I thought I would upload my sermon from last week. Since I preached without a text, I’m not sure what I said. Here’s what I meant to say:

This is the first summer in many years that we’ve had so many thunderstorms. It seems like every day there are more warnings and more violent storms in the area. I know many people tend to be a little afraid of storms—there is always the possibility of tornadoes, after all. But for me, the greatest fear is that we will lose our power at home. I hate being stuck in hot weather without air conditioning.

Truth be told, I’ve always loved thunderstorms. Growing up on the flat land of the Midwest, we could watch the storms building and approaching for a long time, or we could watch as the storms went to our north or south and passed us by. Watching thunderclouds build in the distance is an awe-inspiring thing. Summer thunderstorms usually meant that we could run for cover and take a break from work while waiting for the rain to stop. There was that time, though, when we were caught unawares by a storm, as we were putting a metal roof on a barn. Not a wise place to be during a lightning storm.

The gospel story we heard today is one of the most familiar of all, Jesus calming the storm. It is familiar, and for many of us who have a more scientific cast of mind, it is deeply problematic. At the same time, it tugs at our deepest emotional level. Most of us can relate tales of being caught in a storm so strong and dangerous we were concerned for our safety. It may have been in a boat, or on an airplane, or perhaps like mine, on a wet, metal roof, in the middle of a lightning storm. The fears of the disciples are fears that we all have shared. And Jesus’ calming words, “Peace, be still” are the words of a savior who delivers his companions, and us, from great danger.

But there’s more to the story than that, much more. As Shelly Matthews reminded us in her sermon last week, Mark is the least wordy of the gospels, so it’s important to pay close attention when he does provide detail, and pay close attention to how he tells the story. The little things matter a great deal. One of the things that strikes me in Mark’s version of this story is how he depicts Jesus—sleeping on a cushion in the midst of a mighty storm. Mark presents us with an image of Jesus at ease, comfortable, resting, while all around him is struggle, noise, and tumult.

Also of interest is the little point that Mark doesn’t bring up the disciples’ fear until after Jesus calms the storm. Jesus asks the disciples after the coming of dead calm, “Why are you still afraid?” Mark’s telling of the story lets us ask the question: Was it the storm that caused their fear, or was it that Jesus brought the storm to an end? Which power is more frightening, more awesome, the power of a storm or the power of the one who can calm the storm?

There is something of a storm raging in today’s lesson from the Hebrew Bible, as well. It is a storm raging in King Saul. In the lectionary this summer, many of our old testament readings will come from the story of King David. Today’s lesson comes immediately after David killed Goliath and it includes several interesting elements. First is the relationship between David and Jonathan, who is Saul’s son and heir to the throne. The second is the beginning of the rivalry between Saul and David.

Now, it’s important to note that much of the story of the rise of David seems to derive from the court of David, or soon thereafter. As such, it seems to be concerned with legitimating David’s kingship. The details are too complex to go into here, but this episode plays a role in that story. David is shown to be a successful commander and popular with the people. Saul seems to become jealous, is beset by an evil spirit (from God) and raved within his house. He tried to kill David, but was unsuccessful, and as leaders often do with their closest rivals, he sent him away. There is much worthy of comment, but what I find fascinating is the connection with Jesus’ stilling the storm.

As I said, the story of David and Saul is complex on many levels. While everyone knows the story of David and Goliath, most people aren’t familiar with the earlier relationship between Saul and David. David was brought to court as a musician. Saul had already lost God’s favor, he was tormented by that evil spirit sent by God. As a remedy, the musician David was sent for, his playing would soothe Saul and force the spirit to leave. We imagine Saul stark, raving mad, whether from jealousy or from some mental illness. The Hebrew suggests an alternative explanation. The word translated here as “raved” is the same word that is translated as “prophesy” elsewhere, the difference being only that in this case, it is because of an evil spirit, not the spirit of God. But remember, this was written by supporters of the Davidic monarchy.

During the summer, the lectionary gives us options for the Old Testament readings. We can read the story of David, as we are doing this summer, or we could read another set of Old Testament texts, that are more prophetic in nature. The alternative today also has to do with a storm. This time it comes from Job, the famous passage where God replies to Job out of the whirlwind, asking him “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the universe?”
There are storms and there are storms. There are devastating weather events that cost lives and destroy homes and livelihoods, as we saw this week in the upstate. There are storms like those that troubled Saul, and there are even storms like the whirlwind that spoke to Job. Storms are significant religiously because they bring us up against our finitude—the limits of our power, knowledge and humanity in the face of uncontrollable nature.

The gospel story reminds us of that. Whatever Mark intended with the story, it’s pretty clear that it is meant to demonstrate Jesus’ power to his disciples. It is one of the few of the miracles in Mark’s gospel that is done in front of the disciples alone. They are the beneficiaries of Jesus’ intervention, and they alone are witnesses to his power. And that’s the conundrum for us. What is their response to that show of force? From Jesus’ question to them, it would seem they were full of fear. From Jesus’ question to them, it would seem they still lacked faith. And from their question, which Mark leaves hanging, leaving us to answer, “Who then is this, that even the wind and sea obey him?” it is clear that they still do not know who Jesus is.

The setting of the story is important, too. It comes at the end of the day on which Jesus taught the people using parables. Indeed, for Mark, it is the only significant occasion on which Jesus told parables. The enigmas he presented his listeners then, the kingdom of God he was preaching by using the parables, are presented here in the story of the calming of the storm, in another way.

The disciples asked him to explain the parables, now they ask who he is. Mark doesn’t provide answers to them now, those answers will come much later in the gospel, in the cross and resurrection. But already we see elements of the answer. It isn’t so much that Jesus has power. That’s not particularly important for Mark. Rather, what is important is that his readers understand who Jesus is and what it means that he is the Messiah. Storms rage around us, and in us, but do we see Jesus Christ in their midst?

In the midst of their storm, the disciples came to Jesus, in a way rebuking him. Why are you sleeping as we are about to perish? They didn’t ask him for help. They didn’t ask him to save them; they asked him only to be aware that all of them, including him, were going down with the boat. Just as they didn’t understand the parables, they don’t understand their true plight. Neither do we.

In the midst of storms, whether they be weather events, or the troubles of contemporary existence, it can be difficult to recognize God, to see Jesus Christ at work in the world and in our lives. Like Saul, we may be overcome by emotion when things don’t go our way. Like the disciples, we may be looking for a way out of a difficult situation. And very often, the answers we receive to our requests and questions don’t seem adequate to the situation. It may be that we want Jesus to calm the troubled waters by saying, “Peace, be still.” But instead, we may hear God speaking to us out of the whirlwind as he spoke to Job.

Whatever the case, let us be mindful that God is there, with us, in the midst of it all. Let us be mindful, too, that like the disciples, we may not see or recognize God. But let us be open to God’s presence, open to God’s speech, and open to the possibility that God will still those storms all around us.

He Loved them to the end
April 9, 2009
St. James

Foot washing is not a longstanding tradition at St. James. I understand there was a time when Maundy Thursday services often included it, but that hadn’t been the case in recent years. Last year we re-introduced the tradition, and we are continuing it this year, and I suppose in future years as well.
I suspect that for many people, the very notion of washing someone else’s feet is offensive. It seems to shatter some basic barrier of decorum, good manners, or personal space. Some few of us, have perhaps had to take care of other people in such intimate ways—our children, of course, but also loved ones who are no longer able to take care of themselves. Usually though, people who earn their livings taking care of others’ physical needs, health care workers, or even day care workers are looked down, certainly in our society they receive less pay than people in other jobs.
Today is Maundy Thursday, the beginning of the great Triduum that culminates with the Easter Vigil. We are participating again in the ritual commemoration of the last days of Jesus’ life beginning with the last supper he had with his disciples. Tonight we remember the events of the Last Supper that Jesus shared with his disciples. The synoptic gospels tell the story of the institution of the Eucharist. In tonight’s reading from the Gospel of John, we hear of a very different event.
The beginning of chapter 13 of John’s gospel marks a significant shift in tone and message. In the first half of the gospel, Jesus comes into conflict again and again with his opponents. As that conflict increases, his words of judgment against his opponents and the unbelieving world become more and more harsh. Now however, the scene shifts and from this point on, except for his confrontation with the high priests and Pilate, Jesus will speak only with his disciples, and he will leave words of judgment behind.
Instead, the theme that takes center stage from here on out is love. The chapter begins with that remarkable comment by the gospel writer, “having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.” The Eucharistic Prayer we’ve been using this Lent quotes that verse before beginning the institution narrative. What’s remarkable about it is that it tells the reader something new, and something the gospel writer perhaps didn’t think was obvious—that Jesus loved his disciples. What comes next in the gospel of John, John’s version of the Last Supper, and indeed Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection in a way explain what the gospel writer meant by saying “having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The culmination, the completion, fulfillment, even perfection of Christ’s love is shown for John in the events that unfold in the following chapters.

We will have more to say about the rest in the coming days, but now I want to focus our attention on that odd, offensive act of foot washing. Yes, it’s offensive. It offends our sense of propriety and our sense of personal space. It challenges taboos. But the gospel writer seems to have anticipated our discomfort with it, for he writes the disciples’ discomfort into the story. Peter’s problem with Jesus’ actions was that they seemed to subvert the teacher student, master-disciple relationship. Peter didn’t understand what Jesus was doing, and presumably the other disciples were no more perceptive.
Although we don’t call foot washing a sacrament, it is one. It is a sacrament of service, a sacrament of love. In the gospel of John, it serves to tell us something about the relationship between Jesus and his disciples; it is the way by which Jesus begins to demonstrate his love for those around him. By putting himself in the place of service, by kneeling, yes by abasing himself, Jesus was acting out servanthood. He was showing in this way the same love that would lead him finally to the cross.

The foot washing was not just a sacrament of Christ’s love for his friends. John means for it to be a sacrament of the love Jesus’ followers have for one another. Why do I call it a sacrament? If you are a cradle Episcopalian of a certain age, you may probably still be able to recite the words of the catechism: They are outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual grace. In this instance the gesture of washing feet is a sign of Christ’s love for us, and our love for one another.

We know that rituals are important things. As members of a liturgical tradition, we believe strongly that what we do in worship, not simply what we say or sing, but what our bodies do, all of that matters in worship. Whether we kneel or stand, genuflect, or bow, the very way we do things in worship is very important. That’s why there is so often intense conflict when we change things. The cry “but we’ve always done it that way” is not simply the cry of a hidebound traditionalist, although sometimes of course, it is. Very often it comes from a worthwhile concern that we may not be simply changing what we do, but ultimately we may change what we believe.

Foot washing then means a great deal, whether or not we participate in it. To see people, clergy, kneeling in front of other people, transgressing the customary boundaries of personal intimacy, and washing the feet of one another, speaks loudly.

Our gospel reading began with a reference to Jesus’ love for “his own.” It closes with another reference to love. After washing his disciples’ feet, Jesus tells them what it means: “I give you a new commandment that you love one another.” Of course it is probably the case that foot washing will never be observed among us as universally as the great sacraments of baptism and Eucharist, but it is vitally important that we internalize its meaning. Sacramental actions, rituals are among the ways that we move beyond saying something and begin to live it.

To love one another as Christ loved us and to serve one another bind us together as Jesus’ disciples. It is easy to pay lip service to both love and service—or outreach. We do that easily and readily at St. James. More difficult is to show, to demonstrate, to act out that love. Being here this evening, participating in the ritual itself, or watching as others do, challenges us to think of ways of making our love incarnate in the world. Somewhat later in John’s gospel, when Jesus again tells his disciples to love one another, he goes further, saying “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” The vision of love put forward in these chapters culminates tomorrow, on Good Friday. This evening, let us ponder and seek to embody, Christ’s commandment to love one another.