This is the way the world works when God is in charge

Proper 23 A     Oct. 12, 2014

Exodus 32:1-14

Psalm 106

Philippians 4:1-9

Matthew 22:1-14

We have just read two pretty shocking stories today, one from Exodus and one from the Gospel of Matthew. Are they about God’s wrath? Or God’s judgment? Or is that the same thing?

Many people do believe that God is a punishing God, that God’s judgment means we can never measure up, that we have disobeyed, that God is angry, and that that is the end of us.

The Exodus story is familiar – or is it? We know that Moses is himself pretty angry with this golden calf-fest. He sees this seemingly irreparable division between God and God’s people – between God’s expectations for their living the way God would have them live and the people’s gold-crazed worship of something else – and Moses steps right into that breach. He does the unimaginable. Moses asks God to change his mind, to turn away from that justifiable anger and remember how much God loves these people, however wayward and selfish and whiny and stiff-necked they are. Moses reminds God of the promise GOD made to these very same people – and God changes his mind. There could be no worse sinners than those people who squandered their future, the promise God had given them. They took all their money, their assets, their gold, all that they had, and dumped it into something as foolish as a golden calf. There are no worse sinners than these – but the hand that holds them is the hand of a God who loves them and who keeps his promises. God remembers that love, and God changes God’s mind. The story of the golden calf is a story not of God’s wrath but of God’s grace.

When Jesus tells his very troubling story of the wedding banquet, the illustrations he uses – the kingdom of heaven, the king, the slaves, the guests the wedding, the wedding garment – these are not religious images. Today we think they are religious, because we have read them for 2000. But in Jesus’ day they were illustrations from the secular world. People knew powerful and capricious kings, the kind of ruler who had absolute control over their lives. They would recognize the arrogant ones who refused to show up, the thugs who would follow violent, death-dealing orders without question, the slaves and poor people who would cower in fear, not understanding what was going on and not knowing what would happen next. And so is this a story of God’s wrath? Or of God’s judgment? And is there any difference?

This is a story full of symbols. The kingdom of heaven represents the way the world operates when God is in charge. The wedding banquet represents the abundance of God’s grace. Who gets invited in? Everybody: the good and the bad. Even after the first guests refuse to attend, God does not seek out only the good ones – God still invites everyone in. In the kingdom of heaven there is always enough to go around. Even though all is provided – not only food but wedding clothes as well – and even at that late hour, someone is not ready. Someone does not accept the full invitation. Someone still refuses God’s grace. Someone still doesn’t get it about how God wants us to live.

The people to whom Jesus preached lived in difficult times. They lived lives of insecurity and fear, under the threat of violence and in a land where powerful people called the shots. If you have ever gotten in trouble with the law, if you have ever been accused of something you did not do, you have an inkling of what power those people and the system behind them have over you. The people to whom Jesus is speaking lived with that kind of insecurity and system-induced shame all of their lives.

When Jesus spoke to those people around him about the kingdom of heaven, he didn’t mean something far off, pie in the sky by and by. He used language that described their current reality – a reality of fear and powerlessness and insecurity – and told them that the world did not have to be like that. He told them that God was on their side. That the king would throw the scalawags out, the ones not prepared to accept God’s invitation to live as God would have them live.

Yes, this is a story of God’s judgment, but it is a story of hope. There are things that God will just not put up with, Jesus says. The world as it is – of greed, and homelessness, and violence, and fear – is not the way it has to be.

When I was preparing this sermon, and first read over the lessons, I thought I could not preach on the Philippians lesson. It was just too simplistic, too happy, for our polarized and unsettled times; it put too happy an ending on the other two troubling stories from scripture. But now I think just the opposite. The Philippians passage is what the wedding banquet is all about. The Philippians passage describes the life God invites us to share, for the abundance of the wedding banquet is all around us. Rejoice, God says. Be gentle. The Lord is near. Don’t worry. Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, whatever is excellent, whatever is praiseworthy: think on THESE things. In times like this, those words may pass all understanding, but this truly is the peace of God.

Harvest, home & commonwealth

Proper 22A      October 5, 2014

Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20

Psalm 19

Philippians 3:4b-14

Matthew 21:33-46

In a conversation with a Jewish friend last week, I was reminded of what a rich time of the year this is for the Jewish High Holidays. In these days between Rosh Hashana – New Year’s – and Yom Kippur – the day of atonement – faithful Jews stop and take stock of what is going on in their lives, in the world, in their lives and in the world with God. The time of the year supports that introspection, doesn’t it: this time of harvest, of cooling temperatures, of gathering-in, of re-grouping after a busy summer, of hunkering down before the challenges of the winter -- and for those of us who still live by a school calendar – before all the hard work of the coming year really gets going.

Our gospel lesson today is about a harvest-time time of reckoning – a little parable about God’s economy, meaning the way God organizes God’s household. The Greek word “oikia” means house, and “oikonomia” means the management of a house… hmm, does that tantalizing Swedish word for a fabulous store full of household furnishings also come from the Greek word for house??? Does that mean God’s house would look like Ikea??? I somehow think not. God’s economy is not about things you buy and sell, nor is it about looking great, keeping up with fashion trends, or coming out on top with a bargain.

The place to start as we understand what it is to live in God’s household, what it is to play by the rules of God’s economy, is with our first lesson, followed up by that lyrical psalm 19. Moses delivers the ten commandments – and by extension, the whole of the law -- and the psalmist tells us what a delight and a joy it is to follow that law. It revives the soul, rejoices the heart, endures for ever, and is more to be desired than gold.

But in this harvest time, let’s look at the Gospel lesson. If part of God’s household contains a vineyard, then one of the crisis points in the year is the time of harvest. The crop has ripened at once, and there is not a moment to lose to get in all in. Such a crisis is fraught with opportunity and peril. “The harvest is plentiful,” Jesus say elsewhere in this Gospel of Matthew, “but the laborers are few.”

The prophets use the image of the vineyard to describe sacred land, God’s land, the symbolic place where the people live in obedience to God, to the Torah, that law of Exodus and of Psalm 19. Outside the vineyard, beyond the fence, is the land of the unfaithful, the wicked, the disobedient, the alien. But God is not pleased: those who were given the vineyard to tend have squandered the opportunity. The grapes are sour, wild, useless; all will be laid to waste, the laborers sent “to a miserable death.” All that privilege, all that power, all those riches – all taken away from the original tenants and given to those who know the rules of God’s economy, to people who will produce “the fruits of the kingdom.”

Another word for “kingdom” or “reign” of God is “commonwealth.” It came into English usage around the time of the reformation, the 16th century, and refers to the welfare, or wealth or weal, held in common by all the people. When we talk about the kingdom of God, or the reign of God, we know who is on top, who is King of kings, Lord of lords. But as I have talked about before, I find the word “commonwealth” gets to the heart of what God has in mind for us. God has a created the world, which the people of God hold in common. We are all stewards of this common wealth. When we think of the vineyard, say, as a “kingdom,” our lines of responsibility or accountability only go up, to God. But by using the word “commonwealth,” those ties reach out across the community, as well as up to the one who has created this wonderful world we all share.

The Gospel of Matthew is pretty specific about this parable: the Jews have received all the blessings of God. They are God’s special people, the follow the Torah, they are the light to the nations; they are supposed to be an example to the world about how to live in this world we all hold in common. And Matthew makes it pretty clear that Jesus believes the Jews have squandered this precious gift. They have become exclusive and selfish, and Matthew has Jesus even predict that they will be the ones to kill him.

That can be a dangerous way to read this text, after two thousand years of Christian history. That can be an anti-Semitic reading, part of the case used to accuse the Jews of being Christ-killers, to justify pogroms and prejudice.

I think it is much more powerful and provocative, however, to put ourselves in the place of those stewards: with what part of this great commonwealth of God’s creation have we been entrusted? Are we selfish with what we have been given? Do we let it go wild and sour, not caring how it grows?

Our Jewish friends have just ended their time of reckoning, of reacquainting themselves with what it means to live in the household of God. Our lessons today invite us to take a similar journey, to press on toward that goal, toward that heavenly prize, toward that fertile vineyard and that abundant commonwealth, that belongs to the common humanity of all the people of God.

What is holding you back?

Proper 21 A    Sept. 28, 2014 

St. David’s Church & St. Paul’s Cathedral

Exodus 17:1-7

Ps. 78:1-4, 12-16

Philippians 2:1-13

Matthew 21:23-32

Our lessons today – from Exodus and from Matthew – give church leadership a bad name. We are whiners, complainers. We change our minds at the drop of a hat. All we want to do is give the right answer and for the life of us, we don’t know what it is. On and on it goes, the conventional readings of these miserable lessons.

Yet, if we turned the gospel lesson on its head, a bit, we might get a different reading about both lessons. So let’s think about authority: what is authority? It is given to us: from above, often, if we are under orders to do something – if our power derives from someone above us who has expectations for what we are to do. In other cases, in democracy, for instance, authority comes from below, from the consent of the governed. In a democratic system, we have to live up to the expectations of the people who have elected us to lead them.

There is another kind of authority, as well. It is the authority of the past. This can be a kind of tyranny, especially if someone in the past has harmed us, or if we are filled with remorse over our own past wrongdoing. That remorse, those regrets, that person who wronged us – all of those things can have tremendous authority over us. Those memories can govern our present behavior, can direct our future, can make us afraid to take another step for fear of harming again, or being harmed in the same way. We can fear what we think we have to lose – that “authority of desire” or fear of losing what we have, can paralyze us. The tyrannical authority of our own past prevents us from living a full life now, and from living fully into the future.

There is something of that tyranny of the past that Jesus brings up in this encounter with the people around him. These people are worried about what they might lose. They are worried about doing the wrong thing. They cannot imagine a future other than one circumscribed by all of their past. They are paralyzed by Jesus’ “trick” questions. They think something might be happening around them, with this John the Baptist and this Jesus, but they cannot get out of the authority of their past long enough to see what it is.

You could make the same observation about the Israelites following Moses out of Egypt. This new life of freedom is hard, in the wilderness, so hard that it is nearly impossible for them to recognize the gifts of freedom and grace, of manna from heaven and water from the rock, that through Moses, God gives them. The authority of their past – their lives as slaves in Egypt – prevents them from this new life of grace, this new identity as the people of God.

I’m sure you recognize yourselves, or people you know, in these stories. I do. It is understandable to get caught up in the authority of our own pasts; after all, our experience is all we know. It is hard to imagine a better future – but that is exactly what God is doing here. God – unlike ourselves – does not count our past misdeeds, our grudges, complaints, mistakes or hurts against us. “God … refuses to define us by what we do (or what has been done to us), but instead regards us always and only as God’s beloved children.”[i]

How do we learn this radical obedience to a joyful and welcoming God? Who are our gospel role

models for such behavior? Probably not the “people like us” from those pages – probably not the well-behaved establishment types, probably not the chief priests and elders. We learn radical obedience to a joyful and welcoming God from our gospel role models who lived at the bottom of the social heap. From the tax collectors and prostitutes. From all those people Jesus healed. From people Jesus moved from exclusion to the inside, from the street to the table. People who gathered hungry on a mountaintop and left fed and full in body and spirit. People who realized that could be free from a past that bound them to a restricted and unhappy life, and instead move into a new and fuller future where they recognized with their own eyes, touched with their own hands, and tasted with their own senses all the delicious, delightful, sparkling and wonderful gifts God had given them. That’s the future I want. That’s the future we can all have.

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[i] http://www.davidlose.net/2014/09/pentecost-16a-open-future/

Fair is good: but God is not fair

Proper 20-A; Sept. 20, 2014

Exodus 16:2-15

Psalm 105

Philippians 1:21-20

Matthew 20:1-16

God is the only Landlord

To whom our rents are due.

God made the earth for everyone

And not for just a few.

The four parts of creation --

Earth, water, air, and fire --

God made and ranked and stationed

For everyone's desire.[i]

The text of our prayer after communion comes from the Iona Community. In it, we ask God for the ability to live fully to the glory of God, and that we do that within the two natures of our lives in God: “both as inhabitants of earth, and citizens of the commonwealth of heaven.” In the commonwealth of heaven, God is indeed the only landlord – it is God’s earth we inhabit, and God’s earth is filled with God’s glory – God’s earth fairly sparkles with divinity. God’s blessings are freely given and available to all.

Iona is an island in Scotland, and hasn’t Scotland been all over the news this week. The vote for Scottish independence goes back to something that happened 300 years ago – around the same time the English colonies here in North American were beginning to agitate for our separation from the same imperial power. From what I can tell the pro-independence Scots (and many of the others, too) wanted their homeland to be more of a commonwealth, a place where resources were distributed more equitably, and where they had more of a say in where those resources went. It sounds like many Scots want to decide for themselves where the manna drops, and who determines just what is a fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work. “From each according to his ability; to each according to his need.”

But it seems like from the story from Exodus, and from the parable from Matthew, that fairness is not God’s concern. Even the mean and grumbly Israelites get all the manna they can eat. Even the shirker ne’er-do-well gets as much in his wages as the virtuous worker who has born the heat of the day. In “the commonwealth of heaven” we do not get to call the shots. We don’t get a vote for independence and income redistribution. We get what God gives us, and miraculously, it is all that we could ever want for, and more.

I think this parable of the landlord ranks right up there with the parable of the prodigal son for the teachings of Jesus that make the most people mad. This is just not fair, and for those of us for whom the world mostly works the way we want it to, we want it to be fair. Fair is good.

But: God does not give the workers, or the grumbling Israelites, what is fair. God gives them what they need. God is the only landlord – or vineyard owner. It is God’s commonwealth in which we hold our citizenship, God’s earth we inhabit, God’s house in which we dwell.

Yesterday I attended the Diocesan Anti-Racism training, the first to be held here since the General Convention voted in the year 2000 that all of us should, and would, deal with what we called “the sin of racism.” There is so much to learn about how being white privileges us in all parts of our lives, about how the very structures of “business as usual” keep the American descendants of African slaves structurally impoverished, kept in a lesser level of citizenship, always a day late and a dollar short of achieving full participation in our society. About how this is not merely “prejudice” but about disadvantage institutionalized over generations. If we play fair, by the rules, racism ensures that there will always be people late to the game, working one hour to our eleven, and it will always be wrong for them to get the same wages that we do.

It is scandalous that God, apparently, does not play fair. That God, apparently, wants to short-change us out of our hard-earned goods. Indeed, why work at all, if Mr. X down the street gets as much for an hour as I do for “bearing the burden of the day and the scorching heat?”

But there is something funny about generosity: the more you give away, the more you have. The vineyard in the parable, the manna from heaven, the love parents have for each of their 6 children: the measure of anything really important is that it is not a zero sum game. Mr. X’s gain is not my loss.

And a good thing too. Not a moment too soon. I might want to think of myself as that virtuous “bear the burden of the day” worker. But let’s be honest: aren’t there things we all forget? Connections we fail to make? Aren’t we always a day late and a dollar short to the commonwealth of heaven? And when we get there, isn’t there always enough to go around?

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[i] Tune: Wir Pflugen und wir streuen "We plough the fields and scatter" (MIDI): A grand old Anglo-Catholic Socialist hymn, based on Charles Dalmon's "St George for Merrie England". Ken Leech has revised this version.

What Would Jesus ... have US do?

Proper 19-A; September 14, 2014; PICNIC!

Exodus 14:19-31

Psalm 114

Romans 14:1-12

Matthew 18:21-35

“WWJD?” “What Would Jesus Do?” People have many different reactions to that little slogan. Some resonate with it, of course; perhaps they are VERY sure what Jesus would do in any situation and equally sure that they would do it, too. Others kind of cringe, recoiling from what they think smacks of fundamentalism and a simplistic reading of the Gospel.

Actually, I think it is a very good question, a proper and even an easy question to ask. It is, however, not such an easy question to answer, or to hear the answer Jesus might make.

Peter’s question to Jesus is a version of “WWJD.” Just how far should my forgiveness go when someone has really been bad to me? What would you do, Jesus?

As is the case with many of the parables in Matthew, Jesus tells a story to illustrate his position. The story comes from one world – the everyday world of economics, of right and wrong, of do’s and don’ts – but the meaning of the story lies in quite a different world, the world of unlimited, abundant, overflowing, embarrassing, foolish mercy and grace. The master is willing to forgive every last cent of debt owed him by the slave, but the slave does not learn this lesson well. This time, the master’s mercy turns to wrath. If Jesus is the master, we can then understand what Jesus would do when asked to forgive: he would forgive abundantly. It seems pretty clear that the one forgiven should also do as Jesus did: forgive the debts owed him. What does Jesus do then? I’m afraid it’s not a pretty picture.

There’s another slogan that’s popular in some Episcopal circles: “It’s not about rules; it’s about relationships.” This came from the Episcopal student community at Washington University, in St. Louis, and was the product of some intense discussion or retreat they had on the gospel. It’s a version of “What would Jesus do?” When given a choice, they would say, Jesus would choose the relationships over the rules. Forgiveness is more important than the amount of debt owed. The sabbath is made for man, not man for the sabbath. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

What would Jesus do? It’s a very good question. The answers, however, I think come not from rules but from relationships. The answers are best formulated in a community, in the push and pull of friendships and commitments, where what we think is the “right” answer is challenged by someone else’s opposite version of the “right” answer. 

What would Jesus do about global debt forgiveness? What would Jesus do about same sex marriage? What would Jesus do about racism? I might think I have the answer, but I just might learn more about what Jesus would do from the answer you have, or from the opinion you have formed from reading the gospel, or from the facts you bring to the table.

What a value, then, to a church as a diverse community, a place where the tough questions Jesus raises can be tossed around and debated from different points of view – to be a place where all of us can ask those questions and hear some answers, in the context of our conversations, our relationships, our listening to not only what Jesus would do but what Jesus would have us do.

What are the BEST things that have happened to you here?

Proper 18A     Sept. 7, 2014

Exodus 12:10-14

Psalm 149

Romans 13:8-14

Matthew 18:15-20

Let’s look at this gospel as an ASPIRATIONAL mission statement for the church. It is a remarkable person, with enormous spiritual depth and maturity, who can actually live out what Jesus seems to be commanding all of us to do. Conflict between individuals, within families, among groups like congregations, at workplaces, or on the world stage – it happens all the time, and not to put too fine a point on it, but conflict is really hard to resolve. In all of those places, we have to ask, is trust really and truly present? Do the parties to those conflicts – between individuals, within families, among like-minded groups like congregations, at workplaces or on the world stage – do those people have enough trust in the other party to believe that he or she really will do what they promise, to resolve the conflict?

If we read Paul’s letter to the Romans, or listen to John Lennon and Paul McCartney, then we know the answer: love is all you need. Love, love, love. True. Love is the lubricant that makes all of this work. But love is a complicated thing. First and foremost, it is a gift from God, and so freely given and not something “earned.” But as any marriage counselor will tell you, love is also something that requires some work: intention, will, deep listening, a receptive heart, a desire to make it grow. And so we can also read what Paul writes as another “aspirational” mission statement: “The commandments … are summed up in this word, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”

What is the VISION of the church, of this church, of any church, of the whole world wide body of Christ? You could come up with any number of things, but this one – “Love your neighbor as yourself” – could be probably as comprehensive a one as there is. So let’s just take a few seconds and go there in our minds. Let us imagine what that would be, if we, as individuals, as members of families, as members of this congregation, of our wider community and of the world, loved our neighbors as ourselves. Think about it.

So how does that “loving your neighbor” you were just thinking about connect with this, the mission statement of St. David’s Church? What is the work behind the love?

This week the vestry will use this mission statement as a focus for our reflection and planning. The program year is beginning, with a stewardship campaign coming up soon, an array of concerts, service opportunities, times we can enjoy each other’s company, all in the works. So this is the time to reflect on our vision – what is God calling us to be? – and our mission – what is God calling us to do in this place?

Let’s spend some time thinking about this connection between vision – loving our neighbors – and mission – what we do in this place. Take a few minutes now to jot down your thoughts. These notes won’t be published – names aren’t needed – but they will be shared at the vestry retreat. This is not a survey; it’s an opportunity to tell a little story. Also, we will not have tons of time to do this – we’re doing it right now, and write what you want, how much you want – it’s not an exam – and not a take-home! But I hope you keep with you, in your head and heart, your thoughts about this connection between loving our neighbors and what we do here, as the body of Christ.

(Go to this link to answer these questions, anonymously, and add your thoughts to our vestry retreat.)

• Best Experience: Reflect on your entire experience with St. David’s. Recall a time when you felt most alive, most involved, spiritually touched, or most excited about your involvement here. Describe in some detail this one memorable experience. What made it an exciting experience? Who was involved? Describe how you felt. Describe what you did as a result of the experience.

• How has Jesus statement of the great commandment, to love our neighbors as ourselves, become real here at St. David’s? Again, describe one experience, if possible, in each of these mission areas:
• supportive of each other
• music and the arts
• spiritual growth
• community service

Burning Bushes and Carried Crosses

Proper 17 A     August 31, 2014

Exodus 3:1-15

Psalm 105:1-6, 23-26, 45c

Matthew 16:21-28

Labor Day weekend. With the end of the summer upon us, no one wants to think too hard. The State Fair, family gatherings, school starting, just sitting in one’s one back yard, strolling along the lake front, taking a drive in the country, can be enough of a blessing, enough of a way to praise God for the beauties of the world we inhabit. “Take up your cross?” That is pretty far away from where we want to be just now.

Two articles on life in retirement caught my eye in the newspaper this weekend. Maybe because it is Labor Day weekend the editors surmise we are all thinking about what we might do when we stop laboring. The two articles profiled the opposite of the post-laboring life. One group of people sold their homes and all of their possessions to live nomadic lives: some as full-time volunteers in places of need – building houses, disaster relief, environmental conservation; others just travel, tenting (can you imagine retirement-age tenting?) or renting a home in some faraway place for months at a time. In the other article, the author talked about a simpler, and just as happy retirement. For a certain kind of person, the ultimate luxury is the ability to spend the day in a library. As the reporter – a financial reporter! – wrote:

My work brings me joy. But as I looked around at the older patrons especially, I was overcome by a single emotion: jealousy. It had been too long since I’d sampled the simple but profound pleasure of losing myself in the stacks. I wanted to feel it again.[i]

To talk about retirement as the simple life is not just about sour grapes, meaning these people who spend their days in public libraries are just too poor to do anything else. If they’d really been smart they’d have enough resources to spend months hiking the Great Wall of China. That is not the point. Different things – interests, challenges, abilities – come to us at different times in our lives. We may hear Jesus say, “Take up your cross,” but that cross may be a different one today, than it was when we were 20.

When we are young, we have a lot going on in ourselves. Adventure suits us. It is part of the process of figuring out who we are and what God is calling us to be. Look at Moses. He is in the prime of young adulthood. Like a lot of young men, he was caught up in some bad activity and chose to run away rather than face the consequences. Remember the baby in the bulrushes from last week? He grew up to be a privileged son of Pharoah’s household. But when he recognized himself among the Hebrew slaves being beaten, he killed an Egyptian and ran away, hoping, no doubt, for the safer and simpler life of a shepherd. But God had other plans for this young man, even if it took setting a bush on fire to get his attention.

Later in life, however, that challenge from God takes a different form. Even Moses slowed down. By the time he got to the Promised Land, he was only able to look across and see it. But maybe for Moses that seeing, that contemplating, that simpler way of engaging with God’s promise was enough. Even though he “only” saw the Promised Land, he was nonetheless fully there.

God keeps coming after us. We hear that challenge from Jesus to follow him, to lose our lives, to take up our crosses all the time. Sometimes, God calls us to move whole nations, burning bushes in our faces all the time. At other times, God challenges us just to sit still: to browse, to think, maybe even to pray. Even in the simple life we have crosses to bear. Even in the simple life, God urges us to draw closer to glory in the kingdom of God.

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[i] Ron Lieber http://www.nytimes.com/2014/08/30/your-money/affixing-more-value-to-the-ordinary-experiences-of-life.html?ref=business&_r=0