Monthly Archives: October 2024

Seeing Blindly: A Sermon for Proper 25B, 2024

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Blind Bartimaeus

                                            Proper 25, Year B

October 25, 2015

         Well, the election is a little over a week away, and I doubt any of us is able to focus on anything else. It seems like the future of our nation, the globe, indeed human life itself may hang in the balance and with an uncertain outcome, it may be days or weeks before we know the final results. It’s a tough place to be, as individuals, a community, a nation, when it seems like we’ve been through this so many times before, and each time, the stakes seem much higher, the consequences more dire.

So it may be hard for us to push all that out of our hearts and minds for an hour or so this morning and focus our attention on scripture, the worship of God, fellowship with each other. We are reaching a climax in the gospel of Mark as well, as we draw near to the end of the liturgical year, and draw near to the end of our reading of the Gospel. 

As apprehensive and worried we may be, it might be worth reflecting on what Jesus and the disciples were feeling in today’s gospel. They were nearing the end of their journey to Jerusalem. Jericho is only some fifteen miles away; it was the last leg of the journey for most pilgrims. As it was nearing the Passover, the roads, and the inns would have been filled with pilgrims and with excitement. For the disciples and the crowd following Jesus, that excitement must have been even more intense as they anticipated whatever would happen next. They were nervous, excited, apprehensive.

As we have seen, Jesus had made a series of predictions about what would happen when he arrived in Jerusalem: that he would be arrested, flogged, crucified, and that he would rise again on the third day. We have also seen that the disciples weren’t quite clued into what was going to happen. They probably thought that they were going to Jerusalem to confront the authorities and perhaps usher in God’s kingdom, in their thinking, throwing off the yoke of Rome and restoring the monarchy of Israel. So this was the culmination of all Jesus had been talking about all those weeks and months, and the culmination of all of the dreams and hopes of the disciples.

As they make their way, once again, Jesus and his disciples are distracted from their purpose by someone seeking their help. On the surface it might seem like a simple healing story.

Jesus encounters a blind man who asks him for help. He restores his sight and goes on his way. It’s like so many other healing stories, in Mark and in the other gospels.

But wait! Let’s pause a moment and look it at it a bit more closely because this is Mark, and nothing is quite ever what it seems. In a simple story like this, Mark has packed layers upon layers of meaning. Let’s start with its location, both textually and geographically. First of all textually. It comes at the very end of Jesus’ long journey to Jerusalem. Jericho is 16 miles from Jerusalem, and this is the last thing that Mark mentions before Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem.

Secondly, this healing story takes places at the end of a long section in which Jesus talks extensively about his imminent crucifixion and resurrection, and what it means to follow him. This long section begins with another healing story, also of a blind man. In that earlier story, the healing took place in two stages. First, Jesus smeared saliva on his hands and placed them on the man’s eyes. The man could see but only indistinctly. So Jesus put his hands on the man again, and this time he was healed completely. It’s worth pointing out that in our story, Jesus spoke and the man was healed.

There’s one more connection I would like to point out. When the blind man encounters Jesus, he cries out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Remember the last two stories we read, stories that immediately precede this one. The rich man approached Jesus and said, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Later, James and John had a of Jesus, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” The young man said; “What must I do; James and John, “Give us something; Bartimaeus cried out, “Help me.” 

The young man, though Jesus loved him, turned away, for he had many possessions. James and John, though they had followed Jesus from Galilee, didn’t understand who Jesus was or what it truly meant to be his disciple. Bartimaeus cried out for Jesus, but was silenced, until Jesus himself took notice and told them to call Bartimaeus to him. When he heard that Jesus called for him, he sprang up, leaving his cloak behind and went to him. Unlike the young rich man, Bartimaeus left his possessions behind to follow him. And unlike every other person who was healed in Mark’s gospel, Bartimaeus continued following him; he didn’t go back home to his loved ones.  

Like so many other stories in this section of Mark’s gospel, this is a story at least partly about discipleship, about following Jesus. We have seen failed disciples, who saw everything Jesus did, heard everything he said, and didn’t understand. We see would-be disciples who turn away, even though Jesus loved them, because the cost of following him was too high. We also see Bartimaeus, who, though he couldn’t see, recognized Jesus for who he was, “Son of David,” and asked only of Jesus, “Have mercy on me!” “Help me.” It was he who left everything behind and followed Jesus.

“Son of David”-it’s a title we haven’t seen before used of Jesus in the gospel of Mark. The use of Davidic and monarchic imagery will become much clearer in the next episode in the gospel—the so-called triumphal entry into Jerusalem when the crowds wave palm branches and shout “Hosanna.” It’s worth noting though, that we see something of the subversion of that royal imagery in Bartimaeus’ call: “Have on mercy on me!” appealing to Jesus’ compassion, not his political power.

I find so much power in this story, power that translates to our own lives and our own struggles. We cannot see; we are blind. Perhaps like the twelve or like the young man, we are blind to Jesus, blind to Jesus’ love. Perhaps we have no idea what to say or do; so caught up in our own struggles, our uncertainty, despair, or sin. But if we can cry out, “Jesus, have mercy on me; Jesus, help me” recognizing that our own efforts will come to nothing, that our hearts are empty until we receive Jesus’ love and mercy, perhaps if we ask him for help, we may find the joy that allows us to spring up and follow him; perhaps we will find the help and healing we need. 

As we go through the next week and a half, full of anxiety and fear, watching the hateful rhetoric that surrounds us, the calls to deport millions of our neighbors, and calls for retribution against one’s political opponents—and all of it couched in language and imagery of Christianity, we may feel impotent and hopeless, seeing the values we thought our nation and our faith stood for crumbling before our eyes. Our feeble efforts may seem of little use against the purveyors of hatred and the power of billionaires. But like blind Bartimaeus, in our blindness, we may see what others do not see. We may see Jesus, and cry out to him: “Have mercy on us!”

Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on us!

Coming out on the Journey: A Sermon for Proper 24B, 2024

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This past Sunday, we observed “Coming Out Sunday.” Here’s my sermon.

Proper 24B

October 20, 2024

A couple of weeks ago, I had a conversation with a newcomer to Grace. He and his partner are planning a wedding next year and have begun attending as part of their spiritual journey. As we chatted, and as I later reflected on our conversation, I was reminded of the long journey in the Episcopal Church toward full inclusion of LGBTQ+ persons. 

I came into the Episcopal Church in the early 90s, and within a few years was fully immersed in the controversies surrounding the ordination of LGBTQ+ individuals. By 2000, when we were living in South Carolina and in a very difficult place in our journeys, Corrie and I searched for a new church using the list of LGBTQ+-welcoming congregations compiled by Louie Crew and we found a temporary home at All Souls’ Biltmore Village, in Asheville NC. By 2003, I was in the ordination process, and my developing ministry was shaped by the deep division in the church that emerged in the wake of Gene Robinson’s election as Bishop of New Hampshire.

As the church struggled, and divided over the question of LGBTQ+ ordination, and then over same-sex blessings and marriage, the question of full inclusion was a focus of much energy, debate, and anxiety. Here at Grace, after decisions by General Convention to offer liturgies for same-sex blessings, and then marriage, we had lengthy conversations of our own as we discerned our way forward.

But all of that history had receded into the background, not because of its lack of importance, but because the sense of urgency that consumed us for decades seemed to have waned with changing times. There were other concerns, other challenges that we faced, and I think I and the congregation as a whole seemed at peace with our place and had moved onto other issues.

That conversation I mentioned a few minutes ago reminded me of the reality that wherever we are as a church, wherever I am as a priest and pastor, for many other people, the struggle continues; they may still be suffering the pain of exclusion and marginalization, and seeking safe places for healing, communities with which to connect, and a Jesus who welcomes them for who they are and embraces them in their lives, bodies, and sexuality.

And the reality is that the gains that have been over the decades, in our church and in our society, are fragile ones, that even now there are forces that seek to roll back those gains, to force people back into the closet. We have often heard the phrase: “The arc of the universe bends towards justice” but just now, it seems it may be bending back toward injustice and hate. It’s important, too, to name the reality that among the institutions that have been most opposed to the full inclusion of LGBTQ+ persons are Christian churches. Too many people have been deeply hurt by the rejection they have received from churches, the hate and enmity.

So for us at Grace to observe Coming Out Sunday is a small gesture to show the community that we are different: that we welcome all people, regardless of their gender or sexuality and that we seek to create a safe space where they can thrive and flourish, a space where they can experience the love, grace, and mercy of Jesus Christ and share that same love, grace, and mercy with others.

And so we offer space to those on journeys, space for renewal and rest, space for discovery and growth, space to experience God. But our journeys may not end here; and the journey of the church hasn’t ended. We are on a journey with Jesus.

So too were the disciples. We have had a lot to say about geography in the Gospel of Mark over the last couple of months. We saw Jesus teaching and healing in Galilee, his home territory, and going across the Jordan to Gentile territory; over to the west to the Mediterranean coast, and to Caesarea Philippi, all Gentile regions. But now he has on his final journey to Jerusalem and along the way, he tells his disciples what will happen to him there. Three times, he predicts his crucifixion and resurrection. The lectionary omitted the third prediction, which immediately precedes today’s gospel reading: 

32 They were on the road, going up to Jerusalem, and Jesus was walking ahead of them; they were amazed, and those who followed were afraid. He took the twelve aside again and began to tell them what was to happen to him, 33saying, ‘See, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the Gentiles; 34they will mock him, and spit upon him, and flog him, and kill him; and after three days he will rise again.’

Jesus says all this, and two of his closest friends, James and John, decide that now is the time for them to make their request of Jesus. they’ve been with him from the very beginning, they were there at the Transfiguration when they saw Jesus in white clothes walking with Moses and Elijah. And now, they take Jesus aside.

It’s easy to imagine. Jesus has already separated the twelve out from the somewhat larger group of men and women who have been following him from Galilee, and now James and John find a way to separate Jesus from the rest of the group. They approach him somewhat obsequiously, tentatively: “Jesus, we have something we’d like to ask you.” He humors them, and then they blurt it out: “We want to be right next to you, on your left and right hand, when you come into your glory.”

You can see how problematic this request was by the way James and John approached Jesus, and by the reaction of the other disciples when they heard Jesus’ response. The Gospel of Matthew goes a step further. Matthew was so bothered by the question that he had James and John’s mother make the request. 

This is one of those moments in the Gospel of Mark that is full of meaning and can be understood only in light of the gospel as a whole. Even as Jesus’ response points ahead to the events that will occur in Jerusalem, careful attention to them will find resonances elsewhere in the gospel. James and John ask to be at Jesus’ right and left hand when he comes into his glory. What does “glory” mean here? The disciples are thinking of military and political triumph, but Jesus has in mind his crucifixion and resurrection.

We may look at James and John in this story, wondering how they could be so stupid, so self-centered, so oblivious to what Jesus is talking about, but let’s be honest with ourselves and with the text—Jesus is saying some difficult things, and we’ve all been in positions similar to that of the two disciples, involved in organizations, jockeying for position, looking for how we might get ahead. If we’re the insiders, like James and John, we want to take advantage of it.

There’s a lot of talk about “privilege” these days, and the backlash we’re seeing to the challenges to privilege—whether it’s diversity efforts in universities, government, or business, or marginalized communities like the LGBTQ+ claiming their voices, demanding full inclusion—all of that is challenging our place, our protected status as insiders and gatekeepers. We may even wonder whether in our culture, in our church, we are the ones exercising tyranny through our actions and words.

But the community that Jesus is calling into being, this community on a journey with him to Jerusalem, is just the opposite. It is a community based not on privilege, or status, on gender, or class or race, or sexuality. It is a community where status is reversed, where the master becomes the servant, where the vulnerable are embraced; the marginalized become the center. As we observe this Coming Out Sunday, may we envision and realize that new community.

Let the little children and the animals come to me: A sermon for Proper22B, 2024

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Proper 22B

October 6, 2024

Today is our annual Blessing of the Animals. We usually do it on the first Sunday in October, the closest Sunday to October 4, the Feast of St. Francis. It’s an appropriate time to do it as St. Francis was known in his own day as someone who loved animals—he is said to have preached to the birds and tamed the wolf of Gubbio. He had a deep love of the created world and is regarded as a patron saint of environmentalism—worth remembering in these days of drastic climate change and the forces unleashed on the world by our exploitation and abuse of the natural world. 

It may seem a bit odd that we have these scripture readings before us on this day when we have pets in our midst, distracting us from the texts. But I like to worship with our pets on this day, because for those of us who share our lives with animals, our relationships with them are deep and meaningful and they are often avenues through which we experience and share God’s love.

In fact, I think the readings do point us toward the created world. It’s not just the section of the reading from Genesis which on the surface connects to Jesus’ sayings in the gospel reading concerning marriage and divorce. It’s all of it. We might be distracted as we read or listen this version of the creation story, questions might arise in our minds about its historical veracity or patriarchal assumptions, or whether non-traditional forms of marriage are sanctioned But think about the humor in it—God seems to be rather bumbling, doesn’t he, and it’s a he in this text. God wants to make a partner for the man because it is not good for him to be alone, but he can’t figure out what sort of partner would be appropriate—so he makes all of the animals, each time falling short of his goal. 

But think about that for a moment. One of the text’s assumptions is that we are to be in relationship with animals, not just a relationship of dominion and exploitation but of mutuality.

And when it comes to Jesus’ sayings on divorce, which may hit us hard if we or those we love have been affected by divorce. For we know that sometimes, divorce is necessary; that it’s the only answer, even that it is the only way for one spouse to survive. But still to hear a saying of Jesus like this may fill us with guilt. But think about it another way. What Jesus is contrasting is the reality of human life with what God intended for us in creation, to be with someone in a relationship of mutuality and love—of course human sin and brokenness makes such relationships difficult, as it makes all of human life difficult. We experience the vast chasm between the reality of our lives, and the vision of creation offered in scripture.

In a sense, Torah, the law was an attempt to make allowances for all the ways in which human beings fall short of the created order as established by God. That’s certainly the case with the instructions concerning divorce. There’s one important thing to note here, however. In Jesus’ rewording of the instructions concerning divorce, he gives women agency: “If a man divorces his wife and marries another, he commits adultery; and if a woman divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.” There is no such provision for women in the Mosaic law—only men can divorce their wives. 

In other words, while continuing to make room for divorce in the fallen world, Jesus is calling his disciples to a different vision of justice, a world in which human beings are invited to enter into relationships with each other and with God that are grounded in equality and mutuality.

We see something of that same vision in the following verses. As Jesus welcomes a child into his arms, rebuking his disciples for seeking to erect a barrier to this new community, he is challenging all of us to embrace a vision of community that is fully inclusive and welcoming of all human beings, and perhaps, all creation.

But Jesus’ proclamation of the reign of God is calling us back to that vision of creation. And it’s not just about marriage and divorce—in creation, there was no property, no exploitation, no hierarchy. So too, in the reign of God. 

We often catch fleeting glimpses of that vision in our lives and world today. In the coming together after natural disasters as strangers help each other; in the radical welcome at God’s table, in the selfless love of a pet for their person. I caught a glimpse of that vision yesterday at our diocesan convention. The fact of reunification itself is a sign of God’s reign—the putting aside of petty differences, the comforts of the past, to embark on something new, building relationships with strangers, discerning together the future of the Episcopal Church in our state. And in the midst of a service that installed Bishop Gunter as the Bishop of a reunited Diocese of Wisconsin, he laid his hands on a bible published in 1820, given by Bishop Onderdonk of New York to the Oneida Episcopalians who were being forced from their homes in New York and traveled across the country to Wisconsin, where they became the first Episcopalians in what would become our state and our diocese. With that history of oppression and violence, loss of homes and culture, those Episcopalians preserved that bible down to the present day, a symbol of their faith, and their hope that they would be embraced fully as Americans and as Christians, and later in that service, as the Te Deum was sung in the Oneida language we embraced that painful history, acknowledging our sins and giving thanks to God for a new beginning and a new opportunity to create a more just church. 

Our gospel reading began with the news that Jesus and his disciples are now in Judea, on that journey to Jerusalem coming ever closer to the cross. The disciples have shown that they don’t know what’s going to happen, they don’t understand what Jesus is talking about when he proclaims the coming of God’s reign—that’s why they sought to exclude children from his presence. But Jesus breaks through those barriers, reaches out to us and to all, embracing us with his love, inspiring us with his vision, calling us to create this new community of love and justice that transforms us, our relationships, and the world.