The Ven. Richard I. Cluett
July 30, 2006
Proper 12 ~ 2Kings 4:42-44 John 6:1-21
When our children were young, it was our family practice to help serve Thanksgiving dinner to others before we went home to serve ourselves.
In those days I was the archdeacon and so had no parochial responsibilities. Also in those days, long, long ago, we had a diocesan mission to the Hispanic community in Allentown. The vicar was a former archdeacon of the Diocese of Puerto Rico. His name was Father Rueben Rodriguez; the name of the mission was Capilla Santo Nombre de Jesus.
It was one of the things I was most happiest about in my ministry as archdeacon. The fact of its existence gave me great joy. It was true, authentic, important, serving a vital need for a community that in those days was voiceless, powerless, of no account in the great scheme of things. It was very much like our work in Kajo Keji, in Southern Sudan today, but then in our own neighborhood. And the church, our church, our diocese, was there, ministering, because God called it to be and we made it happen.
Santo Nombre was at the corner of Ridge and Gordon Streets in Allentown; a ghetto of poverty, joblessness, drugs, the homeless, and families desperate to make a living and a life for themselves. The people in that neighborhood, mainly Hispanic, in time came to look to that mission as their voice, as their power, as the sign of their identity, their worth, as the Source of their succour, their help when there was no other.
And they were hungry, so hungry for so many things. And being associated with Capilla Santo Nombre de Jesus, and with Father Ruben, they knew would give them a chance to be fed – in whatever way they needed. Santo Nombre was a place of hospitality, caring, help, reconciliation – even salvation.
And like many such ministries, an important sign of all that was the annual community Thanksgiving dinner which in this case was provided by the people of the Santo Nombre themselves; open to all and to any who were hungry – hungry for food, hungry for community, hungry for a sense of being cared about, hungry for a party, a celebration, hungry for an opportunity to be the one who serves others in need.
And they came. Dressed in their best clothes they came. Bringing a dish to share, they came. From small, crowded airless apartments or rooms shared with too many members of families near and extended, they came. From no jobs, from low-paying jobs, from too many jobs they came. From the ordeal of hard-scrabbling life, they came… to give thanks.
It was the people of Santo Nombre de Jesus, the people who had so little in the terms of our culture, our society, and our economy, it was the members of that chapel who provided all that was necessary for Thanksgiving dinner, from roast turkey with filling to fried plantains. Who would have thought that these people could produce such a beautifully decorated dining hall, could provide such a wonderful feast, could make their neighbors, including the homeless, and themselves into such a loud, joyous community celebration of God’s goodness – in the midst of such need, want and hunger. Who would have thought they could do that?
It was a miracle.
And it was a miracle that Puddy and I wanted our family to be a part of – for all the reasons you might imagine. We were hungry too; with a hunger to be of use, a hunger to share, a hunger to be part of life at its most basic, most essential core, a hunger to be fed by the courage, and faith and resourcefulness of the people of Santo Nombre.
So each year our family would come down from our mountainside home, go down into the valley, into the center of the city to be a part of this miracle: to help set-up, cook-up, serve-up and clean-up – and thereby each one of us (and I don’t mean just the Cluett’s), each one, each person there was lifted-up; lifted-up into the presence of the one, holy God, in the community of saints, and given an experience of how God intends it to be for all people in all times, including right there at that time on the corner of Ridge and Gordon Streets in Allentown, PA.
It was a miracle. It was God’s kingdom present, glimpsed and experienced in that moment.
We read about it in the Revelation to John (7:14-17):
“… These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. For this reason they are before the throne of God, and worship him day and night within his temple, and the one who is seated on the throne will shelter them. They will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the centre of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”
We hear those words at funerals, during requiems. But God doesn’t intend that vision to be realized when we die. God intends it for NOW.
So... Today we are reminded through these readings that God wants hungry people fed. There is no hunger, no need that is of little concern to God. The desire of God’s heart is that the hungry be filled with good things. And that we help provide the bread that is needed – in whatever form.
Do you believe that you are truly called by God to feed the hungry? I do.
Do you believe this cathedral congregation is truly called by God to feed the hungry, to be a sign of God’s presence, to be an instrument of Hope for those who have so little reason to hope? I do.
Do you believe God wants us to take care of these things, to be the provider of these miracles, to stand by, to work with and to lift up those who are bowed down? byu the ordeal of their lives? I do.
Do you believe that God will provide what we need to do the ministry God wants done?
I do.
I deeply and completely believe God calls each of us and this cathedral to this ministry of miracle-making – filling the hungry with good things. And I believe in the very depth of my being and that in the heart of God all things necessary will be provided; as they were in the time of Elisha, in the ministry of Jesus, and through the people of the Capilla Santo Nombre de Jesus.
As we do that, we will find that God fills our deepest hungers, our greatest needs, as well. That, too, is part of the miracle.
Gracias, El Senor.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Pentecost 7: Honoring the Questions
The Rev. Canon Anne E. Kitch
Proper 11B: Mark 6:30-34, 53-56
July 23, 2006
Honoring the Questions
In my High School Latin class, I could spit out the future verb endings faster than anyone else. I know this for a fact because when we played quiz game on Fridays I always won that challenge. Now you may not all be familiar with Latin, but I bet you are familiar with class quizzes whether they come in the form of games or tests. I am sure more than one of you has at least witnessed, if not personally experienced, the reward given those for knowing the right answer and giving it faster than anyone else. In this country, our entire education system as well as most work places assigns high value on knowing the answers. Learning, whether in Kindergarten or tenth grade or on-the-job training, is mostly defined as finding the right answers and then committing them to memory so that you can use the information. Having the answers is valuable. Information is power.
But are answers the only information that counts? What about the questions? What if we lived in an economy where asking questions was valuable? Where the questions themselves were significant regardless of the answers? What does it look like to honor the question?
So much of our life and labor is spent looking for the answers: what should I be when I grow up, how can I get a better job, where can I find a life partner. From the time we begin our formal education in this country we spend at least the next 12 years learning the answers. We learn that answers are what we seek. Questions are only a vehicle to get us to the answer. But what would it look like if instead o spending our lives learning the answers, we spent them learning the questions?
What does it look like to honor the question? For the past two days I have been with a small group of people (some from Cathedral, some from our diocese, some from beyond our diocese), committed to nurturing youth in the church as we attended a training for mentors in our Journey to Adulthood Training. We began this training with a discussion about spiritual formation. How we are formed as spiritual people? Who are we as people in relationship to God and one another? What dies it look like to be people who seek God in all places in all times in all things? The grounding question for people who understand that relationship to God is primary, is: Where is God in this? This question assumes that God is. God is present. God is caring. God is where and when. If, as a spiritual person, as a Christian, a follower of Christ, I intend my life to be one lived in relationship to God (and God is in relationship to us whether we recognize it or no), then the foremost driving principle of my life becomes where am I in relation to God and God’s people?
The gift of spiritual formation lies not is discovering THE ANSWER to who I am or what God has planned for me, but rather in the process of discovery itself. The journey rather than the destination becomes key. Being intentional about our spiritual formation leads us to let go of a determination to get to the answer as quickly as possible and to take hold of a commitment to investigating the questions. To honor the question takes time. It is not as quick as learning the answers and having them at the ready. Spiritual formation often requires us to slow down. This often flies in the face of (or in the pace of) our fast-paced frenetic culture. We are so busy getting things done, getting from place to place, getting the answers, that we often miss the point.
Today’s Gospel lesson reflects this frenetic pace--but it wasn’t meant to. If you thought the grammar of the Gospel reading in your bulletin was a bit off, you would be right—it is not a typo. Part of the story is missing. While the reading comes from the 6th chapter of Mark, you will notice that several verses are omitted. It caught me up short when I first read the lesson in preparing for today. What is missing? Just the small matter of the feeding of the 5000, Jesus walking on water, and the stilling of the storm. Here’s how the full story goes. Jesus had called the twelve together and sent them out two-by-two. They went about proclaiming God’s word, casting out demons, and healing the sick. Then they report back. They gather around Jesus telling him all they have done. Jesus says come and rest, let’s go to a deserted place. They had been so busy they hadn’t even had time to eat. The only problem with this plan is that people see them going, take a short-cut, and the place is not so deserted when they get there. As Jesus goes ashore, he sees the great crowd and has compassion for them “and he began to teach them many things.” And our reading this morning continues “When they had crossed over they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat.”
In that gap, in that space between getting to one destination and the next, a lot of life happens. 5000 people are feed from five loaves and two fish. The disciples leave in a boat and get caught in a storm. Jesus walks across the lake to meet the disciples and stills the storm. Then they land at Genesseret. Without this middle part, without the meat of the story, our reading portrays a frenetic pace of going and going. No time to rest and look and see. I think it ironic that the editors cut it this way. I think this kind of editing is something we do all the time. We get to the point and get to it fast, but in doing so we miss so much. This reading also models the lives we lead. The editing of this story depicts Jesus’ ministry as going, going, going. Quickly moving from one destination to another with no time to eat or think or ponder life’s questions along the way.
Does that sound at all familiar to you? How often are we so focused on our destination, that we see nothing along the way? And what is between the destinations in our Gospel story? What is found along the way from the deserted place to the shores of Gennesaret? Well, Jesus for one thing. Along with food, fellowship and a miracle or two, Evidence of God’s power and sustaining love.
Now don’t despair. We will get the feeding story next week (although it will be John’s version). And we will get fed here today and it is not fast food. It is the sustaining food of community, of prayer, of God’s love.
What might we discover if we slow down enough along the way to see where we are? How might we be fed? Where might we encounter God if we pay attention to the in-between places? Make no mistake, Jesus is found in the frenzy as well and he offers healing there. But what more of God and ourselves is there for us to revel in if we remember the in-between places? What happens if we ponder the questions?
© Anne E. Kitch 2006
Proper 11B: Mark 6:30-34, 53-56
July 23, 2006
Honoring the Questions
In my High School Latin class, I could spit out the future verb endings faster than anyone else. I know this for a fact because when we played quiz game on Fridays I always won that challenge. Now you may not all be familiar with Latin, but I bet you are familiar with class quizzes whether they come in the form of games or tests. I am sure more than one of you has at least witnessed, if not personally experienced, the reward given those for knowing the right answer and giving it faster than anyone else. In this country, our entire education system as well as most work places assigns high value on knowing the answers. Learning, whether in Kindergarten or tenth grade or on-the-job training, is mostly defined as finding the right answers and then committing them to memory so that you can use the information. Having the answers is valuable. Information is power.
But are answers the only information that counts? What about the questions? What if we lived in an economy where asking questions was valuable? Where the questions themselves were significant regardless of the answers? What does it look like to honor the question?
So much of our life and labor is spent looking for the answers: what should I be when I grow up, how can I get a better job, where can I find a life partner. From the time we begin our formal education in this country we spend at least the next 12 years learning the answers. We learn that answers are what we seek. Questions are only a vehicle to get us to the answer. But what would it look like if instead o spending our lives learning the answers, we spent them learning the questions?
What does it look like to honor the question? For the past two days I have been with a small group of people (some from Cathedral, some from our diocese, some from beyond our diocese), committed to nurturing youth in the church as we attended a training for mentors in our Journey to Adulthood Training. We began this training with a discussion about spiritual formation. How we are formed as spiritual people? Who are we as people in relationship to God and one another? What dies it look like to be people who seek God in all places in all times in all things? The grounding question for people who understand that relationship to God is primary, is: Where is God in this? This question assumes that God is. God is present. God is caring. God is where and when. If, as a spiritual person, as a Christian, a follower of Christ, I intend my life to be one lived in relationship to God (and God is in relationship to us whether we recognize it or no), then the foremost driving principle of my life becomes where am I in relation to God and God’s people?
The gift of spiritual formation lies not is discovering THE ANSWER to who I am or what God has planned for me, but rather in the process of discovery itself. The journey rather than the destination becomes key. Being intentional about our spiritual formation leads us to let go of a determination to get to the answer as quickly as possible and to take hold of a commitment to investigating the questions. To honor the question takes time. It is not as quick as learning the answers and having them at the ready. Spiritual formation often requires us to slow down. This often flies in the face of (or in the pace of) our fast-paced frenetic culture. We are so busy getting things done, getting from place to place, getting the answers, that we often miss the point.
Today’s Gospel lesson reflects this frenetic pace--but it wasn’t meant to. If you thought the grammar of the Gospel reading in your bulletin was a bit off, you would be right—it is not a typo. Part of the story is missing. While the reading comes from the 6th chapter of Mark, you will notice that several verses are omitted. It caught me up short when I first read the lesson in preparing for today. What is missing? Just the small matter of the feeding of the 5000, Jesus walking on water, and the stilling of the storm. Here’s how the full story goes. Jesus had called the twelve together and sent them out two-by-two. They went about proclaiming God’s word, casting out demons, and healing the sick. Then they report back. They gather around Jesus telling him all they have done. Jesus says come and rest, let’s go to a deserted place. They had been so busy they hadn’t even had time to eat. The only problem with this plan is that people see them going, take a short-cut, and the place is not so deserted when they get there. As Jesus goes ashore, he sees the great crowd and has compassion for them “and he began to teach them many things.” And our reading this morning continues “When they had crossed over they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat.”
In that gap, in that space between getting to one destination and the next, a lot of life happens. 5000 people are feed from five loaves and two fish. The disciples leave in a boat and get caught in a storm. Jesus walks across the lake to meet the disciples and stills the storm. Then they land at Genesseret. Without this middle part, without the meat of the story, our reading portrays a frenetic pace of going and going. No time to rest and look and see. I think it ironic that the editors cut it this way. I think this kind of editing is something we do all the time. We get to the point and get to it fast, but in doing so we miss so much. This reading also models the lives we lead. The editing of this story depicts Jesus’ ministry as going, going, going. Quickly moving from one destination to another with no time to eat or think or ponder life’s questions along the way.
Does that sound at all familiar to you? How often are we so focused on our destination, that we see nothing along the way? And what is between the destinations in our Gospel story? What is found along the way from the deserted place to the shores of Gennesaret? Well, Jesus for one thing. Along with food, fellowship and a miracle or two, Evidence of God’s power and sustaining love.
Now don’t despair. We will get the feeding story next week (although it will be John’s version). And we will get fed here today and it is not fast food. It is the sustaining food of community, of prayer, of God’s love.
What might we discover if we slow down enough along the way to see where we are? How might we be fed? Where might we encounter God if we pay attention to the in-between places? Make no mistake, Jesus is found in the frenzy as well and he offers healing there. But what more of God and ourselves is there for us to revel in if we remember the in-between places? What happens if we ponder the questions?
© Anne E. Kitch 2006
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Pentecost 6: Standing Up
The Ven. Richard I. Cluett
July 16. 2006
Proper 10 - 2 Samuel 6:1-5, 12b-19, Mark 6:14-29
I have been a priest for 36 years and have never been faced with preaching on this passage about the death of John the Baptist. Most parish clergy who are solo in a parish take their vacation from mid-July to mid-August. Now I see why. The church lectionary saves passages such as this for mid-summer so that, as important as it may be, both clergy and congregation have a good chance of being spared having to face it. If I had looked ahead when preparing the preaching schedule, you most likely would have found Canon Atkinson in this pulpit on this Sunday to take on this passage.
But here we are, priest and parishioner, on this Sunday so let’s gird our loins and see what God might be trying to say to us today in this sordid tale from so long ago.
And sordid is a good word here. It defines something as “involving ignoble actions and motives; arousing moral distaste and contempt.”
And indeed the death of John the Baptist does just that. It involves the basest of human motives, the grossest of human morals, the beastliest of human behaviors – and the horrible death of a holy man and a strong and true prophet of the Most High God.
But, how dare he confront the king with the truth about his actions. No wonder they put him in prison. How dare he publicly oppose the wishes of the king? How dare he oppose the actions and policies of the legal government? How dare he speak out, so loudly, in opposition to behaviors offensive to God? How dare he…! "He will pay!”
Joanna Adams wrote, “You can put your ear to the ground and listen as hard as you can, but you will not detect a single note of authentic joy or hope anywhere in the vicinity” of this story. I am not sure that I agree entirely, but it does feel that way, and you don’t find Jesus in this story either.
Mark has placed this story in his narrative right after we have heard of all the successes of the miracles stories, the disciples have been sent out to spread the Good News, and then we get this story. John’s death had happened in the past, mark could have placed it anywhere, but here it is close to the beginning. It sort of casts a pall over the whole enterprise, doesn’t it?
This new reign of God will come at some cost, some great cost to some. Didn’t Jesus warn his disciples that it wouldn’t be easy; that there would be costs to their being his disciples? Going out as lambs among wolves.
Some of you are old enough to remember what the Sergeant on the old TV show, Hill Street Blues, said when he sent his squad out into the streets at the beginning on each and every show, "Be careful, you can get hurt out there."
The world is a dangerous place. It is especially so for those who would be true to what they know of God and of God’s way. There is a reason the early church met underground, literally, and in secret. It was dangerous to live God’s way.
It has been so for anyone who would counter the evils of the world with the ways of God. The church calendar is full of people who paid the ultimate cost of discipleship, the cost of living counter to “the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God” that we regularly renounce in our Baptismal Covenant.
What are some of the things we hear about the ways of the world that are counter to God’s ways? Dog eat dog. The rat race. The one with the most toys wins. The first shall be first. My way or the highway. Be number 1! We could go on ad infinitum, ad nauseum.
The people of God, the followers of Jesus are to live in direct opposition to that kind of world. And it can be dangerous today, too. Dangerous to confront behaviors that hurt, be they in a classroom, or on a street corner, or in a boardroom or a government office.
Throughout my adult life I have been very attentive to matters of inclusivity, and diversity. I recently saw this story told by Brian Stoffgren that lays out the discipleship issue pretty clearly. It comes from the civil rights era of the 1950’s.
There were two brothers in Georgia. One decided that in opposition to the dominant culture of the day, he was going to support and participate in the formation of a multi-ethnic, multi-racial inclusive community. The other worked as an attorney for a prominent law firm. Both were faithful Christians and attended church regularly.
As the community formed and social pressures eventually forced them into court proceedings, the one brother asked his attorney brother to help them with the legal work. The brother refused, saying that he could lose his job. The one increased the pressure to help with a reminder that he was a Christian. The lawyer responded, "I will follow Jesus to his cross, but it is his cross. I have no need to be crucified." To this his brother replied, "Then you are an admirer of Jesus, but not his disciple."
Perhaps you will remember this poem about the rise of Nazism written by Pastor Martin Niemoller.
First they came for the Communists,
and I didn’t speak up,
because I wasn’t a Communist.
Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn’t speak up,
because I wasn’t a Jew.
Then they came for the Catholics,
and I didn’t speak up,
because I was a Protestant.
Then they came for me,
and by that time there was no one
left to speak up for me.
I remember what a holy woman by the name of Verna Dozier taught in her book, The Dream of God. “The clear message of Jesus in the Gospels is to follow Him. But early on, the institutional church found this task too daunting, and decided it would just worship Him instead!”
The message of this gospel today is that we, too, must “Stand up for Jesus”.
We who believe, who know, who have seen, and have been touched by the power of Christ in our own lives; we are to stand up for Jesus, stand up for what is right and of God, stand up when those in power betray their calling, stand up when others can’t. Each of us can come up with our own list of reasons why we need to Stand Up.
For most of us the cost will be, perhaps, only some social isolation – but, then, we already know that we are always surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, and the community of believers, and the whole host of heaven – and no matter what happens, God reigns.
If we stand up, God reigns. If we speak out, God reigns. If we should fall, God reigns. But, at the very least, we will know who reigns and rules our own heart, and soul, and mind, our strength – the Most High God reigns! For ever and ever. Amen.
July 16. 2006
Proper 10 - 2 Samuel 6:1-5, 12b-19, Mark 6:14-29
I have been a priest for 36 years and have never been faced with preaching on this passage about the death of John the Baptist. Most parish clergy who are solo in a parish take their vacation from mid-July to mid-August. Now I see why. The church lectionary saves passages such as this for mid-summer so that, as important as it may be, both clergy and congregation have a good chance of being spared having to face it. If I had looked ahead when preparing the preaching schedule, you most likely would have found Canon Atkinson in this pulpit on this Sunday to take on this passage.
But here we are, priest and parishioner, on this Sunday so let’s gird our loins and see what God might be trying to say to us today in this sordid tale from so long ago.
And sordid is a good word here. It defines something as “involving ignoble actions and motives; arousing moral distaste and contempt.”
And indeed the death of John the Baptist does just that. It involves the basest of human motives, the grossest of human morals, the beastliest of human behaviors – and the horrible death of a holy man and a strong and true prophet of the Most High God.
But, how dare he confront the king with the truth about his actions. No wonder they put him in prison. How dare he publicly oppose the wishes of the king? How dare he oppose the actions and policies of the legal government? How dare he speak out, so loudly, in opposition to behaviors offensive to God? How dare he…! "He will pay!”
Joanna Adams wrote, “You can put your ear to the ground and listen as hard as you can, but you will not detect a single note of authentic joy or hope anywhere in the vicinity” of this story. I am not sure that I agree entirely, but it does feel that way, and you don’t find Jesus in this story either.
Mark has placed this story in his narrative right after we have heard of all the successes of the miracles stories, the disciples have been sent out to spread the Good News, and then we get this story. John’s death had happened in the past, mark could have placed it anywhere, but here it is close to the beginning. It sort of casts a pall over the whole enterprise, doesn’t it?
This new reign of God will come at some cost, some great cost to some. Didn’t Jesus warn his disciples that it wouldn’t be easy; that there would be costs to their being his disciples? Going out as lambs among wolves.
Some of you are old enough to remember what the Sergeant on the old TV show, Hill Street Blues, said when he sent his squad out into the streets at the beginning on each and every show, "Be careful, you can get hurt out there."
The world is a dangerous place. It is especially so for those who would be true to what they know of God and of God’s way. There is a reason the early church met underground, literally, and in secret. It was dangerous to live God’s way.
It has been so for anyone who would counter the evils of the world with the ways of God. The church calendar is full of people who paid the ultimate cost of discipleship, the cost of living counter to “the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God” that we regularly renounce in our Baptismal Covenant.
What are some of the things we hear about the ways of the world that are counter to God’s ways? Dog eat dog. The rat race. The one with the most toys wins. The first shall be first. My way or the highway. Be number 1! We could go on ad infinitum, ad nauseum.
The people of God, the followers of Jesus are to live in direct opposition to that kind of world. And it can be dangerous today, too. Dangerous to confront behaviors that hurt, be they in a classroom, or on a street corner, or in a boardroom or a government office.
Throughout my adult life I have been very attentive to matters of inclusivity, and diversity. I recently saw this story told by Brian Stoffgren that lays out the discipleship issue pretty clearly. It comes from the civil rights era of the 1950’s.
There were two brothers in Georgia. One decided that in opposition to the dominant culture of the day, he was going to support and participate in the formation of a multi-ethnic, multi-racial inclusive community. The other worked as an attorney for a prominent law firm. Both were faithful Christians and attended church regularly.
As the community formed and social pressures eventually forced them into court proceedings, the one brother asked his attorney brother to help them with the legal work. The brother refused, saying that he could lose his job. The one increased the pressure to help with a reminder that he was a Christian. The lawyer responded, "I will follow Jesus to his cross, but it is his cross. I have no need to be crucified." To this his brother replied, "Then you are an admirer of Jesus, but not his disciple."
Perhaps you will remember this poem about the rise of Nazism written by Pastor Martin Niemoller.
First they came for the Communists,
and I didn’t speak up,
because I wasn’t a Communist.
Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn’t speak up,
because I wasn’t a Jew.
Then they came for the Catholics,
and I didn’t speak up,
because I was a Protestant.
Then they came for me,
and by that time there was no one
left to speak up for me.
I remember what a holy woman by the name of Verna Dozier taught in her book, The Dream of God. “The clear message of Jesus in the Gospels is to follow Him. But early on, the institutional church found this task too daunting, and decided it would just worship Him instead!”
The message of this gospel today is that we, too, must “Stand up for Jesus”.
We who believe, who know, who have seen, and have been touched by the power of Christ in our own lives; we are to stand up for Jesus, stand up for what is right and of God, stand up when those in power betray their calling, stand up when others can’t. Each of us can come up with our own list of reasons why we need to Stand Up.
For most of us the cost will be, perhaps, only some social isolation – but, then, we already know that we are always surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, and the community of believers, and the whole host of heaven – and no matter what happens, God reigns.
If we stand up, God reigns. If we speak out, God reigns. If we should fall, God reigns. But, at the very least, we will know who reigns and rules our own heart, and soul, and mind, our strength – the Most High God reigns! For ever and ever. Amen.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Pentecost 4: Miracle Interrupted
July 2, 2006
The Ven. Richard I. Cluett
Proper 8 : 2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27, Mark 5:21-43
Today we have a miracle of Jesus being interrupted by a miracle of Jesus. Two miracles where two people believe that Jesus has what can help them – the power to heal; for the wealthy leader the healing of his daughter, for the poor woman the healing of herself. The leader meets Jesus head-on; the woman who is an outcast, a nobody, because of her condition creeps up on him from behind. Both hoping beyond hope that there is power to heal
There is healing for both. There is restoration for both. The restoration of Jairus’ daughter to life and to health; the restoration of the woman to health and to a place in society.
We see here that in Jesus there is saving power. He makes the wounded whole. He brings what is dead back to life.
Of course, if Jesus hadn’t stopped to speak to the woman in the street, Jairus’ daughter wouldn’t have died. Couldn’t he just have noted that someone had touched his garment and hurried on to heal the young girl? Why did he have to stop?
It has been said that this passage encourages us to consider a “theology of interruptions”. God’s time is not our time. God’s schedule is not ruled by ours. God’s priorities are not our priorities. God is not bound by our human “oughts” and “should-have’s”.
God’s power is for each, for all. God attends to each in the particularity of her or his own need. God’s grace is sufficient for each and touches the whole person.
Jesus takes the time to address the woman before him. He meets her at the place of her greatest need. His power heals her physical condition, and he addresses this outcast, this nobody as “daughter” and thereby returns her to her rightful place in society and re-places her in relationships to those in her life.
God’s grace is at work in the interruptions.
Canon Charles Shreve, beloved canon of this cathedral, told us once of the time when he was canon at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco when his secretary called him out to deal with a man who had come to ask for money.
Charles saw a man who was an obvious street drunk - dirty, unkempt, filthy clothes. But Charles is Charles and so he invited him into his office to sit and have some coffee or tea. The man told him a well-rehearsed story of his descent into his present condition. The man wanted money for food, he said. Charles asked him, "Isn't there anyone you could call for help."
He said that there was no one. He had a son whom he had not seen for several years, since his graduation from Stanford, and he had no idea where to find him, or even if it was worth finding him, given his present condition. When he mentioned that the son had graduated from Stanford, A possible way to trace the son crossed Charles mind. He asked for the name of his son.
The name he gave was the name of a man Charles knew. This young man was a kind of "Golden Boy." He was young, handsome, well educated, well employed, had a winning personality, a rising star, active in cathedral life and ministry. Charles asked the man if he would come back the next day at 12:00 noon, and said he would try to locate his son. The man agreed.
Charles called the son and told him the story of his father. The man said that he hadn't seen him since his graduation. His mother had divorced his father because of all the abuse involved in his addiction. He had lost track of him. He didn’t really want to see him, know him, and certainly he wasn’t about to forgive him. Charles talked with him for quite a while. Finally, “Yes”, he would certainly be at the cathedral at noon.
The old man arrived first and Charles invited him to wait in his office. Shortly afterward the son came in. Dressed in a beautiful, double-breasted Cashmere overcoat. The old man stood up and said, “Hello Son”. The young man said, “Hello Dad”. And he went over to him; to this dirty disheveled drunk who was his father. He took off his coat and placed it around the shoulders of his father - wrapped him up in it - and drew him into a warm embrace of love. Tears, all ‘round.
A moment of healing, of reconciliation, of redemption, of restoration. New life was begun. God’s grace was at work in the interruption.
As you and I are recipients of that grace, so God also calls us to be agents of grace as well. To be aware of the need for it in the day-to-day interruptions of what we would like to be our well-ordered lives.
You and I, yes even you and I, are empowered to defeat death, relieve suffering, and make the wounded whole… in the name of Jesus.
Amen
The Ven. Richard I. Cluett
Proper 8 : 2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27, Mark 5:21-43
Today we have a miracle of Jesus being interrupted by a miracle of Jesus. Two miracles where two people believe that Jesus has what can help them – the power to heal; for the wealthy leader the healing of his daughter, for the poor woman the healing of herself. The leader meets Jesus head-on; the woman who is an outcast, a nobody, because of her condition creeps up on him from behind. Both hoping beyond hope that there is power to heal
There is healing for both. There is restoration for both. The restoration of Jairus’ daughter to life and to health; the restoration of the woman to health and to a place in society.
We see here that in Jesus there is saving power. He makes the wounded whole. He brings what is dead back to life.
Of course, if Jesus hadn’t stopped to speak to the woman in the street, Jairus’ daughter wouldn’t have died. Couldn’t he just have noted that someone had touched his garment and hurried on to heal the young girl? Why did he have to stop?
It has been said that this passage encourages us to consider a “theology of interruptions”. God’s time is not our time. God’s schedule is not ruled by ours. God’s priorities are not our priorities. God is not bound by our human “oughts” and “should-have’s”.
God’s power is for each, for all. God attends to each in the particularity of her or his own need. God’s grace is sufficient for each and touches the whole person.
Jesus takes the time to address the woman before him. He meets her at the place of her greatest need. His power heals her physical condition, and he addresses this outcast, this nobody as “daughter” and thereby returns her to her rightful place in society and re-places her in relationships to those in her life.
God’s grace is at work in the interruptions.
Canon Charles Shreve, beloved canon of this cathedral, told us once of the time when he was canon at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco when his secretary called him out to deal with a man who had come to ask for money.
Charles saw a man who was an obvious street drunk - dirty, unkempt, filthy clothes. But Charles is Charles and so he invited him into his office to sit and have some coffee or tea. The man told him a well-rehearsed story of his descent into his present condition. The man wanted money for food, he said. Charles asked him, "Isn't there anyone you could call for help."
He said that there was no one. He had a son whom he had not seen for several years, since his graduation from Stanford, and he had no idea where to find him, or even if it was worth finding him, given his present condition. When he mentioned that the son had graduated from Stanford, A possible way to trace the son crossed Charles mind. He asked for the name of his son.
The name he gave was the name of a man Charles knew. This young man was a kind of "Golden Boy." He was young, handsome, well educated, well employed, had a winning personality, a rising star, active in cathedral life and ministry. Charles asked the man if he would come back the next day at 12:00 noon, and said he would try to locate his son. The man agreed.
Charles called the son and told him the story of his father. The man said that he hadn't seen him since his graduation. His mother had divorced his father because of all the abuse involved in his addiction. He had lost track of him. He didn’t really want to see him, know him, and certainly he wasn’t about to forgive him. Charles talked with him for quite a while. Finally, “Yes”, he would certainly be at the cathedral at noon.
The old man arrived first and Charles invited him to wait in his office. Shortly afterward the son came in. Dressed in a beautiful, double-breasted Cashmere overcoat. The old man stood up and said, “Hello Son”. The young man said, “Hello Dad”. And he went over to him; to this dirty disheveled drunk who was his father. He took off his coat and placed it around the shoulders of his father - wrapped him up in it - and drew him into a warm embrace of love. Tears, all ‘round.
A moment of healing, of reconciliation, of redemption, of restoration. New life was begun. God’s grace was at work in the interruption.
As you and I are recipients of that grace, so God also calls us to be agents of grace as well. To be aware of the need for it in the day-to-day interruptions of what we would like to be our well-ordered lives.
You and I, yes even you and I, are empowered to defeat death, relieve suffering, and make the wounded whole… in the name of Jesus.
Amen
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