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Proper 16, Year A August 24, 2008 Matthew 16:13-20 When Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, "Who do people say that the Son of Man is?" And they said, "Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets." He said to them, "But who do you say that I am?" Simon Peter answered, "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God." And Jesus answered him, "Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven." Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.
Yesterday, Barak Obama made public his choice of running mate, and no sooner had the name been revealed than pollsters started manning the phones, and television pundits weighed in on the question: “What do you think of Joe Biden?”
In our Gospel today, Jesus asks his disciples to play the roll of 1st-Century Gallup pollsters, reporting what they have heard people say about him. An unscientific poll, to be sure, but then again, scientific polls hadn’t been invented yet. One of the disciples responds, “Some say you are one of the dead prophets come back to life again.” Another adds, “They say you are John the Baptist, Elijah, Jeremiah or one of the other prophets.” But then Jesus throws them a curve ball, asks them a question which it is strictly forbidden for a modern, professional pollster to respond to: “You, personally, what do you think of me? Who do you say that I am?”
Imagine for a moment, if you will, that you are one of those disciples there with Jesus. Jesus has just asked you the question: “Who do you say that I am?” How are you going to respond?
Now, in putting yourself in the place of one of Jesus’ disciples, you do not have any of the Christian writings – the New Testament, the Creeds, or the Prayer Book – to rely on. They aren’t in existence. You know nothing about “true God from true God, begotten not made, of one substance with the Father” – none of that is permitted in your answer. Your answer to the question must come only from your own experience, your heart, your mind -- from your own relationship with God and with the person Jesus.
Who do you say that Jesus is?
It is the central question of our personal faith. Yet it is a question which, if you are at all like me, you all too seldom ask yourself. Who do you say Jesus is?
The Gospels were written to address just this question. The purpose of the Gospel writers was not to set forth an objective history or biography of a man who lived 2000 years ago. The purpose of the Gospel writers was to set forth the story of a life which totally transformed their own lives – a story which they hoped that, upon reading, would transform their readers’ lives, also. If the Gospel story does not in some way become my story, your story, our own personal story, then can we really say that the New Testament is any different for us than – the encyclopedia? Our gathering together to worship any different from a City Council meeting? Our church any different from the Lions’ or Rotary Club?
“God has no grandchildren” the saying goes, meaning that we don’t become Christians simply because our parents are Christian. God calls each generation to respond to the Gospel, to respond to His gift of grace. Christianity is always one generation from extinction. “The Lord IS risen indeed!” is our Easter cry. It is an acclamation in the present tense, for our faith is not simply that Christ rose from the dead 2000 years ago, but rather that Christ rises from the dead in me, in you, today, and tomorrow. The Creeds mean little to me if they do not become my creeds, if they do not express the faith which informs the way I live out my life each day.
Now don’t get me wrong. The corporate, historic creeds of the Church are very important. They are, in some ways, compilations of the personal faith of hundreds of Christian believers. They help tie us in a common faith to all fellow Christians. But we can too easily hide behind such answers to faith, and never make them our own. Those disciples at Caesarea Philippi had no such luxury. Their answer to the question, “Who do you say that I am?” could not come from any creed or doctrine. Indeed, Jesus had turned upside down most of the interpretations of the Jewish faith that they had learned; he had ripped apart the arguments of the religious clergy of the day.
No “official” answer is available to the disciples, no rote response will do.
A Benedictine monk writes: “If we only repeat what others have said, we have failed to become faithful disciples of the Lord Jesus... No amount of factual information will ever replace a deeply personal relationship with the Lord Jesus… one that flows over into love for all God’s people.” (Kevin Seasolty, Homily Service, Vol. 32, #5, p.63) Martin Luther put it this way: “I care not whether he be Christ, but that he be Christ for you.” Simply put, we need to take responsibility for our own faith, for our own relationship with Jesus Christ.
I know that can be frightening. A former parishioner once came to me distraught, embarrassed, and worried, and confessed, “You know, I really don’t believe all those things that we say every week in the Prayer Book, and I’m afraid that because I don’t believe it all, I won’t go to heaven when I die.” In hearing that parishioner’s fears, I began to see that the reason many of us would rather respond to questions of faith with formulaic or creedal answers is that we are afraid that our own, personal answers might be wrong – even fatal.
But God does not flunk those who don’t answer according to script! Look at Peter, who is praised by Jesus in this week’s Gospel, but whom Jesus will call “Satan” in next week’s Gospel! The Rock on which Jesus will build his church is pretty rocky at times. It is Peter, after all, who denies Jesus three times.
Thomas Merton wrote, “You cannot be a man of faith unless you know how to doubt. Faith is not blind conformity... It is a decision, a judgment that is fully and deliberately taken in the light of a truth that cannot be proven.” (citation lost)
“A truth that cannot be proven...” That is why the decision of faith must be, in the end, subjective: there is no incontrovertibly objective proof.
Who do you say that Jesus is?
We must, each one of us, live with that question, and live out our answer.
AMEN
Proper 13, Year AAugust 3, 2008Matthew 14:13-21 Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick. When it was evening, the disciples came to him and said, "This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves." Jesus said to them, "They need not go away; you give them something to eat." They replied, "We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish." And he said, "Bring them here to me." Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke the loaves, and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. And all ate and were filled; and they took up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full. And those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.
It starts getting late, and the disciples, knowing that the crowd would be getting hungry, approach Jesus and ask him to dismiss the people to go into the villages to buy food for themselves.
It is important to note that Jesus responds positively to the disciples’ request. They have done well to consider the hunger of the crowd! But Jesus has a different idea about how to accomplish the goal of filling the bellies of the people.
“You give them something to eat,” he tells them. “I’m not going to send them to McDonald’s; we’re going to have a picnic right here with what you’ve got.” Incredulous, they respond to Jesus, “But we have only five loaves of bread and two fish!” And there are 5000 families!
Yet Jesus is undeterred. Whereas the disciples see only their limited resources, Jesus sees unlimited possibility. “Bring me what you have,” he tells them. And so the disciples bring to Jesus the five loaves and two fish, and taking them, he looks up to heaven, blesses and breaks the loaves, and gives them to the disciples, and the disciples give them to the crowds. “And all ate and were filled: and they took up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full."
You give them something to eat. In the original Greek, it is clear that Jesus emphasizes “YOU”. Although it may seem to us that Jesus is the one acting here, he does not do so without the disciples’ efforts. It is the disciples who mention to Jesus the hunger of the crowd. It is the disciples who bring what little resources they have—5 loaves and 2 fish—to Jesus. It is the disciples who begin the distribution in faith – not knowing the end result of their obedience, a part of them likely feeling foolish, thinking that this is a pointless endeavor. It is the disciples who distribute the bread to everyone – no mean task among 5000 families! And it is the disciples who collect twelve baskets of leftovers. It is a miracle of our Lord, to be sure; but as one commentator states, “the disciples are indispensable—from the diagnosis of the need to the gathering up of the leftovers.” (Brueggemann et al, Texts for Preaching, Year A, WJK, p.432)
We Christians rightly attribute all good things to God, but we often fail to recognize that God intends that we play an integral part in the accomplishment of those good things. Jesus could have saved the disciples all that work of distributing bread to 5000 families if he had just multiplied the loaves inside the stomachs of the people. But that is not what he does. The miracle requires human involvement. And yet how often do we think that a “miracle” is something that God does, and work is something that we humans do? Someone is cured of cancer through the God-given talents of researchers and physicians; is that any less a miracle than if God were to cure that person without the physicians? We send food to areas of Africa suffering catastrophic famine. Is not that food a miracle to those starving people? And yet mention the word “miracle” to the average American, and most will say that it is something God does without human involvement.
It is easy to see how we have gotten ourselves into this fix. Since the time of Thomas Cranmer, we Anglicans have been products of a very Calvinistic theology. “There is no health in us,” the 1928 Prayer Book said. And if there is no health in us, then no good can possibly come from us. If God wants a miracle, God had better do it without us sinful humans.
And yet, here is Jesus saying, “You give them something to eat.”
Martin Luther, who was suspicious of anything that even hinted at works righteousness, who saw everything as coming from the grace of God, wrote this: “If God did not bless, not one hair, not a solitary wisp of straw, would grow; … there would be an end of everything. At the same time God wants me to take this stand: I would have nothing whatever if I did not plow and sow. God does not want to have success come without work… He does not want me to sit at home, to loaf, to commit matters to God, and to wait till a fried chicken flies into my mouth.”
We are called to be co-workers with Christ! “You give them something to eat”—and as the disciples offer to Jesus their meager resources, Jesus blesses them and in the process of their being distributed by the disciples they are multiplied beyond imagination! It is the story of what happens when we take the Eucharist into our lives and back out into the world. Because we have become joined to Jesus by partaking of his life, we, too – like Jesus – are to offer ourselves as bread broken and given to others.
All too often, however, if you are like me, we withhold our gifts and expect God to do miracles without us. Perhaps we withhold offering what we have because what we have seems so insignificant. We are discouraged by the larger “realities”. What good are only five loaves and two fish among five thousand families? What good are my small talents, my meager tithe? We focus on the “only”: we “only” have 5 loaves and two fish; we “only” have a $40,000 annual income; we can “only” give so much of our time. And yet we are called to trust the power of God to address the realities of human need with what we have. Doing what we can with what we have been given gives God the opportunity to transform and multiply our meager efforts.
“You give them something to eat.”
What an exciting and awesome privilege, that we are called to be co-creators with God, to be ministers of God’s grace in our world! If only we could see our work in the Church, in our families, in the world in that light, perhaps our attitude – our perspective – would be transformed, and we might find new meaning, purpose, and enthusiasm for life. It may be that we would no longer rush to finish our work so that we would live, but rather we might begin to live in our work. Author and Episcopalian Madeline L’Engle said that she did not work so much as become a servant of the work. “The work does me,” L’Engle wrote; “I don’t do the work.”
This gives a whole new perspective on our Gospel story! We have been focusing on the disciples as participants in God’s work, and that is true; but the inverse is equally true: the disciples are also the recipients of the work! The disciples are not simply doing the work; the work is also doing them – effecting a change within them! They are fed not so much in eating the bread as in distributing it. It is in the process of distribution that the miracle occurs! The crowds benefit from eating the bread, to be sure; but the disciples are perhaps changed even more.
At the dedication ceremony of the house we built in Juarez, the director of the program told the family for whom we built the house: “You must understand that, while today you receive the gift of a house, this group from Colorado has received a far greater gift in building the house.” I don’t think that a one of the 16 of us would disagree. Yes, it was hot, hard work; but we were far more blessed in doing that work than the family was in receiving the fruits of that work.
What would our lives be like if we could have that attitude about all the work we do? “Guess what I get to do?” one of you would tell the other. “I get to serve on the Altar Guild!” or “I get to sing in the choir!” or “I get to teach Sunday School!” or “I get to tithe!” You laugh, but, as much work as it was for the Disciples to distribute bread to 5000 families, would you not have given your eye teeth to do that work that day? Be a part of the miracle? I can tell you that not a one of the 16 of us who went to Juarez wouldn’t go back in a heartbeat to sweat and toil in blazing heat for the privilege of building another house.
My friends, it is no different with teaching Sunday School, or volunteering to serve a meal after a funeral. In feeding young children the stories of Jesus or in feeding grieving families after a funeral, we are part of the miracle. We are fed as we feed others; the work does us as we do the work.
What is it that you get to do for God?
AMEN
Proper 12, Year A July 27, 2008 Matt 13:31 (NRSV) He put before them another parable: "The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; 32 it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches." I want to thank Merle for leading worship last weekend. We are all so blessed to have her as our deacon – and no one is more aware of that blessing than I! As most of you know, last week I was in Juarez on a mission trip with the Blackwells, the Goulds, and our youth group. We built a house; about that you will hear and see more when our youth make their presentation in three weeks. What I would like to share with you today are two things I learned from the trip – or rather re-learned, since it seems that God has to continually teach me the same lessons. During our time in Juarez, I experienced in both tangible and spiritual ways a small part of what it means to be the Body of Christ. I’m sure my understanding is just a mustard seed’s-worth; but I’ll share my experience. It begins five years ago, which was the last time our Youth Group went to Juarez. We have been raising money, bit by bit, ever since, in order to go back to Juarez to build a house with another group of youth. Oh, we have used some of that money we raised in the meantime – to go on a backpacking mission trip in 2004, to go on the Pine Ridge Mission Trip in 2006, to buy all the paint and supplies to paint our church office last summer, and to send some youth to Genesis, Quest, and Trinity Ranch; but despite these “outflows” of money, our savings toward another trip to Juarez slowly grew. Five years of raising funds. Bit by bit. Spaghetti Dinners. Bistro/Bingo luncheons. Shrove Tuesday pancakes. Selling batteries, flashlights, candy, piano CDs, disposable cameras, photographs of the churches of Canon City. Holding a Yard Sale. 90% of that money – probably more – came from you, our parish family, a relatively small parish, with many folk on fixed incomes, and now (thanks be to God!) some young families just starting out. There was one moment during our time in Juarez which seemed to bring to consciousness an underlying feeling I had the whole time I was there: the feeling that all of you were there with us; in fact, that we had really never left you that Sunday two weeks ago when you sent us off. It was a fleeting moment, the significance of which I see more clearly in retrospect: One of our youth was taking a break from the hot work of building the house. He was sitting in the shade of the single tree which God had mercifully provided on our work site. He took the wrapper off a lollipop and put it in his mouth. It was one of the lollipops left over from our candy-selling fundraiser – a lollipop which we sold for 50 cents, our profit being half that, 25 cents. 25 cents for each lollipop, going toward the goal of a Mission Trip which cost, including all the materials for the house, almost $14,000. The realization that hit me was that each person who bought a lollipop was there with us. Each person who provided for us that 25-cent profit. Small as a mustard seed. Each person who ate a pancake on Shrove Tuesday, or who cooked that pancake, or who shopped for the ingredients for that pancake. Each person who was praying for us. There we were in this foreign country, in the midst of a poverty very foreign to us, where precious few people spoke our language – and it felt in many ways like we had never left home. That was how strong the experience of your presence was! “Truly, truly I say to you”, far more than 16 people traveled to Juarez to build a house. That experience of being but a representative part of a whole host of people is, I think, just a small part of what it must mean to be the Body of Christ. “ A body is made up of many members,” St. Paul writes to the Romans, “and not all the members have the same function; in the same way, all of us, though there are so many of us, make up one body in Christ, and as different parts we are all joined to one another.” (12:4-5) We are all joined to one another. And that’s the second part of what I experienced. First was that there were far more than 16 people who built the house; but second was the sense that there were far fewer than 16 people: there was one. We were one. And I’m not just speaking about the dynamic of teamwork, in the way that sports commentators might speak of a football team working together “like one smoothly-oiled machine”. We were definitely NOT a smoothly-oiled machine! Some of us had never swung a hammer before, let alone apply stucco to chicken wire. Some of us played basketball in our free time; others played cards. No; we, skilled or unskilled, were one in our hearts and minds. As the song says, “We are one in the spirit, we are one in the Lord”. During our time in Juarez, that phrase became more than a statement of theological belief, more than words from our baptismal liturgy, more than a line from a song: it was en-fleshed in the reality of who we were – of who we are, though we seldom live it out as starkly as was evident in Juarez. As St. Paul says, “we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another.” Members one of another! It is true, my friends; not just as a statement of belief, but as a statement of fact. Far more people are involved in your life than you can imagine: each person sitting around you in this church affects you in ways you can’t even conceive of. Jose Gurrola, for whom we built the house in Juarez, works in a factory which makes Eureka vacuum cleaners. Perhaps he helped make the vacuum you have in your home. If not he, then someone like him – working for $60/week, living in a home made of wooden pallets and tarpaper. Perhaps the mustard seeds which were planted during our trip to Juarez (YOUR trip to Juarez) will sprout into an opportunity for Jose, Jr. to get an education, maybe even become a medical researcher and discover a cure for some disease which your great-grandchild might get. There are far more members of the Body of Christ – that body of which each of us is an organic part – far more members than any of us can imagine. And the people of this world whom we think are so very different from us are far more linked to us, far more ONE with us, than we could ever dream. It’s not a theological theorem, my friends; it’s reality. I’ve glimpsed it. AMEN
Sermon July 20, 2008 Can You Hear Someone Calling? By Merle Harrison Three weeks ago I attended a Grand Ultreya, a followup meeting for those who had been to Cursillo or Walk to Emmaus weekends. It was led by our Bishop, Rob O'Neill, and over the course of a day and a half he led us in four teaching sessions, each followed by a discussion with the others at our table and then a broader discussion with the whole group. Much of what I want to share with you today, about call and vocation, our ministries, comes from what I learned that weekend, and the rest comes from my own experiences of the last ten years since I came back to the church after many years away. The word vocation comes from the Latin vocare, which simply means to call. The dictionary defines it as a regular occupation, especially one for which a person is particularly suited or qualified, or an inclination, as if in response to a summons, to undertake a certain kind of work, a calling. Vocation as I want to talk about it combines these two definitions, to mean an inclination, as in response to a summons, to undertake a certain kind of work for which one is particularly suited or qualified. Every one of us has a vocation, as we are called to ministry through our baptism. Sometimes we tend to think of vocation as a call to ordained ministry, but that's way too narrow. The Episcopal Church has four orders of ministry: laypersons, bishops, priests, and deacons, and all are equally important, whether lay or ordained. I really want to stress that, as sometimes people tend to think that ordained persons are more important than the laity. Not so! It's just that they're called into different roles. Call in the church consists of three parts: Invitation, Transformation, and Vocation. The invitation to a closer relationship is always God's initiative. But our response to his invitation is crucial in determining where that invitation will lead, and even whether it leads anywhere at all. Our response comes partly from the Spirit - and if we are willing to accept the invitation, then God says "Go!" or, as Jesus was more likely to put it, "Come, follow me." Either one involves action on our part, to step out in faith. The important thing is to take that first step. It really is the hardest. The Bible abounds with stories of invitation and response, some of which were in our readings today. Abram was comfortably settled, with land and possessions, family members all around, and a position of respect in his community, when he was told by the Lord to leave his country and his kindred and his father's house and go to a new land. Imagine what that must have felt like - and he didn't even have MapQuest to see where this was going to take him or National Geographic articles and photographs to describe it! But this was an invitation with a purpose, that God would bless him and make of him a great nation, that he might be a blessing to the whole world. Bishop Rob said these are the most important 3 verses in all of Genesis, that all the rest of the Scripture is the story of Abraham and his descendants. In our Gospel reading, Jesus called Peter and Andrew and James and John to leave their fishing boats, their families, their family business, and follow him. Certainly they had no idea where all this would lead. And later there was Saul, knocked to the ground and blinded by a bright light from heaven and then hearing the voice of the Lord speaking to him! You know of other instances: Moses, attracted to a burning bush; Jacob, wrestling all night long with an angel. Clearly, God knows how to get our attention! But his invitation doesn't always come so dramatically. It may come gradually, starting as a faint murmur and growing louder until we can't ignore it any longer. In my own case, I began to feel what I can only call nudges. I was fully retired, so I thought, and loving it. Bruce and I were living a moral life but a rather self-indulgent one, camping in the mountains or at bluegrass music festivals, reading, doing genealogy, spending time with family and friends - but not going to church. But I began to feel that something was missing, and I knew very well what it was. We were living in Monument and I went so far as to check out the Episcopal Church there, where it was and what time the services were - but I never attended. I did the same thing after we moved to Canon City. It took a few more years of nudges before finally I gave in and came here to church one January morning ten and a half years ago. Immediately I felt as though I had come home, and I guess I haven't missed another weekend since then unless we were camping in some remote place. But I would have been the most surprised person in the world if I'd had any idea where it would all lead. If we accept God's invitation - and we have to choose to do so - the transformation begins, as God helps us become the person he created us to be. We are changed and refined as God works within us. This is not our own doing. Our priorities may change; we find ourselves wanting to participate. We may find ourselves doing things we never thought we could do - and finding further that we like them or they're a good fit. We are changed and refined, yes, but we're still the same persons we've always been, with the same skills and experiences and attributes, and yes, the same strengths and weaknesses. Peter and the others were still fishermen, not learned scholars. Paul was still the same intense, passionate zealot for what he believed in. God takes us and uses who we are for his own purpose. Do you see someone growing spiritually, being transformed? Affirm it to them. A few months after I came here John Popp, whom many of you will remember, told me that he and Dee were enjoying watching my spiritual growth. I was stunned. I had no idea I'd had any, much less that it might be apparent. But his saying that helped me realize that God does work in each of us, even me, and it helped me open up more to what he might be doing in my life. Don't be shy about affirming spiritual growth, transformation, in someone else, and if that someone else is you, accept it with joy. We'd all love a voice thundering from the clouds to help us discern what our vocation might be, but Instead of a direct call from God he may speak to us through another person. A few years after I came back to church and had become active in several ministries, Fr. Mark suggested that I consider the diaconate. I didn't know what a deacon was or what they do, and I had never even remotely considered the possibility of ordination. Sometimes someone else sees something in us that we haven't recognized, and this is one of the things we can do for each other in this parish. We can point out the gifts of another that may not have been apparent to that person or which he or she may have discounted. God gives every one of us gifts, and he wants us to use them, in his service and in the service of others. There is nothing wrong with recognizing that you are gifted in certain ways; that's part of how you discern your call. God blesses us with our gifts and he wants us to be a blessing to others, just like Abram in our Old Testament reading. Another way we can help each other is to provide a safe place where we can question anything at all, including a possible call. Our Women's Bible Study Group did this for me. After a lot of praying and meeting with deacons to ask questions, I rather timidly broached the idea, the possibility, of my becoming a deacon, at Bible study one morning. The others not only didn't laugh at the idea, they enthusiastically encouraged me. And we are honest with each other, so I believe they would have told me, gently and lovingly, if they thought it was an unrealistic idea. I'd like to summarize some of what I've learned about God: He never gives up on us, no matter how long it takes He has a lively sense of humor and He is full of surprises (know how to make God laugh? plan out your life) And especially, He will give us whatever is needed to do what he calls us to do, to accomplish his purpose My "patron saint" or Biblical example for several years was Moses, who would say: "Please, God, send someone else to do this; I can't" When I was assigned to become a chaplain intern at the hospital and at PCC during Clinical Pastoral Education, which was part of my diaconal training, I thought "there's no way I can go into one room after another, introduce myself to someone I've never met, and initiate a conversation. What if they just look at me and don't respond? What if they want me to pray for them off the top of my head? What if they ask me questions I can't answer?" I had a whole list of 'what if's' and 'can'ts.' But He will give us whatever is needed to do what he calls us to do, to accomplish his purpose. I prayed almost always as I went in to visit someone, sometimes just a simple heartfelt "Help!" and he always did help, sometimes surprising me greatly in terms of what I heard myself saying to the patient. And part of my transformation was a gradual learning to get myself out of the way to let him act. I can't say that I never have anxious moments any more, but as I learned to trust God and saw the way he was acting in my life, indeed giving me whatever was needed for the situation I was facing, I became comfortable with the duties of a chaplain, and eventually I realized that this was not just a temporary part of my training but that chaplaincy was my vocation, a call to a particular ministry within the diaconate [as well as part of my ongoing transformation]. I can't finish without telling you how grateful I am to all of you for your part in what has happened in my life. You welcomed me when I first came back to church and made me feel I belonged; you inspired me by your examples of Christian life and ministry and especially Christian love; and you encouraged me through the long and sometimes uncertain diaconal process. We can do the same things for others here. Look around you. Is there someone in our church whom you think might be called to a particular ministry, within the church or perhaps in the community? Encourage him or her. And reflect. Could it be you??? Amen.
Proper 10, Year A July 13, 2008 Matthew 13:1-9 That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea. And great crowds gathered about him, so that he got into a boat and sat down. And the whole crowd stood on the beach. And he told them many things in parables, saying: “A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell along the path, and the birds came and devoured them. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and immediately they sprang up, since they had no depth of soil, but when the sun rose they were scorched. And since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and produced grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. He who has ears, let him hear.” What is a seed? Potential. Pure potential. The sower in our Gospel parable carries a bag of hundreds of seeds, each one of which has the potential to grow into a healthy, fruitful plant. But not all will. Some will become food for birds, others will spring up and be choked by thorns or scorched by the sun. Some, however, will fall on good soil, find ample rain, and bear fruit: 30-fold, 60-fold, 100-fold. The sower doesn’t know which of the seeds in his bag will end up being fruitful. He tries to throw the seed onto good soil, but the wind blows some of it among the weeds, the rocks, or on the path. Perhaps a seed will even be blown into a cave, where it will remain for many years. In 1967, seeds of an arctic tundra plant were found that were dated at 10,000 years old, and yet when they were planted in the right conditions, they grew. The potential of that seed did not manifest itself for 10,000 years. (Encyclopedia Britannica: “Reproduction”) In Holy Baptism, a seed of the Holy Spirit is planted within us: pure, divine potential. Will it grow? If so, when? How much fruit will it bear – 30-fold, 60, 100-fold? We can affect the outcome somewhat by providing the conditions conducive for growth. But in the final analysis, what more can we say than St. Paul said about the seed of the Gospel which he sowed: “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth.” (1 Cor. 3:6) We know that as Alezandr is baptized today, he will have the advantages of a loving family who will nurture him “in the knowledge and love of the Lord”. The divine potential is there, the conditions are right, and we pray that seed of God’s Holy Spirit will bear fruit 100-fold in Alezandr’s life. There is other seed, other potential here today, also, upon which we focus attention; for today, you, the family of God here at Christ Church, throw 16 seeds toward Mexico. Will they grow? Will they bear fruit? If so, how much – 30-fold, 60, 100-fold? And when – in a year? Two years? 100 years? We may never know the answers to any of these questions. From Jesus’ parable, however, we do know this: you and I are both soil and sower. May God give growth to the seed: 30, 60, 100-fold. AMEN
Proper 9, Year A July 6, 2008 Matthew 11:28-30 [Jesus said,]“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.”
You’ve been there. You’re pushing that lawn mower, or digging in your garden; sweat pours down your brow into your eyes, soaks your shirt. The air is still as a corpse; not a breeze all day. The American flag you have hung out for the Fourth hangs limp on its pole. The thermometer reads well over a hundred. Then the door of the house opens, and someone walks out with a glass of ice-cold lemonade. You take a gulp, and feel the cold drink pour down your parched throat. You stop to take a breath – ahhh! – and then gulp some more. Most likely, you’ve also been in – perhaps still are in – one of these situations: Heavy-laden with financial burdens, or health problems; overstressed by conditions at work, or by concerns for children, grandchildren, parents, or ailing friends; weighed down by the simple little daily chores of keeping the house clean, the pantry stocked, the lawn mowed, all building up until they seem overwhelming. A weariness of heart, a heavy-laden spirit, a parched soul. It is to those of us in these situations that Jesus says, “Come unto me, and I will refresh you. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Jesus promises refreshment for our wearied, parched spirits not unlike the refreshment that lemonade brought our wearied bodies and parched throats. But how, we might ask? What form does this refreshment take, and what do I need to do to get it? Perhaps it would be helpful to begin by noting what it is that Jesus doesn’t say: He does not say, “Come unto me and I will remove your burdens from you.” The lawn still needs to be mowed, the house cleaned, bills paid, children or aging parents looked after. Jesus does not remove these obligations and responsibilities. You rest for a moment from mowing the lawn while you drink that lemonade, but then you go back and finish mowing the lawn. Yet you go back after having been refreshed – not only rested, but rejuvenated and reinvigorated. The lemonade re-hydrates you, and the sugar in the lemonade gives you energy to continue your work. “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”
It is one of those verses of Scripture which form what have been called the “comfortable words” in our Prayer Book. But we should remember that “comfortable” originally meant “strengthening” – cum forte – with strength. And in one of our Eucharistic Prayers we implore God to “deliver us from the presumption of coming to this table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal.” We come to our Lord for solace and pardon, to be sure; but our Lord does not send us back into the world without strengthening us and renewing us for the ministries to which he calls us. The “rest and refreshment” to which Jesus calls us is not a termination of our labors, but rather a replenishment of our energies for our labors. For in the very next sentence after he says, “I will refresh you” he says “Take my yoke upon you, for my yoke is easy, and my burden light.” Now, I used to think that, because Jesus said, “My yoke is easy”, I must be doing something terribly wrong when things didn’t come easy, when I struggled or when I failed. But I discovered that the word which is translated “easy” can also be translated “suitable”, and the word “light” can also be translated “not too great”; so that Jesus says: “Take my yoke upon you, for my yoke is suitable for you, and my burden is not too great.” As a surgeon, Dr. Paul Brand was very familiar with bedsores, those painful lesions which appear when a patient’s whole weight is born by just a few spots on her backside. As a missionary in India, Dr. Brand observed a similar situation when it came to yokes placed on the necks of oxen. If the yoke was not fitted properly to an individual ox’s neck, the wood of the yoke would rub against only a few spots on the ox’s skin, and painful pressure sores or blisters would quickly appear; pulling its burden would be more than the ox could bear. But if the wood of the yoke was carved to fit an ox’s neck, the weight was evenly distributed over the whole area of the neck, and it was amazing what burdens that ox could pull! Some of us carry burdens which Jesus never intended us to carry. Worrying about things we have no control over. Fighting the wrong battles. Trying to please everyone all the time. Thinking that everything would just be fine if only we could change somebody else. These – and other burdens like them – are not those that Jesus would have us bear! They will crush us, or at least rub us raw to the point that we cannot stand the pain. Jesus tells us: “Come to me. Lay all your unbearable burdens at my feet. Remove that ill-fitting yoke which I never intended for you to wear. Rest. Drink long from the refreshing spring of my spirit. Be renewed and strengthened. Then take my yoke upon you. Learn from me what burdens I would have you bear. You will find that my yoke is fitted just for you, and therefore my burden is not too great.” We all wear yokes of one kind of another. Whose yoke do you wear? AMEN
Proper 8, Year A June 29, 2008 Matthew 10:40-42 The famous monastery had fallen on very hard times. Its many buildings were once filled with young monks, and chapel resounded with the singing of the choir. But now it seemed almost deserted. People no longer came there to be nourished by prayer. Only a handful of old monks remained.
On the edge of the monastery woods, an old rabbi had built a tiny hut. He came there from time to time to fast and pray. No one ever spoke with him, but whenever he appeared, the word would be passed from monk to monk: “The rabbi walks in the woods.”
One day the abbot decided to visit the rabbi and bear his heart to him. As he approached the hut, the abbot saw the rabbi standing in the doorway, his arms outstretched in welcome. It was as though he had been waiting there for some time. The two embraced.
As he entered the hut, he saw in the middle of the room a wooden table with the Scriptures open. They sat there for a moment, in the presence of the Book. Then the rabbi began to cry. The abbot could not contain himself. He covered his face with his hands and broke down.
After the tears and all was quiet again, the rabbi lifted his head. “You and your brothers are serving God with heavy hearts,” he said. “You have come to ask a teaching of me. I will give you a teaching, but you can only repeat it once. After that, no one must ever say it aloud again.”
The rabbi looked straight at the abbot and said, “The Messiah is among you.” The Abbot stood in stunned silence. Then the rabbi said, “Now you must go.” The abbot left without ever looking back.
The next morning, the abbot called his monks together in the chapter room. He told them that he had received a teaching from the rabbi who walks in the woods, and that this teaching was never again to be spoken aloud. Then he looked at each of his brothers and said, “The rabbi said that one of us is the Messiah.”
The monks were startled and thought to themselves: “What could it mean? Is brother John the Messiah? No, he’s too old and crotchety. Is brother Thomas? No, he’s too stubborn and set in his ways. Am I the Messiah? What could this possibly mean?” They were all deeply puzzled by the rabbi’s teaching. But no one ever mentioned it again.
As time went by, though, something began to happen at the monastery. The monks began to treat one another with a reverence. They were gentle with one another. They lived with one another as brothers once again. Visitors found themselves deeply moved by the genuine caring and sharing that went on among them. Before long, people were again coming from great distances to be nourished by the prayer life of these monks. And young men were asking, once again, to become part of the community.
Jesus said, “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me… and whoever gives so much as a cup of cold water to one of the least of these followers of mine because he is a disciple -- truly I tell you, he will by no means lose his reward.”
AMEN
Proper 7, Year A June 22, 2008 Matthew 10:[16-23] 24-33 "See, I am sending you out like sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. Beware of them, for they will hand you over to councils and flog you in their synagogues; and you will be dragged before governors and kings because of me, as a testimony to them and the Gentiles. When they hand you over, do not worry about how you are to speak or what you are to say; for what you are to say will be given to you at that time; for it is not you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you. Brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child, and children will rise against parents and have them put to death; and you will be hated by all because of my name. But the one who endures to the end will be saved. When they persecute you in one town, flee to the next; for truly I tell you, you will not hav | 
