Isaiah 55:1-5; Psalm 145:8-9, 15-22; Romans 9:1-5; Matthew 14:13-21

There are a lot of stories in the Gospels that we’ve heard so many times that we’ve gotten comfortable with them. We’ve heard them so many times that they don’t make much of an impact on us. And so, especially with the stories of miracles, we lose the sense of wonder we might have felt the first time we heard them.

For instance, today’s Gospel is the story we commonly call the Feeding of the Five Thousand. We read it on Sunday mornings pretty much every year from one Gospel or another. But does this miracle really make an impact on us? We read of story about feeding all these people with 5 loaves and 2 fish, and it’s kind of a feel-good story, a story about Jesus’ power. We tell it to our kids in Sunday school to teach them about giving what we have to God. But do we really learn anything from it?

First of all, “Feeding of the Five Thousand” is inaccurate. Let’s look at the last sentence in the reading: “And those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.” So even if we assume only one woman or child per man, that number is already closer to ten thousand.

That’s a lot of mouths to feed. Double what we usually think of. And with nothing but a couple of fish and some hunks of bread.

We can say to ourselves “Oh, yeah, but this is Jesus. He could do anything. He’s God, after all.”

Yes, we do believe that Jesus is God. But we have a tendency to think of Jesus just waving his hand and saying (in the words of Jean-Luc Picard), “make it so,” and it was all done. No sweat. But we also read in the scriptures that, while he was God, Jesus was also human. He still had human limitations. He got tired from time to time. When the woman with a hemorrhage touched him, as we read just a few weeks ago, he knew she had done it because the scripture says “he felt power go out of him.” There were times when, after working with people for a while teaching, healing, etc. — he needed a break and had to get away.

So, it  appears there was a human cost to what Jesus did. I imagine there was some cost to the very human Jesus in taking that tiny amount of food and multiplying it to feed ten thousand people. But he did it. Right afterward, if we read on in the Gospel, “he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray.“ He didn’t hang around for praise. He didn’t tell people they needed to go to church. He didn’t ask for any payment. He just went away to be by himself.

 In feeding this many people, without asking for any payback or thanks, Jesus was simply fulfilling the words of the prophet that we read today:

“Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.”

Here’a question: why, when someone is in need, do we feel like they need to do something to deserve our help. Or that we need people to give us something in return? Or that we deserve praise? When we feel like asking any of those questions, I think we need to stop and ask ourselves: when Jesus saved us on the cross, did he ask us to prove that we deserved it? He did not, and if he had, we would have been completely out of luck, because we definitively do not deserve what he did for us. So how can we possibly believe that we have any standing to decide who needs help and who doesn’t? And how would we make that decision? Do we only help people that can prove they are poor? What’s the cutoff income level? Do we factor in things like necessary  medications, childcare, or rent before we decided if someone is “poor enough” for us to help them? Do we turn them away because they are alcoholics or are addicted to drugs? Do we refuse to help people we helped before but didn’t say “thank you?”

When you start putting conditions on who you are willing to help, things go downhill really fast.

And how do we square that attitude the Jesus’ parable of the sheep and the goats? We’re told we need to feed the hungry, visit those in prison, take care of the sick. We are never told “help people if they can prove they deserve it. And if they don’t say ‘thanks’ you can write them off.”

No, we’re told to just do it. Take care of people. Without prompting. Without any proof that they deserve it. Without expecting anything in return, even thanks.

I don’t know how many of you are Star Wars fans, but there is Disney series called “The Mandalorian,” which is famous for having a figure that many people called “Baby Yoda” until they found out that it was certainly not Yoda. I just started streaming it recently after holding out for a couple of years. The title figure is a member of a religious sect that lives by what they call “The Way.” Sometimes one of them will say to the other “This is the Way,” meaning they have acted according to their ethical code.

It reminded me that early Christians didn’t call themselves Christians. Instead, they referred to themselves as “followers of The Way.” I think we should bring that back and use it to describe how we are to deal with the world’s needs. We can use it to remind ourselves of how we are to live.

“The Way.” I like it.

Give to everyone.

Give without expecting to be paid back.

Give without judgment.

Give without expecting praise.

Give from your heart.

This is the Way.

Amen.

 

Zechariah 9:9-12; Psalm 145:8-15; Romans 7:15-25a; Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

Most of you who have known me know that I have THREE sons. The two older boys, Travis and Jacob, were Kim’s by a previous marriage, but I adopted them when she and I married.

Jacob, the younger of the two, was three years old when we married. Jacob had a best friend that lived just a few doors down, whose name was Adam James Cannon. Jake never referred to him any other way. It was always all three names: “my friend Adam James Cannon.”

Jake would often go to his friend’s house to play. One day Jake was over there playing. Something happened and there was a falling out. Jake came stomping back to our house.

Seriously, I never figured out how so much mad could fit into a body that small. At one point it bubbled out. He stopped in his tracks, turned around, and yelled toward his friend’s house, “I DON’T LIKE YOU ADAM JAMES CANNON AND I’M NOT GONNA PLAY WITH YOU FOR LOTS OF DAYS!!”

Nobody could be madder than 3-year-old Jake. And, of course, they  were back playing together later in the day.

It seems that the disagreement was over how they would play. How their shared fantasy would play out. This kind of disagreement was not uncommon for Jake, who had both a vivid imagination, and a stubborn streak a mile wide.

At the beginning of today’s gospel Jesus compares his generation to children playing and calling to each other: “We played the flute for you but you did not dance. We wailed but you did not mourn.” What a weird thing to say! I have a feeling all the parents listening to him had no trouble connecting with what he was saying. But for those who might not get it right away, he went on, “For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon’; the Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’”.

My son Jake and his friend Adam? That’s the comparison Jesus was making. The people of his generation were saying to him – and to John the Baptist, “You’re not doing what WE want you to do!” Jesus was comparing his generation to whiny, self-centered children who were never satisfied.

John, and then Jesus just wouldn’t play nice with them.

John and Jesus wouldn’t live up to their expectations.

When people don’t live up to our expectations, we do not tend to be kind.

It is so easy to come up with reasons not to listen when someone has a message that we just don’t like. And the easiest excuse of all is to simply say the speaker has no standing, no authority to say what they are saying. That they are crazy. That they associate with the wrong people. It’s a logical fallacy called ad hominem. We attack the person to invalidate their message.

When someone says something we don’t like, we may say “Well, no wonder, they’re a Republican.” Or “They’re a Democrat.” I know I‘ve been guilty of this.

As they did to John the Baptist we can say “He has a demon!” or “They’re not Episcopalian” or even “They’re not a REAL Christian.” But there is something about living as followers of Christ that we just can’t avoid, and that is his command to deny ourselves, take up our crosses, and follow him.

It’s that “deny ourselves” part that we have problems with. Part of living as people who are crucified to the world is that we have to give things up, and some of those things we have to give up will likely be our cherished preconceived notions. Notions of who is right and wrong in God’s eyes. Notions of who has value in God’s eyes (here’s a hint: it’s everybody). And it’s really difficult to act Christ-like when we are, at the same time, trying to live up to the world’s expectations of us, and judge people by the world’s standards. I might even say it is impossible.

Even St. Paul found that he was often of two minds, and fought against it. “I do not do the thing that I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” It is a difficult thing to go against years of conditioning by the world and instead pay attention to the will of God.

Later in today’s Gospel, Jesus says “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” How can this be? How can denying ourselves and taking up our cross end up being a light burden?

It’s really amazing how giving up yourself – and giving up trying to live up to the expectations the world has trained you to believe in – can simplify your life, can remove a lot of the burden that you go through. That doesn’t mean that it’s easy, or that the world will understand. Some people may, but most probably won’t. In fact, you may even face the same things that John and Jesus faced: being told by friends or family that we are not living up to their standards. That we’re not Real True Christians. In fact, I met with that situation a few years ago, when I was one of the administrators for my Order’s Facebook page. One of our other admins posted a picture supporting Pride during June. It was Pride month, after all, and Episcopalians everywhere celebrated. But we received an email from someone — someone not even a member of the Order — demanding that the post be taken down. When it wasn’t he sent a message to the admins wanting to know how we could claim to preach the Gospel and at the same time support Pride. He didn’t seem to understand that — in the words of our Baptismal Covenant — supporting the dignity of every human being is preaching the Gospel.   

The thing is, you eventually realize that being called out like that is OK, because you are no longer too concerned about what the world — or even some other Christians — think of you. We take our cues from a different source. We serve a different master.

Take my yoke, and learn. You’ll find rest.

Deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow me.

They seem contradictory, but they are all one. This is true life in Christ.

Forget the expectations of the world. May we all be ready — even eager — to be called names for Christ.

Amen.

Genesis 1:1-2:4a; Psalm 8; 2 Corinthians 13:11-13; Matthew 28:16-20

Good morning! Today, the first Sunday after Pentecost, is Trinity Sunday — the only feast day in the church that, instead of celebrating a saint, or some important events in the life of Jesus, instead celebrates…a doctrine. A belief. And it’s a doctrine that is, for a lot of people, really, deeply weird.

And it’s not something that was easy to come by. Most of our feast days are pretty obvious. Christmas? Feast day! Jesus’ Baptism? Feast day! Hs resurrection? Huge feast day! All are attested in the Gospels and definitely deserve to be celebrated.

But…the Trinity? There isn’t a single passage of scripture that you can point at and say it definitely says that God is a Trinity of Persons. Sure, there are a couple (like today’s Epistle and Gospel) that mention all three persons — Father, Son, and Holy Spirit — but those passages never say the three are one God. It took a couple hundred years after Christ’s death and resurrection to hammer that out, and there was a lot of excommunicating going back and forth between bishops over it.

Trinity Sunday is a Sunday that a lot of clergy (and lay preachers) don’t seem to like to preach on. They don’t like to preach on it because it’s so easy to fall into one of the views of the Trinity that have been denounced as heresies over the years. I’ll try hard not to do that. No promises, though.

So, why do we even need a doctrine of a Trinitarian God? I mean, it seems like it would be much simpler to put all our eggs in one basket, so to speak. It would be easier to just look at Jesus, right?

But we can’t do that, because that would give us an incomplete picture of our Deity. Because only in the Trinity: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit — or, if you prefer, Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer — do we get the full picture of God. The one God who, in one person, made us; in another person, put aside his godhead to redeem the whole world; and in the third person comes to us now to to lift us up and support us to work for God’s kingdom.

The Rev. Kara Slade, the Associate Rector of Trinity Church in Princeton, NJ, talked about it this way: we know the nature of God by looking at Jesus, through the power of the Holy Spirit.

And we may not understand how it all works — I’m not convinced that anyone really does — do we really need to have a detailed understanding of such concepts as perichoresis? That’s the Greek term that describes how the three persons “interpenetrate”. Interesting, but I‘m not sure it’s something the average Christian needs in their everyday life.

What I think really we need to take away from Trinity Sunday what it points to for each of us. What the idea of “One God three persons” means for us today. The lesson we can draw from a difficult theological idea. Does the doctrine of the Trinity have any real-world significance for us? Or is it just something for bishops to argue over?

The three persons in the Trinity are quite distinct. I mean, we have very different ideas when we think about God, or think about Jesus, or when we think about the Holy Spirit. We use different mental imagery. We have different ideas about their action n the world.

That right there, my friends, is diversity. Three distinct persons, each recognizable as an individual. And yet, the doctrine of the Trinity says they are One. And that is Unity. Unity of substance, and unity of purpose.

Maybe…just maybe, this is a picture of what we should be as the Children of God.

We are distinct individuals, aren’t we?  You’d never mistake me for anybody else in here, and I couldn’t mistake you for anyone else ether. We each have different backgrounds, different talents, different callings, different ways of earning a living.

That, my friend, is diversity.

And yet, our Savior calls us to be one body in him. Maybe not one in substance, like the Trinity, but definitely one in purpose. And that purpose is really simple. We are to spread the love of God wherever we can.

We are called to be the body of Christ, to rejoice in our differences, to accept any who come, and to act as one for the growth of the kingdom of heaven. This is our calling and purpose.

But how are we do do that?

I don’t think it’s rocket science. But we need to do it every day, and we can use our thinking about the doctrine of the Trinity to guide us.

Every day, we can show the love of a God who created everything and said that it was good.

Every day, we can show the love of a Son who put aside his godhood to come and live among us and to redeem us after we had mucked up that good Creation.

Every day, we can show the love of the Holy Spirit who comforts us and guides us to do what is right.

See? Not rocket science.

Three persons.

Three ways of loving.

One God.

Amen.

Delivered on Easter Sunday 2026

Acts 10:34-43; Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24; Colossians 3:1-4; John 20:1-18

I’m going to begin this sermon by referencing a Christmas story, if you can believe it.

One of my favorite Christmas stories is, as it may be for many of you, Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” It’s really not very long, only 85 pages.  You can read the whole thing in under 2 hours, but it has made an indelible mark on our Western culture.

One of the things that makes my personal favorite is the first paragraph:

Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge’s name was good upon ’Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to.’ Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.

Jesus was dead, to begin with. The Roman government said so. No doubt they had their own officials to certify a criminal’s death. Jesus was dead as a doornail.

I’m starting with this because there are any number of theories as to how Jesus’ resurrection might have been staged. One was that Jesus had a twin brother, and the twin brother had been executed instead, or that his twin had pretended to be the resurrected Jesus. Back when I was a teenager, there was a flash-in-the-pan sensational book titled, “The Passover Plot,” which suggested that there was a complex plan to fake the resurrection, including having Jesus take a drug that made him unconscious, simulating death.

But this doesn’t take into  account the fact that the Roman soldiers said Jesus was dead. Now, if there was a person in the 1^st-century world who knew dead, if was a Roman soldier. Dealing out death was kind of their business. And lying to their superiors or accepting a bribe would have been a quick way to get dead themselves.

So, yes, Jesus was dead, to begin with. Just like Marley,

And both of them came back and spoke ito people they had known in life.

But here’s where the differences start.

For one, we believe that Jesus was a real person, as do most scholars, even many atheists. Marley, on the other hand, was a character in a story. He was fictional.

And Marley stayed dead. When he appeared to Ebenezer Scrooge, he came as a ghost.

Jesus, on the other hand, didn’t stay dead. He came back as physically alive as you and I. He didn’t come back as a disembodied spirit, like Marley. The tale in “A Christmas carol” isn’t about resurrection. It’s just a ghost story. A really good ghost story, but still just a ghost story.

 But our stories: our story today of women finding an empty tomb, of Jesus speaking to Mary Magdalene; the story we will read next week of Jesus telling Thomas to physically feel his wounds; the story in Luke of Jesus meeting two disciples on the road to Emmaus; the story of Jesus actually cooking breakfast on the shore of the Sea of Galilee: these are experiences of a real, physical resurrection.

And these eyewitness accounts are why we are here: Jesus was brought back to real physical life by God. And we will be too. Because in his resurrection, Jesus made the down payment on resurrection for all of us. Not some ghostly, purely spiritual life flitting about with angels, but a real physical resurrection from the dead. He took what before had been a unproven belief and made it real.

That’s what we believe in and what we say in the Apostle’s Creed, the Creed we used last night during Cricket’s baptism: the resurrection of the body. In the Nicene Creed, which we will all say in a few minutes, we will say that we look for the “life of the world to come.” A new world, a world as it should have always been, where God will make his home with us. This is what Jesus made the down payment on.

That is what Jesus did for us, and that is why Easter is worth celebrating. That’s why Easter is IMPORTANT, all in capital letters.

So yes, put on your fancy clothes, have a fancy dinner. Have your relatives and friends over. You can come and celebrate at our potluck dinner in the parish hall after church. But while you are doing those things, don’t lose sight of why we celebrate today. We celebrate because our Savior, who really was dead, is alive.

Alleluia.

Amen.

Second Sunday in Lent, Year A, 2026

Genesis 12:1-4a; Psalm 121; Romans 4:1-5; 13-17; John 3:1-17

We humans really like to be right. I mean REALLY like to be right. We hate to be told we are wrong. Well, at least I do, and I’d be willing to be you all do to. I hate it so much that I get terribly embarrassed when I find I was wrong about something. I would rather not say anything at all sometimes than to take the chance that I might be wrong.

In today’s Gospel reading we get what may be the single most famous verse in the entire Bible. We all know it, if we’ve spent more than a few years in the church. It’s John 3:16 — “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”

And it’s a great verse! Martin Luther actually called it “the Gospel in a nutshell.” If you’re a young evangelical, as I was, you’re expected to memorize it — which I did, although it was in the King James translation.

But that same verse, that wonderful verse, that “Gospel in nutshell” — has also been weaponized. It’s been used to divide people into those who believe in Jesus — or rather, someone’s specific vision of him — and those who don’t. Those who don’t, of course, are not Real True Christians, and are condemned. They can’t possibly be born again, as Jesus says we must be, because they don’t believe the way I believe. They haven’t followed the “Romans Road to Salvation.” They haven’t had a “Road to Damascus” experience. Their salvation doesn’t measure up to mine.

But this verse wasn’t meant to divide, but to include. Remember how it starts? “God so loved the world…” Not just Episcopalians, not just Roman Catholics, not just Baptists. Not just Christians. Not just people who look like us. The world. Let that sink in. God loves everyone just as much as he loves you, just as much as he loves me. He loves Russians, he loves Chinese people. He loves the people of Iran just as much as he loves you and me. God always has room for more love. And I can imagine that he weeps when he sees us divided.

But sometimes we can get so caught up in our own theology or interpretations of scripture that we don’t see — can’t see — someone else’s viewpoint. And we put up barriers. We decide who is worthy of inclusion or exclusion. And to use an expression my Dad used a lot, that is above our pay grade.

We have to stop our focus on divisions between us, because it only hurts us. The problem is, dividing people is easy. Instead, we must practice humility. Which is hard.

There is a Peanuts cartoon that illustrates healthy humility. In the first panel, Snoopy is on the roof of his doghouse with a typewriter, and Charlie Brown says to him, “I hear you’re writing a book on theology. I hope you have a good title.” As Charlie Brown leaves, Snoopy thinks, “I have the perfect title…,” and proceeds to type, “Has It Ever Occurred to You That You Might Be Wrong?”

And that right there is humility in a nutshell. Any time we want to make theological pronouncements, to make statements that will divide people, we need to stop and ask ourselves that question. Has it ever occurred to us that we might be wrong?

We have to give up our desire to insist that we are right all the time, especially when being right means insisting that everyone else is necessarily wrong. And I know what I’m talking about, because that kind of attitude sort of runs in my family. We love correcting people, including each other. It’s something I’ve been trying to kill in my own personality.

Because being born again really does mean giving up the things that drove us in our previous lives. It means giving up our preconceived notions. It means giving up the idea that we are always right and anyone who differs with our opinion or our theology is always wrong,

It means giving everything over to Christ. And once again, this is hard. Because we all have things we want to keep for ourselves. Pet doctrines, pet opinions, pet likes and dislikes. Yes, we have to give those up too, because God wants us to love everyone like he loves us, or as much like Him as is humanly possible.

Being born again is not just a catchphrase or a buzzword. It means to become a new person. To work every day to become a person so attuned to God that people can actually see Jesus at work in us.

It is hard, yes. We will lose some things that we really didn’t need anyway. But if we do it, we will gain so much more.

Amen.

 Isaiah 7:10-16; Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18; Romans 1:1-7; Matthew 1:18-15

We don’t get a lot of information about Joseph in the Gospels. We get a lot about Mary, and rightfully so, but after Luke’s story about Jesus, Mary, and Joseph visiting the Temple and Jesus going off to talk to the elders, Joseph just kind of disappears. We only see his name when we hear Jesus referred to as “Joseph’s son.” Some scholars have suggested that he may have died before Jesus began his public ministry. We just don’t know.

But St. Joseph is very important in some circles. The Feast of St. Joseph – March 19 — is a very special day in the Italian community. I don’t know of any city that celebrates like Providence, Rhode Island, especially the area known as Federal Hill, well-known throughout the state as the center of the Italian community. Their celebration is a complete blowout — street fairs, a big parade, the whole thing. They will often move the celebration into June, because, let’s face it, March in Rhode Island can be a bit iffy for outside celebrations. But let’s just say that St. Joseph is really big for folks of Italian extraction.

Personally, I think it’s really important to take a good look at Joseph, and not because I spent a good deal of my life in Rhode Island. I think he can teach us a few things.

An interesting thing about Mathew’s infancy tale is that we don’t get Mary’s story. Unlike in Luke’s gospel there’s no Annunciation, no Magnificat, no “Hail Mary, full of grace.”. We just hear that Mary “is found to be with child.” She seems almost passive, an afterthought. Because Matthew is focusing on Joseph.

So we get Joseph’s story.

Mary and Joseph were “betrothed.” In the 1^st-century culture into which Jesus was born, a betrothal was pretty much the same as marriage. The only thing left was moving in together and the consummation of the marriage. Betrothal was a done deal.

And unfaithfulness after betrothal counted as adultery.

The punishment for adultery — at least for women — was pretty hearsay. Death was on the table. At the very least, Joseph would have been perfectly within his rights to denounce Mary in public, then throw her out to fend for herself.

But that’s not what he had decided to do. He had decided to “dismiss her quietly.” Being a product of his time, he couldn’t see any way he could marry her, that just wasn’t done. Be he could still be kind and not hold her up to the ridicule of others. I have a lot of sympathy for Joseph. These days we wouldn’t blink an eye at a pregnant bride, but back then it was a serious breach of social norms. Any way you look at it, Joseph was as nice a guy as his culture allowed him to be.

But God had other ideas. For God’s purposes, being a “nice guy” wasn’t quite enough.

So God sends an angel to Joseph in a dream, explaining what he is to do. “You can go ahead and get married,” the angel tells him. “It’s OK. This baby is going to be really important. Oh, and by the way, name him Jesus.”

Joseph was going to do the nice thing, the safe thing. But that’s not what God wanted. God had other plans. He wanted Joseph to take a chance. To take a chance that there would be talk. “Did you hear about Joseph? Mary was already pregnant when they married! It’s a terrible scandal!” There would be whispering behind his back. There would be snickering. Joseph might even lose business over it.

God is suggesting that Joseph put his reputation on the line for the sake of a child that he didn’t father. The amazing thing about Joseph is that he does it.

You see, God doesn’t think the way we do. God doesn’t worry about our social conventions, or our ideas abut how life is supposed to proceed. He rides roughshod over our plans, over the way we think things are supposed to work.

God never guarantees that what he has for us to do will be safe. In fact, Jesus often told his disciples that following him would definitely not be safe. That the world would not want to hear what they had to say. When we truly follow Christ, we will find ourselves doing things we never thought we would do, things we never thought we could do. Just as Joseph did, we can find ourselves doing things we couldn’t have even imagined doing. I can vouch for that personally.

As we celebrate this last Sunday of Advent, as we look forward toward the Nativity we will celebrate Wednesday night, are we willing to to do what Joseph did? Will we welcome this little child into our hearts, knowing what it may cost us?

Joseph did what was necessary so that the Saviour of Mankind could come into the world. Let us pray that we will have the same courage in showing that Saviour to the world.

Amen.

Genesis 18:1-10a; Psalm 15; Colossians 1:15-28; Luke 10:38-42

Preached at St. Mary Magdalene Episcopal Church in Belton, MO, July 20, 2025

I’m sure many of you remember the movie “City Slickers,” starring Billy Crystal and the late great Jack Palance. It concerned some men from New York taking part in a cattle drive, led by Curly, an old cowhand played by Palance. Crystal’s character, Mitch, is convinced by his wife to go along hoping to cure his rat-race burnout. At one point he asks Curly about the meaning of life. Curly holds up one finger.

“Your finger?” asks Mitch.

Curly replies “One thing. Just one thing.”

Crystal’s character says “But what is the one thing?”

Curly smiles and replies, “That’s what you have to find out.”

Today’s Gospel is a familiar one. Jesus comes to Martha’s house, and Martha’s sister Mary is also there. Martha gets busy doing all the things any hostess would be doing — preparing food, making sure everyone is comfortable, etc.

Mary, on the other hand, just sits and listens to Jesus. Martha complains that Mary needs to give her a hand, and Jesus basically tells her to leave Mary alone. “There is need,” he says, “of only one thing.”

Hospitality was a major virtue in first-century Palestine. When someone came to your house, the women of the house saw to their needs —  it was a patriarchal society, after all. And we like to think we’re hospitable and polite now, but this went way beyond that. If someone stops by our house, maybe we’ll get them a cup of coffee or a glass of tea, maybe some cookies. Back then, you would be expected to go all out. You would likely get them a pan of water to wash the road dust off their feet, provide them with a full meal — as Abraham did for three strangers in the Old Testament lesson today — and likely even provide them with a place to sleep for the night.

So Martha is only doing what her upbringing and culture taught her to do. She’s not doing anything wrong there. What she does do is complain about Mary. But at no point does Jesus say, “Martha, you need to stop being hospitable.” He doesn’t tell her to sit down and listen to him. What he says is “Martha, you’re distracted and bothered by all this stuff. Mary is getting what she needs right now, and I won’t take that away from her.” Jesus chides Martha for her distraction and her complaint. Her absolute focus on her tasks is getting in the way. In effect, Jesus is saying “You’re so busy doing things that you’re forgetting why you’re doing them.”

It’s pretty easy to see how this can apply to our lives today. We all have a lot going on. Everything is clamoring for our attention. Family, work, friends, church. Everything screams at us to pay attention.

But we have an advantage that Billy Crystal’s character didn’t have. We already know what that “one thing” is. Or, if we don’t, as Christians we should already know. That one thing, for us, is Jesus. That’s where we need to keep our focus. Not on the news, not on what’s going on politically, not on our business. Our focus needs to be Jesus.

Now, all that being said, this does not mean that we lock ourselves away from everything and just concentrate on Jesus 24-7, totally ignoring everything else. That’s not how we’re meant to live. We need to listen to Christ, yes, but once we listen, once we understand what he is telling us, we have a responsibility to take that understanding out into the world, to be Christ’s voice — and hands — in the world. But we can only do that effectively by focusing on that one thing.

In a few minutes Gabriel Sparks is going to make some promises. Those promises are designed specifically for the focusing of one’s attention on that one thing –  on Jesus. He will promise to pray daily, morning and evening. He will promise to study the Scriptures. And he will promise to be held accountable by another to help him stay on track in keeping his life pointed toward that one thing.

Now, not everybody is cut out for the religious life, but you can still make room for Jesus in your everyday life. Maybe it’s just a short meditation when you get up in the morning. The thing is, we all know what that one thing is. And if we tune out all the things that are screaming at us and pay attention to that one thing, even for just a bit every day, our lives are so much better. I know that Episcopalians are not the best at praying during the week, even those who are deeply involved in the life of their parish.

We come to church on Sunday to be Mary — to listen to Jesus, to hear the Word of God, to be fed with his Body and Blood. But so often we go out into the world and for the rest of the week, we stop focusing on that one most important thing. We need to do better.

At the end of “City Slickers,” Mitch realizes that the one thing, to him, is his family. When he makes that connection, he can come home refreshed and ready to be the person he needs to be. If we can keep our lives focused on our own one thing — on Jesus — we can be the people God intended us to be. We can change the world.

Amen.

 

Pentecost 2024

Genesis 11;1-9; Psalm 33:12-22; Acts 2:1-11; John 7:37-39a

Some years ago, I was lucky enough to direct the very first production by the Stage Company of Poplar Bluff in the newly cleaned-up Rodger’s Theater. Basically all we did was clean the trash and pigeon poop out of there and sweep it out. We got it clean enough so that we could mount a production. Not a great venue, but the price was right — just some elbow grease. Well, a lot of elbow grease. The show that we put on was Godspell, which is based on Matthew’s gospel, and just happens to include several hymn texts that were found in the 1940 Episcopal hymnal.

While I was preparing to direct the show — and believe me, when you direct a musical, the is a LOT of prep work — I was surprised to find out that the very first musical number was often omitted. The number, titled “Tower of Babble,” (spelled B-A-B-B-L-E) features a set of philosophers — Socrates, Thomas Aquinas, Frederic Nietzsche, and more — all singing part of their writings in turn. Eventually, they start singing over each other, each trying to drown out the others, and the scene degenerates into a melee. In the middle of the fight, a shofar, a ram’s horn, is sounded and the character representing John the Baptist enters from the back of the theater singing “Prepare ye the way of the Lord.”

When I discovered that this was often left out, I was surprised, because to my mind, this is the perfect way to begin. Yet I had never heard of it. The one production I had seen on stage didn’t use it. The movie production replaced it with scenes of arguments breaking out in New York City. I think it often didn’t get used because directors either didn’t understand it or didn’t want to make their cast work that hard. It’s not an easy piece to sing, with 8 actors all singing something different in a kind of crazy fugue. The more I looked at that piece of music, the more I realized I had to keep it in the show. Because that number, to me, epitomized the divisions that we put up between each other, the divisions exemplified by today’s 1^st Reading; the divisions that only disappear in fellowship with Christ. Jesus isn’t on stage yet, but when John sounds his call, everyone stops and…listens. They run to John for baptism, then run out. When they come back in and meet Jesus, they are new people. The philosophers are gone, replaced by disciples. Their man-made divisions are gone.

I wanted go use the Genesis reading today because Pentecost is in some ways a kind of reversal of Babel. At the Tower of Babel, people began by all speaking the same language. According to the story, God confused things so that no one understood what anyone else was saying. Because of this, people just wandered off, leaving the tower unfinished.

At Pentecost, the apostles are speaking and everyone can understand them. People still don’t all speak the same language, but as the apostles are speaking, everyone hears it in their own language, all at the same time. Instead of people wandering away, they are drawn in to this miraculous event and to what Peter has to say in his sermon that follows.

That’s pretty cool.

The Story of BABEL is a fun story, intended to explain why there were so many languages. The important thing about it, as in so many stories in Genesis, is not whether it is factually true, but what it can teach us about the world we live in now. BABEL, according to the story, fractured humanity into factions that couldn’t communicate with each other. As we all well know, that is bound to cause problems. Those problems are what I call the legacy of BABEL.

The legacy of BABEL is gathering ourselves into separate nations and acting as if OUR nation is so much better than any other.

The legacy of BABEL is looking at those who have different beliefs from ours, or different gender orientation or sexual preference, and deciding they do not deserve the same rights as people like US.

The legacy of BABEL is what prompts us to pass laws restricting human rights because those people just don’t deserve them. BABEL is what prompts us to want to make our religion the Only True Religion ™ and insist that everyone else is completely wrong.

But the legacy of BABEL is also what gives us our diversity, the differences in language, and culture, and belief that can enrich our Iives and our viewpoints. We’re not all the same, and that’s a good thing. Those differences can actually make us stronger if we accept them and learn from them.

Unfortunately, we tend not to use BABEL that way. We use BABEL as an excuse to divide ourselves, to build differences between them and us. To put up walls to keep them out. To build Iron Curtains. To put up border walls.

But notice what happens at Pentecost. Pentecost doesn’t actually reverse BABEL, it just…sidesteps it. It acts as if it’s just not there. At Pentecost, people’s languages didn’t disappear; they just weren’t a barrier any more.

The Holy Spirit doesn’t put up walls. She doesn’t necssarily break them down. Instead, she passes right through them, as if they’re not even there. The Holy Spirit, on Pentecost, made the barriers of language, that legacy of BABEL simply … obsolete.

The legacy of BABEL will always be with us, as long as we live on this unreconstructed Earth. It’s part of us. We can’t escape it entirely and, as I said before, it can have some positive features if we recognize it for what it is and learn from it.

If we learn the lesson of Pentecost, if we allow the Holy Spirit maybe not  to break the walls, but to pass through them as if they weren’t even there, we can be part of that beautiful new world that God wants to create, that He is creating through His Spirit. A world where walls don’t divide us. A world in which there really are no barriers.

Amen.

 

 

 

Well, we made it.

We made it through Lent.

We made it through the wilderness.

We made it through tornados and floods.

We have come through our forty days of fasting, our forty days of wandering, and have finally arrived at a land flowing with milk and honey.

This week, as it should be, has been a special week.

On Thursday, we sat with Christ and his disciples at the Last Supper and heard him tell them and us to “Love one another.”

On Friday we watched as Christ was condemned, crucified, and laid in the tomb.

Today, until just a few minutes ago, we lived in the emptiness of Holy Saturday, knowing what is to come, but also knowing we were not there yet. A time when the apostles couldn’t be sure that anything would ever be right again.

Tonight, we have listened to the old, old stories, God’s salvation of Israel at the Red Sea, and my own favorite reading, Ezekiel’s vision of a restored Israel in the Valley of Dry Bones. We have heard Paul tell of what Christ’s resurrection means for us. And we have heard the story of the women at the tomb. I’m glad we read Matthew’s account tonight. Unlike Luke’s telling, in Matthew the women actually see and touch the risen Christ. That’s an important point that we will come back to in a bit.

Some of you of may know that my Father died 3 years ago on Maundy Thursday. It’s because he died during Holy Week that it has become special to me.

You see my father had a rock-solid belief in resurrection. When my Mother died, he talked about how he wasn’t heartbroken, because she was out of pain and he knew—knew—that they would see each other again. This is the faith we should all have, the faith that we should show in our lives every day. His faith was what gave me strength when my own wife Kim died suddenly and unexpectedly last October. Because with his Resurrection, Christ vindicated my father’s — and my — faith. In his Resurrection, Christ showed that Resurrection could really happen, would really happen.

At the beginning of Lent, on Ash Wednesday, we are told “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.” We take our mortality out and look it square in the face.

But tonight, when we hear the Exultet, when we hear the readings of God’s saving deeds throughout the ages, when we respond with psalm and canticle, and when we renew the promises we made at Baptism , and declare that Christ has indeed risen front the dead, we are doing something incredibly important. We are declaring to the world that death itself has been conquered. That our death has been conquered. We are claiming that we don’t have to be afraid of it anymore. We are claiming that death has no power over us. And that’s why this week is a week of joy for me, instead of overwhelming sadness.

Because, as Father Paul sang, this is the night. This is the night. This is the night when everything that Jesus said was vindicated. This is the night of which every other church service is only an echo. We make a huge deal of Christmas, and rightly so. Easter Sunday is important, sure. But this night, this holy night, is the most important, most holy time of the year. We have those Old Testament readings because we need to see the whole story. We need to feel the power and depth and sweep of the history that led up to this night.

This special night is the climax of a love story that began in the depths of time before Creation. This night is prefigured by the ancient stories of the Creation, the salvation of Noah and his family from the Flood, and the Israelites’ passing through the Red Sea. This night was hinted at by the prophets. The events of this night were set in motion by an announcement to Mary and the birth of a small child. This night was made possible by a betrayal, arrest, trial, and execution. This night is the completion of all those bits and pieces. This night is what history was headed toward from before the beginning of time.

This is the night when Christ made the down payment on our promise of resurrection. That’s resurrection. Not a disembodied ghost-like existence after we die, but a real, physical, resurrection of the body. That is the promise. In our Renewal of Baptismal Vows just a few moments ago, we said that we believe in the resurrection of the body. When Christ rose from the dead, he didn’t come back as a ghost. The women in tonight’s Gospel touched him. They grabbed his feet. He came back fully, physically alive, and that is what is in store for us.

And so, tonight, we celebrate the Eucharist of our crucified and risen Christ. We celebrate his Resurrection and look forward to our own. And we shout our alleluias to the heavens for the saving work that God began before the heavens and the earth were formed, the saving work that He, through Jesus Christ, has accomplished this holy night.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Allelua!

Amen.