“Lord, Save Us!” A Sermon for the Sunday after Charlottesville

I am struggling. I am afraid.

As I’ve watched events unfold this week, I’ve struggled to make sense of it all. I’ve struggled to find a way from our world and our lives into the gospel. It’s not that the gospel doesn’t speak to our situation. It most certainly does. it’s that the situation keeps changing and each day brings new horrors, new fears, new challenges. In this week when we observed the 72nd anniversary of the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, we seem to be on the brink of nuclear war—closer to that catastrophe than at any time since the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962. All week, I kept thinking back to what it was like for me as a student in West Germany in 1979-1980; where scars from World War II were still present, and all around were reminders of the threat of catastrophic, nuclear war.

By the end of the week, the president was threatening to go to war with Venezuela.

We learned this week that 2016 was the hottest year in the recorded history of our planet.

This weekend we have witnessed in Charlottesville the hatred and violence unleashed by white supremacists, emboldened by a national culture that seems unwilling to name and reject hate and white supremacy. We have seen a young woman murdered by one of the white supremacist protesters. Views that might have been unthinkable a decade ago have become mainstream, and people who hold those views are embedded at the heart of our political and civic culture. While I was heartened to see the Episcopal bishops of the Diocese of Virginia and other priests, among whom several I know personally, standing witness against that violence and hatred, the reality is that many, too many, white Christians equate Christianity with whiteness, white supremacy, and with American nationalism. These are sins we need to call out and name as evil. While it is easy to point fingers at others, it is important that we examine ourselves, to see where those views are embedded in our selves. Continue reading

Being Transfiguration in a time of violence: A Sermon for the Feast of the Transfiguration, 2017

Today, August 6, in the church’s calendar is the Feast of the Transfiguration. It’s one of the major feasts of the life of Christ and because of that, when it falls on a Sunday, it supersedes the regular lectionary readings for the day. That explains why we are reading lessons from Exodus, 1 Peter, and the Gospel of Luke, rather than the Gospel of Matthew and the readings from Genesis and Romans we’ve been having.

It creates something of a problem for the preacher because there’s another Sunday each year when we always hear the story of the Transfiguration, the Last Sunday after Epiphany (the Sunday before Ash Wednesday). So it was only a few months ago that we heard Matthew’s version of this story. That we read this story each year on the last Sunday before the beginning of Lent is appropriate because the themes of this story are a fitting transition between the season after Epiphany and the beginning of Lent and reflect the story’s position in each of the synoptic gospels. It comes immediately after Peter confesses Jesus to be the Christ, after Jesus’ first prediction that he will be crucified and his invitation to his disciples to take up their crosses and follow him. Luke deepens the connection between transfiguration by stating, just a few verses later, that Jesus “set his face to go to Jerusalem.” In other words, after this mountaintop experience, Jesus begins his final journey that will end on another mountaintop—Calvary—with his crucifixion.

There’s another detail in the story that points ahead to the crucifixion. There’s only one other time that Luke says the disciples fell asleep. On that later occasion, as he faced crucifixion, Jesus asked his disciples to stay and watch with him while he prayed. Luke tells us that after praying, Jesus came back to them and found them sleeping, “because of grief.” This time, the disciples were “weighed down with sleep but they stayed awake and saw his glory and the two men who stood with him.”

Whatever positive spin we might put on the disciples’ behavior here is likely negated by Peter’s response to seeing Jesus with Moses and Elijah. He says, “Master, it is good for us to be here. Let us make booths…” No doubt, you’ve heard sermons criticizing Peter’s response, his lack of understanding, his desire to prolong the experience. But there other ways to think about it. “Booths” is an allusion to the Jewish Feast of Sukkot or Tabernacles, which was in part a commemoration of the Hebrew experience of the Exodus.

And there are all sorts of echoes of Exodus here. Not just in the presence of Moses, the location on a mountaintop. There is also the presence of the cloud and the bright light, which were associated with experiences of divine revelation, including at Mt. Sinai. The word “Exodus” also appears, in Luke’s description of what Jesus talked about with Moses and Elijah—his “departure”—the same Greek word, eksodon is used. In the Hebrew Bible and the Jewish tradition, “exodus is one of the primary examples of God’s mighty acts on behalf of God’s chosen people, and it’s likely that Luke wants his readers to understand Jesus’ departure or exodus in similar terms, as God saving God’s people.

It may be, then, that Peter’s desire to erect booths is not an example of his misunderstanding, but that he wants to worship in this place, to be present with Jesus here, to learn from all three of these men. While the primary point of this story is about Jesus, a confirmation of his ministry, his calling, his identity as the Son of God, the Chosen One, this story may also be about discipleship, about following Jesus.

Jesus took his three favorite disciples, in Luke, the first three disciples he called, Peter, James, and John, up this mountain to pray. They had been with him all along his journey. They had seen his miracles, listened to his teaching, his first prediction of his suffering and death, and his call to them to take up their crosses and follow him. Now on top of this mountain, they saw his glory and wanted to prolong it. Whatever it meant, whatever they experienced, there was more to do; they could not tarry, but the four of them went back down the mountain and soon began that last, fateful trip to Jerusalem. And they kept silent about all that they had seen that day.

We, all of us, are called to follow Jesus. We are called to be his disciples. In our complicated world, with our complicated lives, it’s never quite clear what discipleship means. Is it enough to come to church from time to time and worship, to experience the beauty of God, to catch sight of God’s glory, if only momentarily and partially? I was speaking this week with an elderly couple who are unable, because of health issues to attend Grace. They expressed their deep sadness about missing services, for it was not just the community they lacked, it is the experience of awe and transcendence that they miss, and can find in no other place in their lives.

Worship, the experience of God’s glory is an important part of following Jesus but there is more to discipleship than that. When Jesus came down the mountain, he returned immediately to his ministry of teaching and healing, of proclaiming and bringing into being, the reign of God. And that is precisely what we are called to do as well. Our experience of God’s glory transforms us as well as we do those same things proclaiming the coming of God’s reign, and in our actions and lives, being agents and examples of God’s glory in the world.

The mount of Calvary looms over the mountain of Transfiguration; the cross casts its shadow on Christ’s transfigured face. Our observance of the Feast of Transfiguration occurs in a divided city that has experienced unprecedented violence in recent months. We have seen, as I’m sure you know, 10 homicides already this year, tying the record for the most murders in a year in Madison. Our city is more divided than ever. Our elected leadership is quarreling over what to do in response to this crisis and community leaders are frustrated and angry. Meanwhile, residents of the neighborhoods most affected by the violence are living in fear everyday and mourning the deaths of friends and family.

We, most of us, watch the news reports, read about them in the papers or on social media, but few of us have experienced the ripples of that violence ourselves. Oh, we may know where the events occurred, we may have stopped at the gas stations or convenience stores where incidents took place, we may even live within earshot. But most of us live in a completely different world. There’s a map on Madison.com that plots all of the significant incidents of gun violence in the city since May. Only one of the some 50 total occurred in the downtown, near westside or near eastside. It’s another piece of evidence showing how divided our city is.

As followers of Jesus, called to share the good news of the coming of God’s reign, called to break down the barriers that divide us, we are called to be agents of Christ’s reconciling love in this world. A group of us, the Creating More Just Community task force, has been engaging on issues of racism and inequality for the last several years. We are working on a new initiative to build relationships with our neighbors across the street at the Capitol, and shared information about that effort with you last week.

Now, I am calling us to engage in that reconciling work in our city. The violence we are witnessing is a symptom of something much deeper, of hopelessness and despair, of broken families, broken lives. In the coming weeks, I will be taking part in conversations with clergy and community leaders to see how we at Grace can work with others to heal our divisions, to bring an end to violence, and to spread the glory of Christ’s love in our city.

 

The Parable of the Weed and the Mulch: A sermon for Proper 10, Year A, 2016

Many of you know that my wife and I are avid gardeners. . We took all of the grass out of our backyard some years ago and planted trees, shrubs, perennials. I made a rock path a few years ago. It’s beautiful but it takes a great deal of work and while I find the work relaxing, it can also be exhausting.

This year, between the wet spring, late Easter, and our vacation, we didn’t really get out into it to work until the end of June. Those of you who are gardeners can imagine the horrors we encountered. Overrun with weeds and mosquitoes, we’ve been spending all of our free time in it. I had eight yards of mulch delivered the Friday before the 4th and finally it looks like I’ll be done spreading it by next weekend. Continue reading

A discipleship of rest: A Sermon for Proper 9, Year A, 2017

I’ve been doing something in our Sunday services these past few weeks that professors of preaching and liturgical scholars tell preachers not to do. The rule is, always preach the gospel. Well, rules are meant to be broken and there are very good reasons for breaking them. Those of you who have been around here a while know that I usually do preach on the appointed gospel text although some of you will remember many times when I’ve done otherwise. For example, three years ago, when we last had these lectionary readings, I spent most of the summer focusing on Paul’s letter to the Romans. Curiously, I’ve never had anyone ask me for more of that. Continue reading

God tested Abraham: A Sermon for Proper8, Year A 2016

Marc Chagall, The Sacrifice of Isaac, 1966

We’ve been reading the story of Abraham these past few weeks, and today we hear the most dramatic episode in his story. Indeed, this may be one of the most dramatic stories in all of scripture. It confronts us with a horrific dilemma and its implications concerning God’s nature and the nature of the relationship between human beings and God, the nature of faith, are deeply unsettling. Continue reading

Hagar’s Tears: A Sermon for Proper 7, Year A 2016

When the water in the skin was gone, she cast the child under one of the bushes. Then she went and sat down opposite him a good way off, about the distance of a bowshot; for she said, “Do not let me look on the death of the child.” And as she sat opposite him, she lifted up her voice and wept.” Genesis 21: 15-16

These verses, from Genesis 21, our reading from the Hebrew Bible this morning, are terrifying and heartbreaking. They tell the story of a mother at wit’s end, facing the death of her beloved child, and her own death. She is hopeless and in despair. And in her situation, she is like so many others in our world, victims of violence and oppression abandoned by their families, their society, their fellow humans. Hagar is like all of the refugees in the world, looking for a safe place to live. She is like all the mothers in the world, searching for food and water for herself and her children. She is like the millions in our nation who are staring at a future with no safety net, no healthcare, no hope. Continue reading

Ordinary Time: A Sermon for Proper 6, Year A, 2017

Today marks an important transition in our liturgical calendar, marked by the change in colors. We are now in the long season of green, the season after Pentecost which will continue right through into the last Sundays of November. There’s a shift in emphasis as well. The liturgical year begins with the Season of Advent, a time of preparation and waiting the commemoration of the birth of Jesus, and from that point on, we follow, roughly, the life of Jesus, remembering his baptism, his death and resurrection. Now, we are focusing on Jesus’ teaching and ministry. We are finally returning to the Gospel of Matthew and for the next five months we will hear stories taken from Jesus’ preaching and miracles. The Roman Catholic Church calls this season “Ordinary Time.” In this case, ordinary doesn’t mean normal as opposed to special or extraordinary; rather it stands for ordered, or numbered, time. Still, it’s a term I love because there is a sense that the season in which we find ourselves now provides us an opportunity to reflect what it means to follow Jesus in our daily lives, rather than focusing on the events of Jesus’ life.

In that sense, our gospel reading is particularly important as we begin this season. It’s the story of Jesus sending out his disciples on his behalf. More about that in a bit. First, I would like to take some time to introduce the Hebrew Bible reading.

Today’s lesson from the Hebrew Bible is drawn from the stories of Abraham. You may remember that God called Abram to leave his parents and his home to go the land of Canaan, which God promised Abram would become his possession. Today’s reading takes place 25 years later. Abraham and Sarah have been in Canaan all of that time. God has promised Abraham that he will possess the land of Canaan and that he will be the father of a great nation. Just before today’s reading, God had again promised Abraham that he would father a son with Sara; when he heard this, Abraham laughed. In today’s reading, of course, Sarah laughs when she hears the same words.

There are profound mysteries in the stories of Abraham and Sarah in the Hebrew Bible. The Bible presents Abraham and Sarah to us as the parents of the Hebrew people, the ancestors of Judaism, and as Paul would have at, the progenitors of our faith as well. But the stories themselves raise more questions than they answer. One of the most obvious is raised in the text by Sarah herself: Can an old woman give birth to a son? Her barrenness is a theme that will continue for the wives of Abraham’s son and grandson—Isaac’s wife Rebekah, and Jacob’s wives Leah and Rachel, all suffered, at various times, from barrenness. It is a theme that is meant to underscore the miraculous nature of these births—that they were not simply a product of nature, but of God’s acting on behalf of God’s servants.

But there is more to this story than a prediction of Isaac’s birth, and of Sarah’s laughter. There is another enigma. Why is it three men that appear to Abraham? That the story begins in this way: “The Lord appeared to Abraham … he looked up and saw three men standing near him.” Christians have interpreted this to be a reference to the Trinity—we’ve reproduced Rublev’s famous icon of the trinity on the front page of the service bulletin. It’s a depiction of this very scene.

It is only in the course of the story, after the meal, that it becomes clear one of the men is no man at all, it is God, Yahweh. God’s first unmistakable act in the story is to chastise Sarah for laughing at the prediction of Isaac’s birth. This is not the end of the story, however. The three men separate, two of them make their way to Sodom, where Abraham’s nephew Lot will encounter them, and just as his uncle did, will invite them into his home and offer them a meal. The third, who now is clearly God, tarries for a time with Abraham. God tells Abraham that he intends to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, and Abraham bargains with him.

These stories of the patriarchs—we’ll be reading them all summer and fall, are not primarily history. Scholars debate whether there are any historical figures or events underlying them and there are plenty of anachronisms and other problems with them to call them into question. They are first and foremost stories that the people of Israel told themselves to explain who they were and who their God is, stories of God’s faithfulness and God’s choosing them, and God’s blessing of them. But they are also stories that explain the character of Israel as a people. Abraham and Sarah both laughed when God promised them a son in their old age, and just a few verses later, we will see Abraham bargaining with God over the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah.

God’s call. We something of the same theme in the gospel story. As I said earlier, this is a good story to bring us back to the gospel of Matthew and to re-start our engagement with that gospel after the season of Easter. We are provided a summary of Jesus’ ministry, a recap, if you will:

Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues, and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and curing every disease and every sickness. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd

Matthew tells us that Jesus “had compassion” for the crowds; the Greek implies he felt it down in his gut. His commissioning of the disciples is an extension of his own ministry. It is a response to the need he perceives. The commissioning extends Jesus’ ministry and authority to the disciples. There’s something of an irony here. Jesus tells his disciples to pray for laborers to go out into the harvest, but then he sends the twelve out themselves. In other words, they themselves are the ones for whom they are praying. Jesus commands them to do exactly what Matthew has just told us he has done: proclaim the good news that the reign of God has come near; cure the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out demons. The only difference is that Jesus told them to do their work only among fellow Jews (that is important for the gospel—at the very end of course, Jesus will command them to go into all the world, making disciples of every nation).

We are in ordinary time—this term has a particular resonance for me as this is my first Sunday back after four weeks of an extraordinary vacation, during which I thought little about the challenges facing our globe, our nation, our city, our church. But those challenges remain—gun violence, climate change, racism, and another reminder of the systemic oppression and violence faced by African-Americans with the acquittal of the police officer who shot Philando Castile.

Ordinary time—it is a time for us to hear God’s call to us, as God called to Abraham; a time for us to see the need in the world as Jesus did, to have the compassion Jesus had. It is a time to pray for laborers, to be those laborers. It is a time to accept his call to us, his sending us out, to proclaim the good news that God’s reign is near; to heal the sick and broken-hearted, to work for justice and peace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Community of Awe and Wonder: A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday after Easter

Today after our 10:00 service, you are invited to join the Outreach Committee in the Guild Hall for a presentation of its work over the last year and an opportunity for you to help shape the future outreach programs of Grace Church. In a way, this is another moment in a long conversation we’ve been having at Grace. We’ve been asking similar questions in different ways over the years as we seek to respond to our mission to be the church on Madison’s Capitol Square, to share the good news of Jesus Christ and to share his love in our community and the world. Today’s conversation, while focused on outreach, is part of the longer conversation that included the master-planning process. Ours is also one tiny conversation in a much larger conversation across the Episcopal Church and across Christianity throughout this nation as we discern our way forward in this uncertain age. Continue reading

My Lord and My God: A Sermon for the Second Sunday of Easter, 2017

 

Today, Grace Church is participating again in the second annual Doors Open Madison, a city-wide open house that offers the community the opportunity to explore some of Madison’s signature buildings. It’s a great opportunity for us at Grace—free publicity. It’s likely that including today, last Sunday, which was Easter, and services this week that included a funeral and a wedding, we could expect to have 1500 people enter our space in that time. Continue reading