real peace, of real justice—of what the scriptures refer to as “righteousness.” Friends, we have to admit that we have made a singularly bad job of all this lately and it’s time to get back on track. What does this righteousness look like? Well, I can tell you what it doesn’t look like.

“Greed is good,” proclaimed Gordon Gekko, a character played by Michael Douglas in the 1987 film Wall Street. He, along with the Ivan Boeskys, the Michael Milkens and, more recently, the Bernard Madoffs of the world would see us turn away from one another to selfishly serve only our individual interests. But now the sad results of such a bankrupt lifestyle are playing themselves out in front of us—and the world is hurting… some people much more than others.

No, we catch a glimpse of what the Scriptures refer to as “righteousness” and the “kingdom of righteousness” in Isaiah’s prophecy, when he writes: “a child has been born for us; a son given to us.” Note the words: Born for; given to. Being for, giving to, is at the heart of God’s intention for us, the heart of the Incarnation, and the heart of what we should be about when we sign on in the service of God’s reign, of God’s kingdom. A savior is born for us and given to us for a reason: this divine act—what we celebrate at Christmas—models for us a pattern of behavior, a pattern of living. God’s self-giving to us is meant to engender a similar self-giving in us, for we are a people both loved and charged with a task. We are loved and sent to make a difference.

It’s about the tremendous power that one individual can have. I was reminded about this recently in an article in our parish newsletter. Among her many talents, Kim Pilger, our Senior Warden, can also count those of an insightful writer. In her article about St. Paul’s, Kim poses the question: “What lies ahead?” Her answer is as prophetic as Isaiah’s. She writes, “I know this for certain: we as one parish, one group of parishioners and friends will stand together and help each other and our neighbors shoulder life’s burdens and share life’s joys. I pray that we will continue to reach out to one neighbor, one friend, one family member, and one stranger, and demonstrate acts of kindness that restore the soul.” There in a nutshell is the message of Christmas!

Tragically, somehow there grew up the extraordinary idea, driven by self-interested ideologies still firmly entrenched, that the gospel of Jesus Christ is not about emperors and angels, but about a private spirituality and the promise of an escape hatch out of this world altogether. In that scheme of things, the angels cease to be the authoritative messengers who come to announce that heaven is taking over the running of earth, and become instead what you see depicted on a thousand saccharine calendars: an escapist spirituality that leaves the empires of the world free to do their thing. And with that, Luke’s story and Isaiah’s prophecy have been emasculated. It’s time that Christmas regains its true meaning, its emperors and angels, and its promise of compassion and peace. The zeal of the Lord of hosts, says Isaiah, will do this. Yes and the way God’s zeal goes to work is through the cheerful and prayerful zeal of God’s people.

Christmas is about God acting in the real world. It’s about people like Martin Luther King, Dorothy Day, and Mother Teresa, but also people like our church school teachers, the volunteers who work in our Pantry and on the board of our low-cost housing ministry – people who give of themselves to make a difference in the name of their Lord. It’s about people like you and I believing in the power of what one individual can do. I pray that God will call many of you here tonight not only to trust him for yourselves, but also to put your shoulder to the wheel, to work in prayer and faith, and social and political skill, to carry forward the work of the kingdom that was launched at that first Christmas.

Where can we start? We can’t all be Martin Luther King or Mother Teresa, we can’t all run political campaigns, and we can’t all lead great reforms. No; but we can pray, we can watch, and we can listen. We can, in fact, inhabit Luke’s story of the birth of Jesus right where we are. We can pray in love and approach the Christ-child, trusting that his new kingdom of peace and justice will come to birth within us and through us. But then we can watch for the empires of the world, the Caesars of our day: we can keep our eyes open for where the powers that run the world are crushing those who live homeless on our streets, who have no health insurance, no medical care, no one to speak for them. And we can listen for the song of the angels. It will come in surprising ways, as it always does. God doesn’t call everybody in the same way. But if you are learning to love the Christ-child you will find your eyes gradually opened to what the powers of the world are up to, and your ears gradually becoming tuned to the particular song that God’s angels are trying to sing to you, and, more dangerously perhaps, through you. You will discover, in fact, the thing called your baptismal vocation: which may be as simple as volunteering to work a couple of evenings in a soup kitchen, or helping in our Pantry, or writing letters to those who shape public opinion, or organizing prayer vigils, or running a website to raise awareness of social issues. On this holy night we are reminded that every great work begins, appropriately enough, with baby steps; and it usually continues with little steps too.

We also need to remember the shepherds and the manger. We’re so used to hearing the story—indeed, most of us never use the word “manger” in any other context—that we often forget the point. The shepherds were told something incredulous: that the messiah of God, God’s son, had been born just up the road. Now how in the world are you supposed to believe that? Oh, but they were given a sign: you don’t normally find babies in feeding-troughs, but that’s where this one was. And so they went, they saw, they believed, and they worshiped. What might be the equivalent for us today? Well, when you worship the Christ-child, and learn to open your eyes to what Caesar is doing and your ears to the angels, you may wonder whether there’s any point in trying to do anything at all. It all seems so impossible. And then you may begin to notice places where there are, so to speak, babies in mangers: places where God seems to have been surprisingly at work, in a hospice, in a day-care center, in a relationship on the job, in a Bible study, in campaigns working to eradicate debt and unjust laws and work for fair trade, whatever it may be. And then: watch for the empires, listen for the angels, worship the Christ-child—and believe in the power of one—the Incarnate One, and the power you have when you are in union with him—for in him our work on behalf of one another is never pointless or without effect. For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and his kingdom shall be established with justice and righteousness from this time forth and for evermore. Amen.

The Rev. Dr. Frederick Quinn

Look towards the East, O Jerusalem, and see the glory that is coming from God.
Like the sun in the morning sky, the Savior of the world will dawn; like rain upon the meadows, the Christ will come down upon us. (Advent refrain)

So much happens in Advent, it is hard to know where to catch hold. Wars, a global economic crisis, job loss, and vulnerable people all around us. I recently saw the haunting face of a single mother, a parishioner I had not seen in several years, who looked at me and said “I’ve been laid off,” a note of fear in her voice. This week 28 million Americans are living on food stamps.

During November a total of 150 persons came to St. Paul’s food bank. Parish members gave an amazing total of 3,200 pounds of food last month. God bless you, but please remember that as Utah Food Bank contributions go down the number of needy goes up.

Also, please remember that in a time of need this church continues its witness to hope in the community around us. But it can only do that with your active financial support, and St. Paul’s is far from reaching a budget that will allow its vital ministries to continue undiminished. Help this community of Christian witness to realize its mission, revisit your checkbook ,and help St. Paul’s to make the continuing connection between Gospel message and the world in which we live.

It is not easy to connect what we experience around us with the Advent Bible readings. They offer no immediate or quick solutions. They are hard gospel. The first words we hear from Jesus in Advent are, “But about that day and hour no one knows….You must be ready, for the Son of man is coming at an unexpected hour.” (Matthew 24: 36-44)

A week later comes an equally challenging story about John the Baptist, who, [as the children here last Sunday will remember, snacked on locusts and wild honey, and] wandered in the wilderness, on the town’s edges, loudly proclaiming to whomever he met “Repent! Turn, clean up your act, get your life in order. The Messiah is on his way.”

Today’s gospel is equally challenging and unnerving.

This week I read and reread the Advent gospel passages and alternated them with newspaper accounts of what people are facing, and tried to connect the two. Then I found a passage that makes the connection. It came from Brother Joseph of the Holy Cross Monastery in Santa Barbara. The monastery, set high on a hill and filled with art treasures, was destroyed by a raging fire on November 19. He wrote, “This is simply a reminder that what we are called to do is not our stuff. This is a cleansing by fire.”

Being cleansed by fire, enduring hard times, are part of the daily job description of a Christian.
There are several ways to approach Advent. First is to set it apart in our minds as a distinct season in the church year. Four Sundays that allow us to prepare in hope, and expectation for the God who enters history. Originally, the church year was anchored around three events. The Epiphany, the baptism of Jesus by John. Then Christ’s Passion and death. Then his Resurrection.

It was not until the fourth century that some additions worked their way into the church year. Lent, the forty days preparing us for Good Friday. Christmas, commemorating Christ’s birth, and Advent, another season of preparation, somewhat like Lent in character.

The color of Advent and Lent is purple, a color of deep solemnity, the color of royalty, but also of mourning. Royal robes are purple, and in ancient times purple dye was reserved for royal use. And funeral palls that cover the casket in many churches are purple. The link between Advent and Lent is real.

It is also a wintery season, cold, and dark. Nature lies fallow; trees are bare, bulbs rest in the earth until spring.

[We also mark Advent by distinctive music. There are 21 strikingly different Advent hymns in our hymnal, such as those we sing this morning, and those sung at the Advent service of Lessons and Carols last Sunday.]

The Advent wreath contains three purple candles, and one pink candle, a lighter color, lit on the third Sunday of Advent. A note of joy now enters the season. It is called “Gaudate” Sunday, from an old Latin chant. “Gaudate” means “Let us be joyful.”

Once, when I was a young clergy member, setting out for a new parish, a small congregation of largely rural folk, I was so enthusiastic about introducing the Advent wreath that I bought a generous supply of Advent candles and put them on my credit card. I figured that at least ten families would want Advent candles. Not only would they want them, but they would burn the candles up within the first two weeks and would need replacements. So I arrived with over eighty purple candles. And sold eight. And ten years later, when we had a dinner party, guests would look at the table and say, “How come you always have purple candles?”
Gradually, over four Sundays, the meaning and mood of Advent is established through our liturgy, prayers, hymns, and Bible readings.

This morning I want to focus on a single theme -- Advent as a season of hope. Many in this parish use the book of Common Worship for their daily prayers. It contains the refrain “Look towards the east, O Jerusalem and see the glory that is coming from God.”

In Christian devotion the East is a place of hope.

The Garden of Eden, where human creation is first mentioned in the Book of Genesis, was set in the East (in what is now Iraq).

Christ was born in Bethlehem in the East.

The magi, the leaders who followed a star to Bethlehem, came from the East. And it is from the East that

Christ shall come again in glory in end time.

The Advent message of hope is found in the words of this hymn:

“The King shall come when morning dawns and light triumphant breaks/ When beauty gilds the eastern hills and life to joy awakes/ The King shall come when morning dawns and earth’s dark night is past/ O haste the rising of that morn, the day that e’er shall last.”

I once tried to share this idea with a group of senior high youth during a December weekend retreat. We agreed to gather just before dawn on the shores of a vast lake overlooking a mountain range dawn to watch darkness give way to the light of the rising sun. It was a deeply moving experience, but what I did not know is that most of the group had decided to greet the dawn by first spending the night in an all night pizza parlor.

*****
Advent expands our horizons, it says that hope is possible in the most demanding of times.

Look to the East, the Advent message says, look for the coming of the High and Holy One, the Messiah, who has already started the journey toward us , who is already on the way to be among us.
Amen.

The Second Sunday of Advent – Year B
Isaiah 40: 1-11
II Peter 3: 8-15a
Mark 1: 1-8
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
Salt Lake City, Utah
The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs
December 6-7, 2008

Although I can’t remember his name or his face, each time I need to parallel park I hear the voice of my driver’s ed instructor from over 35 years ago. Paying attention to that voice and responding to that voice from my distant past usually works out well for me. I hear his voice in my head, follow his directions and more often than not, I can maneuver my car into a space between two other cars. I also hear his voice sometimes when I brake. I hear him telling me that stopping a car is more complicated that just putting my foot on the brake. It is actually a two step proposition. The first step is taking my foot off the gas pedal. The second step is applying my foot to the brake. Makes lot of sense doesn’t it - stop providing fuel to keep moving, in order to apply the brake to stop moving. The first step is preparation for the second.

That’s how it is with any real change we want to make in our lives. We must participate in A new way of doing things first by not doing what we’ve been doing. Just like losing weight — stop eating like you’ve been eating and eat in a new way. Like quitting smoking — stop buying cigarettes and lighting up in order to live a new smoke-free way.

Change is what John the Baptist is calling us to from the wilderness. A change of direction. That’s actually what the word repentance – metanoia -- means in Greek – It doesn’t mean not feeling sorry for doing bad things, but a change of direction. We can only go in one direction at a time: so in order to move this way, we have to stop moving that way. A change in direction requires a adjustment of behavior, and thinking about things differently.

But that’s not necessarily what we want to hear - we don’t want to accept that new life might take some preparation on our part. As we all know, although it’s exciting to think about making a change, change is rarely comfortable.

Our lessons today begin with comforting words. The passage from Isaiah speaks to people who deserved to be comforted. In the beginning of the 6th century, their land was invaded, Jerusalem was destroyed and their leading citizens were hauled off to Babylon. Those left behind led lives which had been horribly disrupted and their spirits were crushed. Those taken captive and removed from Judah lived in exile for many years meaning they were not where they were meant to be, not where they belonged. And they were longing for home. Isaiah was telling all those people they needed to do things differently. In this morning’s passage Isaiah challenged them to stop thinking like people in exile, to stop behaving like people who had no hope, victims who could not see their way ahead. They were numb by their experience and he offered them a new image of themselves — as people who have served their term, as people to whom God himself would come and as people whom God would carry home in strong and loving arms. Stop acting like people in exile, and begin looking ahead to the coming of God’s kingdom. The Good News: There is a new way ... and it is here now because Here is your God.

John basically has the same message. He drew people to the desert, away from their comfortable homes, away from the institutions they were both attached to and burdened by, to a place where his single, clear voice might get through to their hearts. He began by proclaiming the Good News that the Messiah was coming, But then John told them something they didn’t necessarily want to hear. They would need to repent: they would need to change direction in order to be ready. There is a new way John said. … And it is here now because here is your God. Get ready.

In his own weird and wonderful way, John challenged them to prepare for their future, for the future reign of God not by wondering when it would come about, but by looking inward to change themselves. John’s baptism of repentance calls them to make a clean start, to prepare the way of the Lord.

When we find ourselves helpless and numb, we too can stop, especially during a quiet reflective time which Advent provides, and respond to John’s voice: by cleaning out our lives, opening our hearts and turning in a new direction of hope.

In John’s offer of forgiveness we see that God, too, is willing to make a change. God is not just willing, but God longs to take what we have offer – the bad along with the good, the rebellion along with our willing spirits – and continue to move forward with us. The Good News is that God has sent Jesus his son to us as a pledge of that promise. There is a new way, It is here now because here is your God.

Our theology of waiting does not suggest that we wait for God to come and change us, but that we respond very intimately and individually to God’s promises as we best we can, believing that all has been made right with God through his son, believing that in God’s good time, we too will be able to see the Kingdom, touch the Kingdom, embrace the Kingdom. We are not helpless and hopeless, because there is something we can do - we can get our hearts and ourselves prepared. God will do the rest.

It takes a holy imagination to see in John the Baptist, in his rough mannerisms and in his abrasive words, that God is very near to us. It takes a holy imagination to grasp hope when we encounter the brokenness of the world about us. Like each generation of the faithful we yearn for God’s promises to be fulfilled in our time, in our world, our lives.

It is easy to relax and allow the beautiful words of comfort heard in Isaiah this morning to pour over us. They are as familiar and as cherished as the decorations we remove from storage each Christmas season and put on display. It’s easy to consume the good news. It is easy to hear the words and ignore the message altogether.

But I don’t believe those comforting words are for those of us who are comfortable. Isaiah and John’s voices call us to change direction, to repent, to cleanse our lives and breathe in a new spirit. We are called to look at ourselves honestly and put into action ways we can change our direction and participate in God’s promise.

The promises God makes for our future together seem as ridiculous to a war-torn, greedy world as ridiculous as words of glory coming from a man dressed in camel hair and eating bugs. The noise of the season muffles those prophetic voices of the past, but I invite you to quiet yourself, to hear those promises proclaimed and turn in a new direction. I urge you to go deeper this season and respond by preparing your life for the Holy One who has come, is coming and will come again.

The Twenty-sixth Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 27A
Joshua 24:1-3a, 14-25
Nov 8-9, 2008 St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
Salt Lake City, Utah
The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs

It was an historical sight. An amazing sight. Thousands and thousands of people, from all walks of life, gathered to get a glimpse of a charismatic leader and hear what he might say. A transition of leadership was imminent and the crowd was brimming over with hope. Their leader encouraged and challenged them. They seemed single-minded, in a way they perhaps had never been before. They had been together through hard times, and were told that although hard times were not over together they could see their way into a brighter future. They were told to not ever forget the people who had gone before and paved the way for them. By the end of the gathering, their leader had called upon the nation to make a choice to change and serve. And they were enthusiastic in their commitment to do so. No one who was there would ever forget the choice made that day.

You might think I was recounting the historical choice made this past Tuesday, and the gathering of people in Grant Park to hear our newly elected president. But I’m actually referring to the gathering of the people, at Schechem, in which Joshua stirred the assembled crowd into renewing their commitment to God.

Like the gathering in Chicago this week, this ancient assembly came together in response to a charismatic leader, and were called by that leader to further response. They met at Schechem, not to hear a victory speech of a new leader, but a farewell speech, some last words of wisdom from a beloved aging leader, Joshua.

Joshua is interested in change and commitment. He uses his words of farewell wisely to move people in the direction God would have them go. Once the people have “presented themselves before God”, He begins with the words on all prophets’ lips: “Thus says the Lord.”

Then he begins to tell a long story, much of which is omitted from this morning’s lesson. A story of God’s care for Abraham and Esau, freeing the captive slaves from Egypt --- and people lesser known to us --- whom God has guided, rescued, and gifted with good things.

The story ends with Joshua’s challenge. Now then, he says ... now then, whom will you serve? what will your response be to God’s faithfulness to you as a community?

As Bob Dylan sang a long time ago, “You’re gonna have to serve somebody.” Joshua knew that to be true. Something or somebody will get our loyalty, our energy, and our attention whether we make the choice or whether we make no choice at all.. We’re gonna have to serve somebody.

Joshua pushes the people before him to recognize God’s actions in their history, and to choose to respond to what God has already done. “As for me and my household,” Joshua says, “we will serve the Lord.” “Choose this day whom you will serve.”

We have so many choices before us every day. A friend of mine back from a year in Liberia, told me she was stressed for months upon her return, when faced with all the choices of products available at American grocery stores. She’d gotten used to a harsh, but liberating lifestyle – the freedom from choice. I can understand that because it’s the little choices that make my head spin. So I prefer to concentrate on the Big choice. I invite you to do that too, and see how the little choices are shaped by the one big choice that we make. Or the big choice we do not make.

Our choice begins, as Joshua began in Shechem, by recognizing God’s good gifts in our history and in our lives. Each Sunday we recite the core of that history, which was recited by Joshua thousands of years ago. But our history doesn’t end there in a middle eastern desert. We are in the process of continuing that story of God’s goodness to faithful people here at St. Paul’s. We build on that history in the ways we create the budget and our mission which shapes our common life and allows us practical ways to offer God’s love to the community and each other.

Together we create a new story when we choose to be open to God’s spirit working through us in ways we cannot now imagine. That is a much tougher call than choosing to continue to build on the heritage we know. Can you see the difference? I believe God is calling us to break new ground in our choices as well as build on the old ground. And that takes a strong commitment to each other, and to God.

I know the older I get, the more I prefer to kind of “settle” into what I already know. And making choices takes a lot out of me. So I must intentionally choose to allow new things into my life and new thoughts into my head. I’m usually blessed when I choose to travel in territory which is unfamiliar to me. We can grow as a faithful community when we choose – intentionally and prayerfully --- to serve the Lord, and be more open with the decisions with which we respond.

Our history as a faithful community is a colorful history of response to God’s goodness. We internalize that history when we choose to serve the Lord. All that we have, all that we do, all that we are is a response to that goodness. Making a choice of whom we will serve, is good stewardship of the freedom of choice God offers us.

With the encouragement Joshua gave the congregation at Schechem, he also challenged them as individuals. When the people insisted they were ready to choose God’s way, he offered each person a way to work on that commitment: then put away your foreign gods, and incline your hearts to the Lord. In other words, keep shaping your life by getting rid of the clutter which keeps you from bending toward God. And then choose to move in God’s direction.

Joshua guided his people to recognize and renew their covenant of commitment and service to God. Each time we gather we do the same. The gathering at Schechem is a foundation of our present day liturgy and it’s challenges are the fundamental challenges of our faith. WE also presented ourselves before God when we come to God’s table and thank God for acting in our lives. It is at this table that we are strengthened, forgiven and renewed for service. When we leave the Table, and head out the door, we carry our choice to serve God with us into the world.

So make your choice this day. Make your choice every day, and use these questions to guide your decision:

What has God done for you?

How will you respond?

Whom will you serve?

Let’s not take our answers for granted, for there is blessing in the very act of choosing. May God bless us in our choosing and in our choices.

The Twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 25A
Matthew 22:34-46
The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs
St. Paul's Episcopal Church
Salt Lake City, Utah

I don’t get to watch and listen to TV commercials anymore. Since we have a mute button on the remote, and my husband is the remote-controller, he insists on muting all commercials. But I remember a lot of commercials from my past. It’s amazing how many of those ads pop into my head as I’m studying the scriptures in preparation for preaching. A certain commercial which comes to my mind today, as I hear Jesus summarizing the laws. This ad didn’t really do its job because I can’t remember the firm for which it was an advertisement. Emil can but I can’t. The line I remember from that ad campaign was this: we don’t make it, we make it better.

Somehow that brings me to Jesus and the Pharisees discussing the greatest commandment. Sometimes the scriptures tell us the Pharisees were trying to entrap Jesus. Sometimes they were just doing what Jewish scholars do --- posing questions of each other, playing with "what ifs" and coming up with riddles. Today’s gospel story I think is one of those times when they were simply asking a question of a rabbi: Jesus. “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?’

Jesus had a lot of commandments to choose from. In the Jewish Law, there were 613 laws on the books. In order to answer that question, Jesus dug through 611 of those laws and came up with two. He did not make them up. They were familiar to all faithful Jews: from Dueteronomy --- Love the Lord your God with all your heart with all your soul and with all your mind --- In other words. Love God with everything it is that makes you who you are and from Leviticus – Love your neighbor as yourself — in other words, be loving to everyone, including yourself.

Jesus didn’t make these laws. Jesus made these laws better. He made these laws better by putting them in relationship with each other as they hadn’t been before. Isn’t that great: Jesus is so much about relationship that he even put the rules about relationship into relationship! By linking them together, he summed up all the laws into three relationships of love — love of God, love of neighbor, love of self.

It sounds so very simple. It actually would be easier to be handed a list of 613 things to-do. For since Jesus redefined the greatest commandment into love, it’s our responsibility to figure out what it means to be loving, not just what it means to be lawful.

Don’t get me wrong. Keeping commandments, and laws and rules is good. Laws and rules allow us to live together peaceably for the most part. Think of all the rules we have for living together. I’ll bet you’ve got some of the same rules at your house that I have at mine: don’t drink straight from the milk bottle, the one to take the last ice cube should fill up the ice cube tray, turn off the light behind you when you leave a room.

We’ve got rules on the road we agree everyone should keep: stop at red lights (all of them) --- and stop signs. Allow the car on the right the right of way. Pull over when you see flashing lights on the car behind you. We want to live in a community where everyone pretty much agrees not to kill each other, not to steal from each other, and to be faithful to their spouse.

But in highlighting these two commandments of love for us, Jesus calls us to a higher law: The law of love which links God and neighbor. All of what Jesus does links loving and serving God to loving and serving those God loves. (and that means everybody) Keeping the law --- all 613 of them---- doesn’t matter if you don’t have love. Love matters to God.

This new law of love is all over the New Testament. In Corinthians Paul says “if you hand over all your possessions but do not have love, you are nothing.” The author of the first Letter of John agrees: “Those who say I “love God” and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars. For those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen cannot love God whom they have not seen. The commandment we have from him is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also."

So the question is not what do we do or not do, the question has become “What is the loving thing to do?” That is a tough question to answer ahead of time for every situation. It’s a very good thing we have been given the Spirit of God’s love. And that God has gifted with reason to figure out the loving thing to do. We must be intentional in doing the loving thing – apart from our feeling love. For love of God, and neighbor and self is not necessarily feeling but commitment. The foundation for the love we give to others is the love we receive from God. We are called to be good stewards of the love given us by God. We may have to make tough decisions about love, which have nothing to do with feeling loving.

And who is this neighbor we’re supposed to love? That is a really simple question to answer. Look around you. Do you see anyone in this church who is not you? Everyone who is not you, is your neighbor. Do you ever read in the newspaper about someone who is not you? That is your neighbor. The love of your neighbor shows up in the way you vote, the way you speak and the way you drive.

Included in this commandment is the relationship you have with yourself. If you are an unwhole, unhappy person, it is difficult to receive and relay God’s love. It is difficult to be transformed by God’s love. Jesus calls upon us to pay attention to the way we treat ourselves, because we too are made in the image of God. We, too, are loved by God.

God wants all of each of us, but God doesn’t want or need all our love. Let me repeat that. God wants all of each of us, but God doesn’t want or need all of our love. God wants us to spread God’s love for us to those around us --- far and near, nice or not. Jesus doesn’t say love the lord your god with all your love. He says love the lord with all your heart soul and mind. Share your love with others. Loving God increases our capacity to love. And I believe the more we love God, the more we will love our neighbors.

In the gospel of John, Jesus says “If you love me, keep my commandments.” We start with making a commitment to love. The intentional commitment to love will get us through those patches when we can’t recognize God anywhere, or when we don’t feel like loving the person next to us. And even when we can’t imagine why anyone would choose to love us.

Being right isn’t what God wants. Being right about the rules isn’t what God wants from us. Being in right relationship with God, being in loving relationship with each other and within ourselves matters to God

The Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 21A
Exodus 17:1-7
September 27-28, 2008
St. Paul's Episcopal Church
Salt Lake City, Utah
The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs


Our readings from the book of Exodus these past weeks have taken us on a journey through the wilderness with God’s people and Moses. Except for Moses, his brother Aaron, their sister Miriam, these people are nameless. Nonetheless they are well known to us. We know them as complainers. God heard their cries of misery when they were enslaved and oppressed in Egypt. God was moved by their cries and called a strong leader who led them in a dramatic escape from their oppressors. God provided them with a cloud to lead them by day and a pillar of fire to lead them by night.

When they had no water, Moses led them to a place of refreshment, but they found the water bitter. Upon their complaint, Moses turned to God with their complaint and was given instruction how to make bitter water sweet.

When they complained they were hungry, an exasperated Moses, who didn’t want this job in the first place turned to God again. God responded by providing them with “the bread of angels”, manna which appeared on the ground each morning, they found quail for them each evening at twilight. They had food enough, the scriptures say “as much as each of them needed.”

Today we find them half way through the desert but still generations away from their destination. And they complain that they are thirsty. Once again, they begin by whining: did you bring us to the desert to die of thirst? Moses, weary of being the middle man, and worrying that these people will stone him, turns to God with their legitimate, desperate pleas for water. God responds, without comment on their griping, by leading Moses to a rock, saying I will be there standing in front of you on the rock at Horeb, and instructs Moses to strike the rock which will produce water.

These people are really good at complaining, and it seems to be working for them. They complain to Moses, Moses complains to God. God provides.

Their needs are great, and real. For freedom, food and water are the basic necessities of life. Underneath all their complaints however is the question, Is the Lord among us or not? At the rock where water is provided, Moses actually names it Massah and Meribah, which mean trial or temptation. It designates a place where people put God to the test.

These people are not yet at Mount Sinai where God reveals himself again to Moses, and offers some guidelines for living as holy people together. It’s interesting that in that list of ten commandments, God doesn’t include Thou shalt not complain. God never says, I don’t want to hear it.

Complaining is not wrong. And I don’t believe complaining is an indication that you are not a faithful person. We come from a long line of complainers. It apparently is part of our human nature, but it need not define who we are if we use our complaining faithfully and wisely.

God has given us sharp analytical minds and the power of language to make our needs, and our wants known to others. Complaining is one way we can make those needs known. Complaining also serves to bond a community together against a common wrong. However, complaining without purpose or consideration for the needs of others, often either gets us into trouble or gets ourselves stuck.

Complaining among each other or about each other can easily turn into murmuring. Murmuring is also a time-honored tradition, even among people of faith. It is an indistinct, low level grumbling which serves no purpose but undermines community. Those who live in monastic communities understand how destructive, and how attractive murmuring can be.

We can learn some important lessons in complain from those masterful complainers in the desert. They complained to the right person. And they got results. They complained about real needs. And were satisfied, at least until their next opportunity for complaint. We can learn much from Moses, who took his complaints directly to God.

God can handle our complaints, and I don’t believe God is offended or surprised by them. In fact, I believe complaining to God is a form of prayer. Prayer is not simply praise, or compassionate intercession for others, or pious requests in the language we use in church. Complaint is a way we can engage God, honestly and authentically. However, once your complaint has gotten God’s attention, ask God to open your eyes to the ways you’ve contributed to the situation and perhaps how God could guide you to remedy that which you are complaining about. When we are willing to be open with God about our complaints, and we are also open to God’s response, I believe we will be led in the right direction, and be satisfied with extraordinary good gifts from God’s hand. Unlike other people who hear our complaints, and tire of our whining voices, God will never say to us, I don’t want to hear it. God invites us to bring everything to him, and God will redeem all of what we bring to him in prayer.

Of course, along with the sharp minds God has given us, come sharp tongues. And that is where we need to be careful. How we complain matters. If our useful complaints devolve into biting sarcasm and blame, we can and do wound each other. So, let’s temper our complaints, and speak to other from a place of love.

We also can follow the example of those in the desert who complained even as they followed God’s lead through the wilderness. For all their complaining, they were moving forward. Their complaining did not lessen God’s faithfulness or love of us. Neither will our complaining lessen God’s faithfulness or love of us. Yes, their complaining made the journey longer. Our complaining may do the same, or at least make it seem longer to those we annoy by it.

The Israelites in the desert stopped along the way to remember God. To remember how far God had brought them, to remember why they were even on the journey, to explore the place God had prepared for them. They had to be reminded again and again, that God was with them, had always been with them, and promised always to be with them.

Each Sunday when we gather, we are reminded of that as well in the stories we hear from scripture, in the history which we recount in our Eucharistic prayer, and as we leave the Table satisfied with the food and drink God provides.

So, and I speak to myself as well, complain if you must, you know you will. But don’t put all your energy into complaint. Don’t allow your complaints to wound the Body of Christ or keep you from discovering and engaging God’s lead.

May we always use our complaints and words wisely, with purpose and for good. May God grant us grace to keep moving to the place God would have us go.

The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost - Proper 17A                                                                         
Exodus 3: 1-15                                                                          
Matthew 16: 21-28                                                                    
Romans 12: 9- 21
Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church, Salt Lake City, Utah
The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs
August 30-31, 2008
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Nothing is as it “should be.” A prince of Egypt now a fugitive sheepherder in the wilderness. A bush burns but is not consumed by flame, and then speaks. The voice bids one come, and then when one does, it bids him come no closer. Peter, AKA the rock upon which the church would be built is now the rock over which the church will stumble. Jesus tells his most ardent follower to get behind him. And the one who is finally acknowledged as the Messiah, tells them now that he will suffer greatly and be killed. None of that is “how it should be” but that is how it is.

Much of life – inside the church or outside the church — is not as it should be or how we would plan it or want it. And we might as well get used to it. Discipleship is different than we might want it to be. Each of our readings this morning offers a lesson about what discipleship actually is.

Let’s look at Moses’ dramatic call. We often think of Moses being called to lead, but he really was called to follow. His call to discipleship begins with getting his attention and directing that attention to Holy Ground. There Moses is commanded to remove his shoes. Isn’t it ironic, that In Moses day, that’s how one responded in the presence of power? And in our day, in our culture, taking your shoes off signifies that you are comfortable, that perhaps you are home.

The place that Moses meets God is holy, and the conversation between the two of them is holy. This scene marks the beginning of their long, troubled history together; for sometimes Moses didn’t remember that he was called to lead AND to follow. Moses wants to know by what name he can identify God. God replies, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.” The God Moses would have known if he’d been raised as the Hebrew slave that he is. God continues by saying that he, God, has heard the cries of those Hebrew slaves and is responding with deliverance. God gives him a name, which is not a name but a description: I AM WHO I AM. Moses learns that he is dealing with a Holy One who cannot be pinned down with a name. Our relationship with God, the Holy One, is different than any other relationship we have in our lives. We must honor God’s holiness, God’s otherness, even as we are invited into God’s home and remove our shoes.

Last week we learned that Moses name means “drawn from the water.” We remember that he was given up by his mother in order to save him from certain death. He was rescued by another loving woman and adopted into Pharoah’s family. He was chased out of his adoptive land by his own actions and can no longer live comfortably among them. Moses no longer belongs anywhere, but in the presence of the Holy. In this place, on this holy ground, Moses has finally come home.

He’s comfortable enough to ask God some questions. He wants to know who God thinks he, Moses, is ; who am I that I should be the one to carry out this task? Moses’ inadequacies and anxieties are not met, now or later, with assurance that he is indeed adequate, or that he has no reason to be anxious. I’m sure God was impressed with Moses’ self-awareness and humility but that really wasn’t the issue. God answers his anxieties with this simple statement: I will be with you.

As disciples, we too hear that promise at our baptism: I will be with you. From that point we learn like Moses to acknowledge God’s holy otherness, open ourselves to God’s leadership, and align ourselves with God’s purpose. We take care not to domesticate God by believing we can name God, lead God, or fully know God. For God is ultimately unknowable.

Like God himself, the course of discipleship cannot be fully known or controlled. And our baptism we begin the process of opening ourselves to that unknowable and uncontrollable holy purpose and following where it would take us.

It is tempting to take God with US rather than the other way around. It is tempting to lead God as Peter wanted to do. Peter would have led Jesus safely away from danger. A messiah who suffers rather than conquers wasn’t in Peter’s plans. I would imagine that the disciples thought being close to the Messiah would mean access to power, and participating in privilege. They must have been shocked and disappointed to find that the greatest power would be found in the suffering, in the serving, in the dying to self which Jesus outlines.

Jesus is a different kind of leader than Peter expected or wanted, and Jesus demands a different kind of follower. One who would “deny himself and take up his cross and follow him.” Jesus was speaking to people who knew crosses not as jewelry, or logos of the Christian church but as means of execution and as gruesome warnings to those who do not fall in line with a oppressive government. The theology of the cross scandalized them and scandalizes us still. No one goes easily to the cross, not even Jesus.

When God bids us come, as he bid Moses, God bids us arrive at a place where our hearts meet his, where our purpose intersects with God’s. And that is very often, not where we had planned on going.
Discipleship is against our nature because, like Moses and Peter, we are bent toward self-preservation – hiding out in a desert with the sheep where no one can find us, or avoiding going in the direction Jesus suggested, that will surely bring about a violent end. Discipleship means being open to where God would lead us, rather than allowing God to go with us on the journey we’ve planned.

The questions which should shape our discipleship is “What would you have me do.” “How can I align my purpose, Holy One, with yours? “Not “how do I fit God into busy, purposeful life I have planned?” When God promises “I will be with you, ” a disciple’s heart will answer, “And I will be with you.”
None of us align ourselves, our souls, our bodies with God’s purpose easily, not even Jesus. Our deep questions and our struggles distract us, and of course there is real every day life among real, everyday people.

Paul offers us practical ways with which we can shape our real everyday lives of faith. Be genuine and kind to all. Outdo one another in showing honor. Extend hospitality to strangers. Bless rather than curse, whether you feel like it or not. If we allow God’s will to intersect with ours, our everyday lives will model the example of God’s faithfulness and compassion. And as President Clinton said the other night, we will lead by “the power of our example rather than the example of our power.” That is how Jesus led. That is how we follow. That is the way of leadership and discipleship.

Once God gets our attention, hearing God’s voice, following God’s call is both attractive and dangerous. Discipleship will mean disruption of our thinking and purpose. For discipleship is not a destination, but ongoing reorientation of our lives and our purposes so that they intersect with the heart of God and God’s purpose. Our stumbling block, like that of Peter, is our desire to control the location, the nature and the timing of that intersection. When our hearts intersect with God’s purpose, we too will find ourselves on holy ground, and when we are there, we have come home. It may not be comfortable. It may not be what we had planned, but it is where we belong. And that’s the way it should be.

The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 14A
The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs
Matthew 14:22-33
Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church Salt Lake City, Utah August 8-9, 2008

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Good old Peter. He is cocky and impulsive. He was the first disciple Jesus called and makes himself first among the disciples. He speaks his mind, and often acts before he thinks. In fact, Peter is the guy in your circle of acquaintances who says and does what you would never dream of doing or saying, although you’d thought about it. And, you’re glad he’s willing to be such a fool sometimes, so you don’t have to be, and can learn from his mistakes. Cocky impulsive Peter is also a leader of the early Christian community to whom Matthew is speaking in today’s gospel.

The story from today’s gospel is really two stories. At least two stories. And both those stories are about identity – one story points to Jesus identity and another story, within the larger story, points to the identity of Peter, the faithful, foolish disciple. All the gospels interpreted for the early church the theological meaning of real historical events. The entire book of Matthew is written, not to document what Jesus did, but to show who Jesus is.

We’ve heard the story before. In fact, Matthew has already done a Jesus-calms-the-seas story. A few chapters earlier the disciples are in a storm on the boat with Jesus, who is sleeping. They wake him up and he calms the storm. This story is a little different however. Jesus, puts all twelve of the disciples in a boat and shoves them off shore to go on ahead of him. He’s planning on catching up with them, after he finally gets that break from them and the crowds he’d hoped for in last week’s gospel. The disciples are on the water all night, a storm kicks up. in the darkest part of the night, right before the dawn, they see Jesus walking toward them. On the water.

The men in the boat, already frightened and weary of the storm, are frightened by what they think they see and shout out to Jesus. He yells back:. Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid. One might think those words would calm them, but I think those words might have frightened them even more.

Those words have different and deeper meaning for them than they have for us. When they hear Jesus say “Take heart”, they recall the words of Moses to the children of Israel at the edge of the Red Sea as they are fleeing the Egyptians. When they hear Jesus say “It is I”,they hear the echo of the voice from the Burning Bush, saying I AM THAT I AM. I AM reflects all that the Almighty God is and does. I AM are the words Jesus uses of himself, the words which prompt the charges of blasphemy from the Pharisees. When they hear “Do not be afraid”, they are brought to mind of the many times in scripture when in times of uncertainty and danger, God is pushing the hearer to places he doesn’t want to go. In the Scripture no one wants to hear those words “Do not be afraid.”

The sea is the great unknown in ancient times. It houses chaos. And when the seas churn and the winds blow these twelve find themselves facing the worst of the natural world and and when Jesus says “It is I” they are confronted as well with the powers beyond the natural world

As self-appointed leader of this group, Peter speaks to Jesus. I know sometimes I’m surprised by the things I say things out loud which were only intended for the inside of my head. I wonder if Peter found himself in that position on that sea, not meaning to say this out loud, but finding that he had said, “Command me to come walk to you” but Jesus took him up on it, took him at his word. I’m sure the rest of the disciples were used to Peter saying outrageous things, and this time they rolled their eyes, saying “I can’t believe he just said that.”

Personally I would have asked Jesus to get in the boat and stop the storm, like he did a few chapters earlier. But Peter needs to prove something. He needs Jesus to prove he is who he just said he was. He needs Jesus to prove that he is stronger than the worst storm he could possibly face.

Peter’s personality compels him to challenge Jesus. The early church needed a fool like this to learn from, to make the mistakes, to take the risks that we all learn from. No congregation --- then or now --- could bear having too many Peters. But we’re glad to have some. For we all learn from someone willing to take the risks we are too frightened to take. Someone willing to speak up when all common sense holds our tongues.

Peter needs to prove to himself that he is up to whatever Jesus wants him to do. Peter proved that God is faithful to his word, and proved that he perhaps is weak even while he is faithful. He proved that he must depend on God whenever he steps out in faith, even if it looks like he can walk on water.

You notice that Peter does not ask for special powers for himself. He asks that Jesus enable him to do as he commands. Peter has once before responded to Jesus’ command to come. Peter was testing himself--- would he still be able to do what Jesus asked of him? Will his discipleship hold up? So he says Command me, Jesus, like you did in the past, to come to you.

Peter didn’t sink because he doubted he could walk on water. Peter didn’t sink because doubted Jesus could help him walk on water. He sank because he is human. Jesus chides him for having challenged Jesus to prove himself in the first place. Jesus uses the phrase “oh ye of little faith” – to those who are anxious about what they are going to eat and what they are going to wear, to those anxious about the storm, to those anxious that they might not be up to their original commitment.

It’s good for us to test the voices we hear compelling us to move forward. For sometimes, the voice we believe belongs to God sounds suspiciously like our own voice. Can the church trust that Jesus is God’s son? Can the Church trust God in times of trouble? Who will Jesus be for us? As we search to answer those questions we are compelled to challenge Jesus as well. “Command what you will, Jesus, then give us the power to do it.”

Matthew’s listeners needed to know that God would go before them and beside them. And even when they were exactly where God wanted them to be and still doubted, God would be there with them in the storm. This passage is written to a church community caught in a violent sea, with turbulent times they couldn’t even imagine were ahead of them. They needed the reassurance that Jesus is who he said he was, and that Jesus would be there in extraordinary unnatural ways to help.

In the end, this story is an affirmation of Peters’ leadership for the church which counted on him. After all, if only for a few brief moments, he did walk on water. Peter learned the hard way, perhaps with a noseful of saltwater, that not only was Jesus faithful but that Jesus could help him be faithful too. And the faithful, sensible disciples who witnessed this all from the boat, were able to articulate and proclaim the central message of the gospel: “Truly, you are the Son of God.”

As a congregation, when we plan for the program year ahead, project budgets, and work to discern God’s will for this place, we challenge Jesus to give us the strength and the resources and skills necessary to do what he has commanded. We can be assured that our doubts, our faltering faith will not be the end of us. For in the end, we are offered Jesus outstretched hand and hear the voice of the one who knows us well and loves us always. “Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid,” you of little faith.

The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 13A

Matthew 14:13-21
Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church
Salt Lake City, Utah
The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs August 2-3, 2008
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Jesus is in crisis. You might not have picked that up in the lesson, but the reading begins by telling us “Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a place by himself.” Now when Jesus had heard this. What had Jesus heard? --- of the murder of his cousin, John the Baptist. John was Jesus’s teacher, the one who went before. Perhaps the only one who understood him. Jesus responded as many of us would – he retreated, to be alone with his thoughts, perhaps to pray, perhaps to wrestle with God, most certainly to figure out how he was supposed to carry on. We are not told what happened there. He emerges from his grieving time and the demands of the crowd catch up with him. But he seems to be renewed with compassion and new purpose.

The disciples have identified themselves as being in the middle of a potential crisis. Surrounded by a minimum of 5 thousand hungry people, they were thinking things could get really ugly unless food was provided quickly. That seems a reasonable assessment to me. They do what they’ve been doing for the past three years and turn to Jesus for a solution. The best plan they can come up with is to get rid of the hunger by making hungry people go away. But that only solves their problem: if the hungry crowds went away, the disciples would no longer be faced with such overwhelming need.

The five thousand men, not counting women and children, are also in crisis. They have followed Jesus to the edge of the water and they can’t tear themselves away. They were there to soak in what he has to say. To ask for healing, to be close to one who promises a new way. Perhaps they lost track of time, and now they are hungry and far from home, and their children are hungry and far from home and the skies are darkening.

Three crises: Jesus, the disciples, the crowd. Three encounters with the Holy. A perfect opportunity to illustrate the Kingdom of God.

The Feeding of the 5000 is the only story that is found in all four gospels. Some stories are in two gospels, some stories are in 3. This story – the feeding of the multitude -- is so important that it is recorded in each of the four gospels once, and recorded in two of the gospels twice. Not even Jesus’ birth is recorded in all four gospels. The early Christian community clearly understood its importance to them, and to the building up of the church. The lessons taught us in Jesus multiplying a little bit of food and feeding the multitudes must be central to the Christian faith.

Why would this miracle be of any more importance than any other? Because thousands of people are involved? Because it seems to echo the Holy Eucharist? Because it meets the deep, essential needs of the world? This scene at the side of a lake integrates all the teaching that Jesus has preceded it with. The Feeding of the 5000 is an enacted parable of the Kingdom of God. What Jesus has tried to communicate in parable and simile – the kingdom is like a mustard seed, the kingdom is like a net, the kingdom is like a pearl --- is communicated here on so many levels. It’s like Jesus is saying, “let me put this to you another way;” The Kingdom of God at work, is enacted in a simple but glorious meal at which the remaining barriers are broken down and all are fed, and all are satisfied.

Like Jesus, the disciples had compassion for the crowd, and had evaluated the need for food. Lots of food. They looked to Jesus to fix it somehow. Jesus said no. Instead of sending the crowds away, he challenged the disciples -- YOU give them something to eat. In the Greek it doesn’t say, “why don’t we think about giving something to eat.” Or “let’s work this through and come up with the best solution.” Jesus uses an imperative tense, and the meaning is clear. If people are to be fed, you are the ones to feed them. At first they protest that they don’t have enough. Jesus commands them, using that same imperative tense, to bring all they had to him.

Something had changed in Jesus. He has become not just a teacher and a healer, but transformed into one who empowers; who receives what is offered and multiplies it and insists the people share it with each other. It is the perfect model for ministry.

Barbara Brown Taylor wonders exactly when multiplication of the loaves actually took place. As Jesus was blessing the fish and loaves, was there simply more and more to bless? When he picked up the five loaves and began to break them, was he up there for hours, breaking more and more bread? When the food was given to the disciples to distribute, did they keep coming back for more and it just appeared? Or did the multiplication come when the people received it and passed it along to those sitting beside them?

I would like to think that the 2 fish and 5 loaves were divided up between the 12 disciples and when Jesus placed the fragments in theirs hands and said “OK now feed everybody”, they looked at each other and said, um OK. And it was in their obedience to his command, their willingness to go and do as he said, the miracle occurred and they found more available to them than they could have imagined. They set out not knowing how would work or whether it would, but they obeyed and their work was blessed.

In listening and obeying, the disciples were transformed from followers to ministers. They became partners with Jesus in welcoming all to sit in grass in the wilderness. They cooperated with the kingdom and all were fed and satisfied. When the kingdom of God is at work, scarcity is transformed into extravagance. Extravagance is clearly God’s doing, but abundance for each and all relied on the hands of the disciples.

Many miraculous transformations took place that day. Perhaps this is why the story was so important to the early Christian Church. Faithful, obedient people of Jesus day could only eat food prepared in a certain place, by certain people according to certain rules. When the disciples distributed food to all, no one knew the rules by which it had been prepared. It was handed out by strangers, passed through many unclean hands --- and yet the scriptures say, all ate, all were satisfied. The barriers of the law were broken down and God’s grace comes rushing in.

In the kingdom of God feeding hungry people is more important than obeying the rules. It is a powerful message for the early church and for us today.

And that little footnote that those who ate were about 5000 men, besides women and children. That was not to pump up the numbers to make this an especially impressive miracle. The miracle was that they were even mentioned at all. For in Jesus’ day, women and children were not considered the special ones who receive the first and best food or treatment, they were considered as property if they were considered at all. When the kingdom of God is at work among us, each and every individual matters as much as any other.

I believe the greatest barrier we raise to the kingdom is not our lack of resources or even our lack of faith but our lack of imagination. But Jesus clearly is challenging us to partner with him, to participate in carrying out God’s mission of reconciliation, all are fed. He leaves it up to us to evaluate our resources, expect our imaginations to be challenged and offer them both to him for blessing and multiplying.

Somewhere between “Telling God to fix it by sending our problems away-- and doing things the only way we’ve ever done them is where we find our mission. Faith is acting with no guarantee of success in response to God’s command. We find the blessing is in the doing. When the kingdom of God is at work, our best efforts, our meager efforts are blessed and multiplied.

The kingdom of God is at work when there are no barriers to God’s goodness: not purity laws, not our excuses, not our lack of faith, not our lack of imagination. When we cooperate with God’s purpose the kingdom of God flourishes like grass in the wilderness.

The Feeding of the 5000 is a turning point in Jesus ministry. It is the point at which he begins to turn over ministry to his followers so that the kingdom can grow and its blessings can multiply. That’s what happens in a very real way at the Table each time we gather. At this Table Jesus invites us to partner with him in the kingdom of God. Here, through bread and blessing, we receive a glimpse of the kingdom. Along with the bread, we receive a challenge for ministry during the coming week.

When you open your hands to receive the bread you are offered at this Table, also open your eyes to see the kingdom at work around you. And imagine the ways you can cooperate with the kingdom: By stepping out in faith in partnership with Jesus. By share what God has offered you with others. By breaking down all barriers to God’s grace.

The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 11A
Genesis 28:10-19a
Romans 8:12-25
Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43
The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs
St. Paul's Episcopal Church
Salt Lake City, Utah

The religious cartoons of the New Yorker magazine are obviously conceived by someone who grew up in the church with the same ideas that have crossed your mind and my mind. Dana Fradon offered this cartoon in 1994¹: I’ll try to describe it as best I can.

It’s a typical office set up. A desk is set up outside the boss’s door The receptionist looks pretty typical, except for the fact that she is wearing wings and a halo.  The nameplate on the boss’s door says GOD. And the entire scene is set in the clouds. The receptionist nods to the winged gentleman who approaches the boss’ door — you can tell by the anxious look on his face that he’s not looking forward to his meeting with God. He wants to know what to expect He leans over to the receptionist and asks” So is he the God of the New Testament this morning or the God of the Old Testament?

Many people don’t like “the God of the Old Testament” — that wrathful cranky God, spewing smoke and judgment from atop mountains. We’ve been scared by “that” God from stories we remember when we were kids, and we prefer the “nice, loving God of the New Testament that we meet in Jesus. But if we’re willing go deeper into these ancient texts, we will find that God hasn’t changed since Old Testament times, our understanding of God has.

I love the stories and people and even the God of the Old Testament.  I believe that the rich stories of God’s relationship with humanity in those ancient stories reflect man’s attempt to figure out who God is. Not a revelation God handed down about who God is.

The story of Jacob and his ladder is a example of someone attempting to make sense of God in the midst of his crazy, dysfunctional family history. Jacob and his twin brother Esau had never gotten along. The scripture says they struggled mightily in the womb. Once born, They were as different as night and day, and Jacob was determined to best his brother.

It didn’t seem fair that his brother, older by minutes should received the blessing and inheritance to which firstborns were entitled. He took advantage of his hungry, vulnerable brother Esau, by exacting from him his birthright — that is, his leadership of the family and his place of preferred inheritance — when all he asked for was something to eat.  When Isaac was about to die, the final blessing would go to Esau.  So Jacob, and his mother came up with a crafty scheme, to deceive his father, and steal his father’s blessing from Esau. Esau understandably is furious. And he vows to kill his brother.  Rebecca, their mother, helps Jacob, her favorite, the bad boy, escape.

What a train wreck of a family. The messiness of this family goes way back.  Jacob probably grew up, hearing the story of his grandfather, Abraham, taking his father, Isaac on a camping trip and, attempting to kill him, until an angel of the Lord intervened.  Jewish legend has it that after Jacob escaped his brother’s wrath he came to a “certain place” — that place being the exact location that Abraham had prepared  Isaac to be sacrificed.  The Hebrew version says that once he got to that certain place, the sun didn’t just set, the night “took him by surprise”, he “collided with the place and suddenly the place took him over.”

That’s where he rested his head. He wasn’t going to sleep well anyway – what with using a stone for a pillow, and knowing his brother was ready to kill him. Perhaps his sub-conscious was reaching out for some redemption for behaving badly. His dream is of a ladder. Jacob’s ladder is memorialized in song and in paintings and in stone on the side of cathedrals. His dream is of a ladder, connecting him and the heavens, with God’s messengers continually moving back and forth between them.

In the dream, God isn’t at the top of the ladder, but standing right next to Jacob, not separated by heavenly host or clouds or distance.

Then God speaks directly to Jacob. God identifies himself as the God of his grandfather Abraham, the God of his father Isaac. And then God repeats the promise made to those who had gone before.  God reaches out, repeats his promise of faithfulness to a manipulative lowlife who hadn’t reached out to God at all. Jacob wasn’t looking for God; he simply fell asleep scared. And the God he thought he knew from the scary family stories makes a covenant of caring for him. That is grace, right there in the Old Testament. That is a loving, gracious Old Testament God.

Grace made an impact on Jacob. He awoke, knowing for certain that the Lord had visited him. He took the stone on which he slept, poured oil on it to mark it as holy, and called it Beth-el — which means House of God.

Unfortunately our lectionary does not include the final chapter of the Esau and Jacob saga. So I’ll have to tell it to you: The two feuding brothers settle in different countries and 20 years later, Jacob hears that Esau is coming to see him. Jacob is scared to death. When he sees Esau and an army of 400 with him, he fears the worst. But Esau only wants good for his brother, and they embrace and weep. Jacob says that he sees in his brother’s face, in this unexpected reconciliation, the face of God. ²

Part of me rejoices with Jacob that he received such a blessing from God and such forgiveness from a brother. But another part of me thinks — why are they letting him get away with such horrid behavior? Is this really the man whose name is changed later to Israel and represents God’s chosen people? Why didn’t someone teach him a lesson? Couldn’t God have found someone, anyone more worthy of special attention?

That attitude seems to be what prompted Jesus to teach the parable of the wheat and the weeds. Jesus addressed a group of faithful Jewish Christian who are worried about mixing with the wrong kind of people. All of them – the disciples and the Pharisees had been waiting for Jesus to separate the good guys from the bad guys, and to make sure the bad guys got what was coming to them. When Jesus ignored the purity code by eating with sinners, touching sick people and talking to women in public as if they mattered, it was more almost more than they could bear.

Jesus responds by telling them that the kingdom doesn’t work that way. The kingdom is God’s grace in action. It acted when Jacob was taught a lesson of mercy rather than judgment and Jesus tells us throughout the gospels that in Jesus himself that kingdom has come very, very near.  All of God’s love is undeserved and unearned. We are not to judge, or weed anyone out of God’s gathering of the faithful. We are to pay attention to our relationship with God, and to leave the judgment in God’s hands.

I’m not referring to criminals here. Even in the church, perhaps especially in the church, some people drive us crazy by who they are, what they say, what they do, what they have. What they get away with. But to God, each of us looks very much alike when we’re growing. And God always makes room for changes of heart, for opportunities for his loving kindness.

Jesus says the kingdom of heaven is like seeds, which are little parcels of hope. They are full of the future, and packed with potential. And we are not to get in the way of that potential by interfering with our judgment.

The kingdom of heaven, like God, is a dynamic process that moves through history. Sometimes the best we can do is keep ourselves out of the way, Out of the way but connected to the kingdom by living in hope. Our hope is grounded in the certainty of God’s love for us, and the certainty that all will be reconciled to God in God’s good time. Until then, we work not to maintain purity, but nurture the connections between generations, between God and us, between all of creation and us  so that the kingdom is manifest in us, but not patrolled by us.

The kingdom cannot be pinned down. It is the movement of God’s grace through creation. It is a wave of hope. It is as elusive as a dream yet as tangible as bread and wine. The more connected we are to God, the better chance we have of catching up with it. The better chance we have of being strengthened by the promise made by the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the God of the New and Old Testament, the God of our past, present and future.

1.  Dana, Fradon. Published in The New Yorker December 5, 1994

2.Genesis 33:10

The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 9A                                 
Romans 7: 15-25a                                                                      
Matthew 11: 16-19, 25- 30                                                                      
The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church                                                                 
Salt Lake City, Utah
                                                                                                                     
Every once in a while, between teaching and healing and eating with sinners, Jesus stops and says something like “What am I going to do with you?”  Sometimes he says it to his disciples. Today he says it to the faithful who had been waiting for generations for their Messiah. He compares them to a group of children who don’t seem to know what they want. You wanted us to play the flute but you would not dance. You wanted us to wail in mourning, but you would not mourn.”

So what is it you want, people?

Jesus continues “John the Baptist came along – he didn’t drink and barely ate, he followed the rules. In fact, he was so strict with the rules that you thought he was crazy, and no one wanted to have anything to do with him. Then I come along, I ate and drank with you, I ate and drank with anybody and everybody, and you didn’t want me either.”

So what is it you want? And what am I going to do with you?

Hmmm — good questions, Jesus. What is it you want? Apparently it is natural to want what is not in front of us. And when given what we do want to turn away. The more choices we have before us, the more we struggle. Ironically, the more free we are, sometimes the less free we feel.

We understand all too well St. Paul’s famous rant on his inability to do what it is he wants, and doing what he doesn’t want instead. Paul is tired of the struggle within himself. He is a free man, an intelligent man, a man with authority. Paul feels anything but free. He struggles with desires gone wrong, and exhaustive self-loathing.

The effort required to be the perfect “me”, to make perfect choices, to do what I want and not do what I don’t want, is exhausting. When exhausted I am more vulnerable than ever to the sin I don’t want to give in to.

And then I’m really stuck. My stuck thinking convinces me that I am bad to the core, incapable of doing anything right, unworthy of the love God offers me. What a vicious cycle. With Paul I find myself crying – who will rescue me from this body of death? Who will save me from myself?

It is not sinful to think those thoughts. But it is sinful to let those thoughts keep us from God’s love or from the work that God has given us to do. Perhaps the sin isn’t in the list of what we do or don’t do, but in allowing what we do and how we think about it to paralyze us; to erase the hope we have in Christ Jesus.

We are our own biggest burden. We are restless; we are unfocussed. We don’t know what we want but we know we don’t have it. The more we concentrate on sin and desire, the less we are able to control it.

Sin convinces us that it is all up to us – what we do and what we say. Sin makes us think that that’s the only way life can be. Sin convinces us there is no hope for us, because we can’t do it right. Even when we know what right is.

Sin takes advantage of our nature; our tendency toward struggle and ambivalence,  and makes us believe that we are worthless, and then we are stuck.

The bad news is that sin is inescapable. The good news is that grace also is inescapable. Grace is God’s power to unstick us. To keep us moving together, forward, despite our tendencies to want to stop and wallow in our inadequacies. With St. Paul we long for a rest from this constant effort  of living up to our own demands, our attempt to be something other than we are.

The Good News in Jesus Christ is that God invites us to that rest for which we long. In Jesus Christ God has redeemed who we are. In Jesus Christ God continually is redeeming who we are. And in Jesus Christ God says “I can use the person who cares so deeply what they do and how they do it. I can use the person who is ambivalent and self-aware to the point of exhaustion. I can use that. Just come to me. Lay down the yoke you’ve been yoked to. Take up mine instead.”

Hmm. Jesus offers us a yoke. Now, A yoke is a contraption that allows more work to get done because the team of animals is moving in one direction. Or it is a device that allows you to carry a bigger load all by yourself, like a milkmaid carries two buckets of milk instead of one. That hardly sounds like rest to me. There are a couple of different ways to interpret the yoke that Jesus talks about. It could be that Jesus is offering to take control of the reins of our lives. And lead us to the place where he would have us go. We learn from him by following his path. Or it could be that Jesus is offering to share his yoke, the one he is already carrying for us, to lighten our burden. To walk alongside us.  We learn from him by doing what he does.

Either way, it is clear that picking up the yoke makes you part of a team. Jesus doesn’t invite us individually; Jesus invites us to come to him, and join the team.

When Jesus invites us to come he invites us to lay aside our burden. In order to take up this yoke he offers, we have to give up the one we are under now: the law, anxiety, sin.

Jesus’ yoke is easy because it “fits”.  What doesn’t fit is trying to be perfect, or our attachment to being the best, the most accomplished. Even well intentioned. Learn from me, Jesus says. And you will be free to be exactly whom Jesus died for, whom God intended you to be.

When Jesus offers us rest for our souls, Jesus isn’t saying, “come over to my place, my shady patio is comfortable and the margaritas free-flowing.” He’s not saying, “I will fix you. Or that I will fix the mess you’ve gotten yourself into.” He’s saying “I will be with you in the work God has given you to do. When you no longer know the way, when you are too weary to lift your head, if you walk along with me, shoulder to shoulder, you will find rest for your souls.”

I’d like to get to a place beyond struggle. Where I know exactly who I am and how I will react. Then I can get on with my life. That thinking is exactly what Jesus suggests we need to give a rest. The idea that the journey will begin when we are fixed and when all is settled. Jesus offers to take us and all of our companions as we are now; to take his yoke, which he himself has donned, and move forward with God’s work, leaving behind the anxiety. And leaving our anxiety about our anxiety behind.

We are all here because Jesus has invited us to come to him. In a few moments at the Lord’s Table we will again hear his invitation to come.  Bring your sinful self — all that you are and all that you have and God will make it good. “Come to me, “Jesus says. “Learn from me and do as I do — receive what God has given you and share it. Receive God’s gift of love and forgiveness, share God’s gift of love and forgiveness. In that is perfect freedom. In that you will find rest for your souls.”

The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 8A   
Salt Lake City, Utah
June 28-29, 2008
Genesis 22:1-18       
Romans 6: 12-23    

_____________________________________________________________________________
    Personally I have no need to test my limits of endurance. If I’m strapped in well enough, I love roller coasters, but you won’t find me flinging myself off a bridge tethered to a bungee cord. I tend to stay away from the extremes.  Our lessons today are about extremes and limits. The Old Testament lesson, the story of Abraham and Isaac and God is a story of the extreme nature of obedience. Our New Testament lesson is a testimony to the extreme nature of God’s love.
     Abraham is one of God’s favorites. Abraham is usually up for an adventure. God has already asked him to give up his past — by leaving the land of his fathers and moving to the edges of the unknown. It was Abraham God sought with whom to make his covenant — that a great nation would be his legacy. That legacy would be manifest in the miraculous birth of Isaac to Abraham and Sarah. So when God then asked Abraham to give Isaac up, to make a sacrifice of Isaac on Mount Moriah, Abraham was being asked to give up his future as well; in asking Abraham to give up Isaac, God was asking him to sacrifice the very promise that God himself had initiated. It is a very difficult passage.
     The text itself doesn’t describe Abraham’s response to that request, or his emotional dilemma, or his conversation with Isaac’s mother about all this, but the text underlines the gravity of this request by repeating three times: take your son, your only son, the one whom you love, and go.
     Although Abraham’s response to God’s initial call is “Here am I”, we don’t hear him respond verbally to God’s request. No protest. No request for an explanation. Remember, Abraham was the one who bargained with God for the lives of those ten righteous men living in Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham returned to God six times to beg for the lives of those he didn’t even know. But there is no bargaining for the life of his son!
     Instead, we hear of Abraham’s preparations for the three day journey to the mountain. According to Soren Kierkegaard, “The silence of those three days journey must have been longer than the 4000 years which separate us from the story.¹ ” During these long three days Abraham must have wondered what kind of God it was with whom he had made this covenant. He had three days to reconsider God’s request. He considered this request as he continued his journey to the mountain.
     We, of course, have an advantage over Abraham.  We know how this story ends. Isaac is not sacrificed. Abraham comes down the mountain.  We never hear of God speaking with Abraham again. We never witness Abraham and Isaac together again.
     So what was the point of this horrible request? Why has this story not only been maintained but celebrated in Judaism, Christianity and Islam and passed along to us? Some scholars say it was meant to explain why there was a temple built on Mount Moriah. Some suggest that this was a way to introduce the prohibition of human sacrifice. Both those things may be true.
     Many see this story as an example of God testing the faith of Abraham, and Abraham passing this test by the measure of his extreme obedience. I see this more as an examination. A self-examination.  I believe this is a story about Abraham’s self-examination and even perhaps about God’s self-examination.
     Abraham’s experience of God provided him an opportunity to explore the depths of his own faithful obedience. And God, perhaps for the first time in his relationship with humankind, learned the depths of his love for his people. Without this intense experience of each other, the relationship may not have survived all the trials ahead. From this point on, both creature and Creator have a greater understanding of each other and of the relationship they share.
     We learn from their encounters in the desert, and on that mountaintop. We learn that receiving God’s promises doesn’t protect us from those promises being called into question again and again. We learn, as Abraham did, that God will provide.
     The Greek root for the word provide is pro video — meaning “to see for oneself.” God is himself provided with a lesson. He sees for himself that perfect obedience is not the measure of faithfulness. In this pivotal encounter, God and humanity see for themselves how to live with each other. The covenant has become a relationship.  The measure of faithfulness is no longer obedience. The measure of faithfulness is God’s love and grace.
     Our divine encounters are likely to be more internal than Abraham’s divine encounters. We are always tempted to prove ourselves acceptable to God. We are tempted to prove to ourselves who we are “by what we have done and by what we have left undone.” Whether we pass our own tests or fail them, St. Paul says we know the outcome of our own story —  that we can are loved by God. Whether we meet our own standards of faithfulness and obedience, we know that the free gift of God, St. Paul says, is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord. Our anxieties about being unable to reach our own limits cannot separate us from God. Our faith, thank God, is not based on the outcome of each trial we face, but on the certainty of God’s love. We find both blessing and testing in our relationship with God, but our journey and our relationship continue.
     God has learned from his encounter with Abraham -— that nothing can separate him from us. For God witnessed Abraham willing to sacrifice the very best part of himself, his child, his future, for God. God understood, and could not bear to watch his beloved Abraham pay that awful price. The horror of this holy request and the horror of Abraham’s obedience could not separate Abraham from the love of the Almighty.
     God’s love for us is limitless but costly. Not even the love between parent and child, the great love between the Father and Jesus, is going to keep God’s love from us. Through the intense story of Abraham and Isaac, we can understand the incredible cost of our salvation: the gift of Jesus Christ for the life of the world.  
    Again and again, in the stories from scriptures, and in the stories of our lives, we see for ourselves, that nothing that we do, and nothing that is done to us can separate us from God’s love. We do not determine God’s love for us, but by the grace of God we can respond to it. St. Paul tells us to let go of the hold sin has on us, drop our obsession with sin, and to present ourselves to God. As we are. As the people for whom God gave his Son.
     It is my hope that through self-examination and examination of the scripture lessons before us, we can make sacrifices together. Together we can sacrifice our need to limit God by our old truths;  our need to always be in control of the outcome. Together we can sacrifice the limitations we place on ourselves, and move to a new truth which God provides. And that truth is this:  that we are not called to have faith without limits, we are called to have faith in God’s limitless love.

1.  Kierkegaard, Soren, Fear and Trembling.

The Rev. Emil Belsky
June 22, 2008

As a mother was tucking into bed her five-year-old daughter during an earth-shaking summer thunderstorm, the little girl asked, “Mommy, would you please sleep with me tonight?  I’m scared of the thunder and lightning.”  The mother kindly but firmly refused the little girl’s request.  “But why won’t you sleep with me?” the girl asked with tears welling up in her eyes.  “Because Daddy wants me to sleep with him,” the mother explained.  The little girl shook her head in disgust and muttered, “That big chicken!”

No one wants to go through life as a big chicken, and Jesus tells us we don’t have to.  Today’s reading from Matthew’s gospel is about being afraid and not being afraid.  Jesus and his disciples were riding the crest of a rising tide of popularity.  The crowds had turned into multitudes; whole towns were coming into the wilderness to hear Jesus preach and to see his mighty acts of healing.  But it wasn’t just the sermons and miracles that had taken them by storm; it was Jesus himself.  He was the man of the hour.  Had there been a first century Middle Eastern edition of Time magazine, Jesus would have been a shoo-in for “Man of the Year.”

In the midst of this thriving ministry, Jesus called his disciples aside one day for a private conversation.  They probably expected a strategy session.  But, instead of talking about how well things were going, Jesus began to describe how bad things were going to become.

“Pretty soon,” says Jesus, “I’ll send you out to do the same work I’ve been doing, and it won’t be easy for you.  At times you’ll feel like helpless sheep among starving wolves.  Many will turn a deaf ear to your message.  Doors will slam shut in your faces.  If you visit a synagogue to share to share the Good News, they will drag you into the streets and flog you.  If you preach in the streets, you’ll be arrested and hauled into court.  After a while, the persecution will have you running like rabbits from one town to the next.  Eventually the hatred against you will grow so bitter that your own brother or your own daughter will look for the chance to turn you in.  After all, a disciple is not better than his master.  If they mistreat me and accuse me of working for the devil, they will certainly do the same to you.”

By now the disciples are exchanging worried glances and reconsidering their career options. It is just then that Jesus says to them, “But don’t be afraid.  There is nothing hidden that won’t be revealed.  There is nothing covered up that won’t be uncovered.  What I have whispered to you, go out and shout from the rooftops.  Don’t be afraid; just spread the Good News.”

The disciples had everything to fear, but they decided to take Jesus at his word.  They chose to preach regardless of the consequences, regardless of their anxieties.  God, in turn, took the fearsome obstacles that threatened this early community of believers and turned them around to serve the church.  Don’t be afraid for the truth.  The truth can’t be stopped, not by threats or persecution, not even by death.

The world may do its worst, and God will still take care of you.  This is also the message proclaimed by the angel of God to poor Hagar, the slave girl who was good enough to bear Abraham a son but whom Sarah wanted banished from the household so Hagar’s son could inherit nothing.  Homeless and without support, Hagar takes to wandering.  She is in wild-eyed despair, and even throws her baby under the brush at the side of the road rather than stay close by to witness her baby’s death.  But God hears the cry of the boy, and God fulfills his promise to make of Hagar’s son a great nation.

In talking with his disciples, Jesus pointed to the sparrows—the cheapest source of meat for the poor of the first century.  Sparrows were sold two for a penny, or five for two pennies.  The seller threw in the fifth sparrow for free.  That meant that in the marketplace a single sparrow had no value at all, and was absolutely worthless.  And yet Jesus teaches that the eye of God is fixed upon even the lonely sparrow.  “Not a single sparrow falls to earth without God knowing it,” he says.  If God cares for pitiful, worthless sparrows, how much more will God care for you and for me?

Actually some scholars argue for a different translation of this passage.  Instead of the fall of the sparrow, Jesus may have meant the landing of the sparrow.  Imagine that for a moment!  Every time a sparrow comes in for a landing, God is there keeping an eye on things to make sure the landing goes smoothly.  How many times do you think a sparrow lands in the course of a day?  If God is there every time a sparrow lights on a branch or settles in the grass, can you imagine any moment of your day when God is looking the other way?  Do you think God is going to be absent during any trial or struggle or risk you face this week?  Jesus tells his disciples, and each of us, God loves you down to the very last hair on your head!

“Don’t be afraid,” says Jesus.  Don’t be afraid for the truth. Don’t be afraid for yourselves.  Don’t be afraid of enemies who threaten you with physical harm.  Instead, hold in awe the One who holds your very existence in his hand.  Seek him; love him with all your heart, and all else that is really important will be given to you.  Amen.

The Rev. Lyn Zill Briggs           
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church             
Salt Lake City, Utah               
June 14-15, 2008
Genesis 18: 1-15, 21:1-7
Romans 5: 1-8
Matthew  9:35-10:8


Madeleine L’Engle said “The great thing about getting older is that you don’t lose any of the ages that you have been.” Each Father’s Day I have a pool of 52 Father’s Days which flood my memory. I can remember being a 4 year old on my grandfather’s lap. I can remember helping my young daughters prepare to surprise their dad with a messy breakfast in bed. I remember the year before he died my father sending ME a Father’s Day letter, asking my forgiveness for any ways in which he had failed me and thanking me for being his daughter. All of those memories are especially vivid today, but I carry them with me always.

Like it or not, each of us must learn life’s lessons in our own way, but hopefully we accumulate wisdom along with memories as we mature. Although each generation must learn its own lessons anew, each generation also benefits from, and pays for, the experiences of previous generations. As a church, as a community of faith, we carry with us the collective wisdom of many people and many ages. We embrace the stories of all the faithful people, none of them perfect,  but faithful people who have gone before us.

The great joy at the deliverance from oppression in Egypt echoes within us. We embody the deep blessing of a child born to aged parents like Abraham and Sarah. We are marked with the profound hope of the early Christians, which St. Paul  grounds for us in the truth that Christ died for us while we were yet sinners.  We feel within us Jesus’ compassion for all God’s people who are hurting. We accept the challenge given to the first disciples to make a difference in their lives.

Both the scriptures and our Father’s Day memories invite us once again to step back, and from a distance of thousands of years or 50 years, to claim the stories and truths which have shaped who we are.  And to thank God for the grace which has brought us to this day.

 Abraham and Sarah knew how to take risks and to embody promise. At God’s direction, they picked up everything they possessed and traveled to a completely new place. They journeyed beyond everything they knew, on only a promise. Their faithfulness was stretched almost beyond their capacity to receive their promised child. They did as they were told and yet when they arrived they waited. And waited. Each night they gazed at the sky remembering that God had promised their heirs would be as numerous as the stars. Decades of starry nights passed. No child had been born.

  But one afternoon, as they prayed for relief from the noonday sun, they took another big risk, they also opened themselves to the promise. When they offered their home to strangers in the desert, they opened themselves to the Lord himself. In receiving God, they received the promise.

Abraham and Sarah. Our ancestors in faith and models of risk-taking: welcomed strangers, received God. Is anything too wonderful for the Lord? Their answer to that question God asked them, was the laughter of a little boy whose name actually means laughter, Isaac, their long-awaited son. And they continued living in the promise, receiving grace, and passing it along to all the generations that followed. Abraham and Sarah brought all that they had, and God blessed generations from their barrenness.

That is grace. It is what God does. Making something of nothing. Making more than enough from very little. God does this all the time with what we we have to offer.

 Last year in confirmation class someone asked me what grace was. And I’m embarrassed to say, after my years of seminary education, I found I didn’t have a quick answer for him. Except that it was “amazing.” But then everyone knows that. We talk about grace all the time, and we rarely stop to define it. But I can recognize it when I see it  —  in a story from the Old Testament like Abraham and Sarah’s story, or in Jesus’ relationships during his earthly ministry.

 I know that Grace is not a destination. St. Paul in Romans says we are standing in grace. We are surrounded by grace, behind us and before us. I would even go so far as to say grace is like the climate of our faith. We breathe it in and out. We dwell in it.

Grace is not something we are anticipating in the future. We’re completely surrounded by it right this very moment. But because of our limitations, we can only perceive it in little snippets. And it’s definitely not something we can earn. Paul says we have access to grace only through Jesus. Through his love. Through his life. Through his death

Grace covers that which we would be worrying about. Paul says we no longer have to be anxious about our relationship with God because we are “justified by faith, and we have peace with God through Jesus.”  Grace motivates us to share it with others. You received without payment. Give without payment. Freely you have received, Jesus says, freely give.

Grace fills in the cracks of our lives and makes us whole. When we are open to receiving God’s goodness, we can see that God has been there , is here now and will be there to sustain us.

Grace doesn’t make our lives easier; grace makes our lives deeper. We don’t need St. Paul to tell us that life will produce suffering. But he does remind us that if we are open to God, working through suffering, suffering,  it can produce endurance, and endurance produces character,  and character produces hope. And the Christian’s basic orientation is certainly one of hope.

Grace makes good from ill. The ultimate example of grace is that although we are undeserving, Jesus Christ proved God’s love for us by offering us his love and death, and his life as a model for us.

In the gospel of Matthew today Jesus gathered his disciples who had been with him in the countryside. Until this point the disciples had been followers, following him as he taught, preached, healed. Today, Jesus assigns them a job to do.  The job he gives them is exactly the job Jesus himself has been doing. It’s exactly the same! Teach. Proclaim the good news. Cure every disease and sickness. Offer healing, cleansing, new life. Help people put their demons behind them. How could these twelve  fill a role previously held by Jesus himself?  Who could expect us to follow that job description?

Jesus offers them a model of ministry and gives them the authority to carry his ministry out and a few instructions. But not much else. In fact, further in this passage Jesus tells them to take nothing with them. And he tells them to rely on those they are serving to feed and shelter them. In doing this, they will encourage hospitality draw forth openness and from those to whom they minister. And the cycle of grace continues.

They go into the countryside with nothing but their faith and their deep need for God, and God makes it good. That is grace: What do we need to carry out our task? Not nearly as much as we think. For Eugene Peterson says in his translation of this passage --- we don’t need equipment, We are the equipment! Because we come loaded with models of faithfulness, And we each pack around our own histories of healing, cleansing, struggling with demons  and embracing new life. And we are surrounded, completely, by grace which we cannot escape. God’s goodness which surrounds us, upholds us and defines who we are.

 The promise which brought Abraham and Sarah to a new beginning remains alive today at St. Paul’s Church: If we bring all that we have, respond to God’s call with all that we are --- we will have grace enough to carry out God’s work.  

Wanted: people of all ages and experience levels Duties include proclaiming the good news, curing the sick, raising the dead, cleansing the lepers, casting out demons. Other duties as assigned.   Lots of travel and risk involved. Close work with unsavory people. Training offered but never completed. No expense account. Job often entails persecution.  Only sinners need apply. Hours are endless and so is the grace.

That’s the job we took upon ourselves at our baptism. May the Lord who has given us the will to do these things, give us the grace and power to perform them. Amen.

Rev. Jennifer Hare-Diggs, Executive Director
Family Promise – Salt Lake (formerly Salt Lake Interfaith Hospitality Network)
June 8, 2008
Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

Jesus declares, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.”  He makes the statement when he overhears the Pharisees, the “righteous elite” of the Jewish community, scornfully wonder why Jesus would eat with tax collectors and sinners.

It is as if Jesus is saying to them, “Well, you see.  You all make sacrifices in the temple and believe yourselves righteous.  But I extend mercy in order to make things right.”

And what is right about this scene in which Jesus eats with sinners and tax collectors, those Jews who betray their own people, exploiting them and working for the occupiers of their land.

It is interesting to me that nowhere in this text does it say that these sinners or tax collectors asked for forgiveness. But they are there, with Jesus, finding welcome when they expect not to be welcomed….when they are welcomed no place else.

Then – next, we hear of a woman suffering from hemorrhages – for 12 years – 12 years she is unclean and therefore un-welcomed – on the outside.  But at the touch of Jesus she is well; she will be included where she was not before.

At the core, then, of this mercy that Jesus desires, is the making of a place – a space in the universe – a place in the community to be and to belong.

Even a girl presumed to be dead – and therefore certainly outside the community of the living – is restored to her place.

I desire mercy.  Mercy as it is defined here seems to relate to HOME and Hospitality.  Home - as in a place to BE, to belong and to become.  And Hospitality as in the practice of welcoming someone into such a place, welcoming someone HOME.

I know a man who, until recently, was living out of and sleeping in his car with his 18 month old son. Do you know: the world doesn’t make it easy for someone in that situation to exist.  I don’t even mean “to survive” – I mean just plain TO EXIST.  Where can this father and child BE – as in space and time – we all exist in space and time.  But over and over again, this dad was told, you can’t park here….or you can’t park here this time.

As you know, I am here with you today to represent the calling, the mission and ministry of Family Promise or Salt Lake Interfaith Hospitality Network as we used to be called.

We are “an interfaith alliance helping homeless families achieve lasting self-sufficiency.”  For several years now, St. Paul’s Episcopal has been a part of this network of churches.  So I realize that some of you know pretty well what we do and how and why we do it.  But I’m also told that many of you are newer to this community and perhaps have not heard the full story.

Recently another congregation asked me to come and tell the story as they considered how they might fit into it. And they gave me the title of my talk in advance.  In fact, I was speaking at an LDS stake conference and the theme for their conference weekend was Welcome Home.  The title of my talk was “When the lights had departed, we extended sanctuary…. Welcome Home.” 

That title, I thought, told the story well…because for so many people, families with children, the lights do depart……The lights just go out….and then the heat goes out…. and then the family goes out…ends up out….on the streets, or in their cars…or in tents or overcrowded shelters. 

And then, after a while trying to make it, to make things better for themselves, the lights go out in their eyes.

Families are the fastest growing segment of the homeless population nationwide – and here in Utah.  Families with children account for at least 50% of all homelessness – and probably more like 60%.
On any given night, nearly 100,000 families are homeless.  Every year 600,000 families with 1.35 million children will experience homelessness.

This last fall and winter, those of us who work in SLC with the homeless population saw a 50% increase in the numbers of homeless families from the year before.

And the main causes cited for this alarming trend around the country is the fact that wages are not keeping up with the cost of housing, and parents and children do not have access to adequate healthcare. 

I just read a report that said that in 2008 there is not a jurisdiction in the country where a full time worker earning minimum wage could afford a one bedroom apartment.

So, a single mom works 60 or 70 hours a week to pay for rent and other expenses.  She is tired, she is worn out, she gets sick, but she has no health insurance so she waits to see a doctor until it is too bad.  She finally goes to the ER and the doctor puts her on antibiotics and tells her she can’t go to work for at least a week – and her boss doesn’t want her there anyway.

But the rent is due, and now she can’t pay it because she has missed a week of pay.  So she falls behind.  Then her 3 year old catches a bit of what the mom had.  Now mom has to stay home, missing work and pay again, but still having to pay for childcare.

She can’t pay the rent on time again, and now she can’t pay the utilities.  Before you know it, the lights go out.  Then the landlord evicts the mom and her two young children and they are out, no place to go.

I had one client whose husband was arrested and imprisoned for drunken driving.  She couldn’t afford the rent anymore.  She was desperate and, not knowing what to do, she knowingly wrote a bad check just to bide her time as she tried to figure things out.  Now, she’s a convicted felon.  She is trying so hard still.  By the grace of God, the light hasn’t gone out in her eyes…but to make sure it won’t, I talk to her almost every day now to tell her, “I believe in you.”

The dad with his son in the car told me about how, strangers, men, would frequently approach his car – unusually begging for something.  But it was frightening.  His little son would cry hysterically.  The light in the eyes can go out so quickly for a desperate father who feels he has no way to protect his child.

So when the lights go out, what can be done?  In the mid 1980’s a business woman named Karen Olsen encountered a homeless woman on the streets of Manhattan.  Trying to figure out what she could do to help, she thought of her church in NJ.  She thought – could she sleep in the church?  We could extend sanctuary.

Ah, but the problem, she discovered, was that her church, other churches, were not zoned to let anyone stay in them – live in them – for extended periods of time.  Though, she did know that most churches could have groups stay overnight in them for lesser periods of time…a visiting mission team, a 4 day women’s retreat….that sort of thing.

So, Karen went to work.  She gathered about 12 different congregations and asked them if they would each take in homeless families for a week at a time, 4 weeks out of the year.  And thus was born the first “Interfaith Hospitality Network.”

And here is how it worked:  4 families would all go to the same church to stay for the week.  The members of the church would take various Sunday school rooms and turn them each into a private bedroom for each of the families. 

Volunteers would stay at the church in the evenings and overnight to cook home-cooked meals in the evenings and provide loving encouragement to the families….nothing real advanced – just being there to offer a loving welcome to parents and the children for the week – to help them feel “at home.”

In all, it would take about 50 volunteers a week to cover all the shifts and provide meals, set up, and tear down.  Then, every Sunday, volunteers would help all the families to move to the next church in a rotation, where they would stay for the following week.

In this way, Karen developed a model for communities of faith to be able to extend mercy to those in need (to those on the outside, quite literally) and to utilize existing facilities without violating zoning regulations.  

So, when the lights went out for those families, Karen and her churches extended sanctuary, they practiced mercy…and welcomed people “home.”

Now, 20 years later, there are 140 Family Promise networks (the names changed from IHN to FP in 2003) around the country, and together several hundred thousand volunteers have helped over 220,000 individuals. 

Our Salt Lake affiliate was established in 1994.  During the days, the families come to our day center where they work on their plans and goals along with the support of case management staff.  And at the Day Center, they can use kitchen, laundry, shower, storage, and computer facilities.

We employ only 3 full time staff…everything else is done by volunteers.   On average we help about 40 families each year.  In 2007, 90% of the families we served transitioned to stable housing of their own.

But I wouldn’t be giving you the full picture of what FP is all about if I only told you about getting people housed.  We want to get them HOME.

As I indicated earlier, Home is a much broader thing than a house or in most of our cases, an apartment.  Home is a place of belonging, of acceptance.  Home is a context in which we can experience human dignity…..A place where we can “be” – every part of us can be - not just our physical being, but our passions and desires, our hopes and dreams, our pain and hurt, our joy and sorrow.  It’s a place where we can be known and appreciated for who we are, warts and all.

And home is not just about the community within our houses, but community with society around us.  I’ll tell you, it is much easier to make and keep lasting friendships, or support systems, when we are housed. 

So, HOME is about community and about Sanctuary – a safe place to BE and BECOME in this world.  I desire mercy, said the Lord.

One of the most painful things about being homeless, I think, is that sometimes there is no place for you to BE – like the father and son I mentioned.  It is just so hard to BE – or even to be SEEN.

One woman who spent a couple months on the street told about how no one would look her in the eyes and how much that hurt….She wrote: “It’s been said that an infant first gains some sense of her existence, and some sense that she’s loved, from the gaze of her parents.  But what happens when a grown woman loses her way – when she no longer perceives (if she ever did) that her life has substance, and matters?  In whose eyes might she still see reflected her fundamental worth?  Who will deign to look?”

So at Family Promise – we want to get children and families housed – but we also want to get them home – and to BE HOME for them not just when they are sheltered with us but on into their future as well.  Many of our volunteers become mentors to our families in relationships that last beyond a family’s stay in our shelter.

And it is the network of volunteers who are so critical to offering mercy and being HOME for our families.  I tell our volunteers all the time, the best thing they do, that FP does, is to look people in the eyes.  To smile.  To listen.  When they provide the dinner meals, they sit and interact with our guests.  Talk about normal things – like hobbies or school work, kids and pets.

One of my former board members was fond of saying that being homeless is like having to go to the DMV 16 times in a day.  And he is exactly right.  When our families are working so hard to get back on their feet they go to meetings it seems all day long.  This agency, that organization.  Bring these documents.  Oh you forgot one.  Come back later.  It can feel like the run around, and they can feel like just a number.

But, our volunteers know their names.  Agencies and services don’t have time to sit and listen.  Our volunteers do.  Our volunteers show acceptance, they affirm the efforts of our parents.  They throw birthday parties for the children staying in their church building.  They celebrate successes and offer a hug or a pat when things don’t come through.

This is mercy.  These are the things that are so effective in restoring to our guests that sense of human dignity that can be so easily lost with the experience and trauma of homelessness.

I understand that St. Paul’s, who has shared in this ministry of hospitality for years, is needing a bit of a revival if you are to continue reaching out to homeless families in SL.  A few dedicated volunteers are working hard to carrying things through during your hosting weeks… but the numbers are dwindling as some others have moved away.  Perhaps some of you who are newer to this congregation haven’t quite known how to get involved.

As the numbers of homeless families is only growing (and that at an alarming rate) in our community, we are hoping to set up a second network of churches so as to double our capacity from 4 families to 8 at any given time.  But each time an existing congregation pulls out, we move one step further from helping an additional 40 families each year.

So today, as I share with you, I thank God for the ministry of St. Paul’s in the past and for those of you who have extended mercy to our families, and I pray that perhaps others of you might hear God calling to you in a new way today and might reach out with us to bring those on the outside in.

I believe it is no small thing that this God who has extended mercy to us invites us to share in this practice of hospitality with him.  May we rejoice in his grace and may we follow him in making all things right and in welcoming each other home.  Amen