The Twelfth Sunday of Pentecost

The Ven. Richard I. Cluett

What I get from these two lessons this morning is a reminder that the Passover was a once and done event. It was a unique, seminal, transformative and divine intervention into the affairs of humankind to bring salvation. God is not going to come down again and wipe away the problems that lay behind us, before us, and upon us and set us free.

And Jesus tells us through Matthew’s gospel that there are ways to get through these times, any times, all times, if we are willing to do the relational work with one another that is required to live together in community with any hope at all of living with integrity, grace, peace, power, or, might I say, success.

Here on this Labor Day weekend of 2011, 14 million Americans are counted as unemployed. Add to that an additional 6 million who have been out of work for so long that they are no longer.

Most Americans have gotten up every morning of the past two decades and found themselves running harder and harder just to keep up. The wealthiest 1% have 25% of the income. While families in the middle are stagnating, those at the bottom are losing ground. After adjusting for inflation, low-income families lost more than 10 percent of their income in those 20 years.

For so many people life seems to be coming apart. Do you remember this description from Thoreau? Leading lives of quiet desperation. Is anyone here today blind, fooled by the relative comfort and ease of those lives which look economically secure, but may be emotionally fragile and relationally fractured? Living on the edge used to be a phrase applied to those on the edge of society, on the edge of town, on the side of the road. Now it includes those who live on the edge of bankruptcy, on the edge of emotional stability, on the edge of human isolation.

In our time, dreams, values, structures, systems that held us together in a commonwealth for the common good have disintegrated into a chaotic maelstrom of competing self interest. There's a sense of everything being out of control – spending, emotions, lives, the world. People are worried about their lives, their children, their futures, and the world. There is a confusion of needs and wants, which has created a culture that values making a killing more than making a living.

What happened to our dreams? For so many they have been drowned by the struggle to live day to day, week to week, month to month, paycheck to paycheck in safety and security.

And instead of coming together to solve these problems in good faith, we are driving each other farther and farther apart. Region against region. USA against the world. Labor against management. Political Right against Political Left. Republican against Democrat. Good faith, indeed!

We can’t even have a civil discussion about what night of the week to meet together to discuss the big issues of the day that affect the quality of life for the entire citizenry of our country. How pathetic is that?

These are the issues of our society and world, these are the issues of people's lives, these are the issues before the Church. These are your issues. Your life and mine, the lives of those around us and those far away; life shapes the agenda for the Church.

We, the Church, have something to bring to this unhappy world. We have something to inform the tenor, quality and content of the debate about which direction to go, what to do, how to live. Most of all we bring hope and a way forward.

While we know that the Passover was once and done, while we know that there are no free passes through this life, while we know that the road ahead is difficult, we also know that there is a way and a truth shown to us by Jesus Christ.

“Again, truly I tell you, if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”

“Where two or three are gathered …” We will only go forward together.

I have learned in my three score and nearly 10 years of life that God has built into human DNA is the primal urge… I know that born into every human being is the Need (with a capital N) to be in relationship with another – to be with others. I have also learned that life can beat that urge down.

But People know this, it does not ever die, because by God we are made for one another. We are created for community. The nature of God’s self is community: Father , Son, and Holy Spirit. Our salvation as a person, our salvation as a people is dependent upon our common well-being – even when it is hard.

We are fast approaching the 10^th anniversary of 9/11. One of the enduring images for me, one of the iconic images for me, comes from the film and photos of the all those police officers and firefighters and others, too, running toward the twin towers at the same time people were running away from the towers in fear for their lives.

Now where does that come from? What moved those people to do that? One could say, “Their duty to protect…” But where does that idea of Duty come from? I think they ran toward the towers because they knew in their very being, they knew in their heart of hearts what was most important – those people, saving those other people – no matter who they were, what they believed, or how they looked. The well being of those people was a priority, and so those men and women ran into the towers. The need, the urge to “go toward” was born in them and nurtured in them by family and others along the way. As it is in us.

Many of you know that for the past three years I have been working with some dioceses around the church to assist them in rebuilding after bishops and other leaders and members left the Episcopal Church. When people left, they left behind members who stayed who were hurt and angry at how the leaving was accomplished.

Today, as some of the ones who left are returning, those who remained in the Episcopal Church are coming face to face with the gospel imperative of forgiveness and reconciliation.  How do they receive these people back into the church and into their lives? Some are still hurt and angry and are struggling mightily to align how they feel with what they know they need to do.

How do we live together as if Jesus really is among us as he says in the gospel? What do we do? How do we treat one another? How do we order our lives? What decisions do we make? What takes priority? How do we live in this new world?

 Those are good questions for our prayer work in the week ahead. And the answers we come up with will have consequences, not just for today and tomorrow, but for eternity. Once we decide, we will need the help of one another to go on. The Good News is that Jesus will be among us.

August 21, 2011
The Very Rev. Anthony R. Pompa
Good morning!
Well, I know I’m not the only one who has noticed that the television networks have now picked up on, I think, what is a common interest of many, and that is the study of genealogy. PBS ran a program last year, where they took prominent figures from our culture, and with them provided resources to explore their heritages and genealogy. The networks, not wanting to be out done by PBS, of course, NBC jumped on the theme. Some of you may have seen the program “Who do you think you are?” which similarly takes more popular-culture type of individuals and explores with them their genealogy.
I confess I have peeked in on a few of these episodes. What’s interesting about the exploration of genealogy and particularly in these programs is that as people explore their heritage and peek back in generation from generation to generation, they are, of course, chasing the question, and I do think NBC actually got this right, they’re chasing the question, who are they. Some of these stories are quite moving as these people explore and discover. Some of these people are moved to tears as they realize in their past that their ancestors endured much or triumphed over much to make the way for generations to come. Sometimes too they are moved to places of compelling opportunities for reconciliation when suddenly a piece of their current history makes sense to them, perhaps a piece of distortion or disruption when they discover a distant relative in their past was all too human. It’s quite moving actually. These compelling stories are family stories that when told will hold a variety of vocabulary that often speak to a similar theme. That theme is the discovery of grace.
It seems most of these “family stories” are actually an intentional journey to discover and to listen for grace. As a person of faith I believe this listening for grace is a journey into the very essence of who God is and who we are in relationship with God. I believe this journey is a voyage into the very dream of God for God’s people. I recognize on these programs that all of the individuals participating may not clearly not see it the same way I do, but all of these stories lead individuals on a discovery of Godly things, like an awareness of how they got to where they are physically in the world. They come to realize through the lives of their ancestors that there seemed to be a force, a drive, a tenacity in the ups and downs of life. What it seems to do every time for those whose discoveries are being shared is to reveal a context for the discoverer that lifts them out of themselves, their selfishness, their egocentricity, and into an awareness and appreciation that for generations themes of human life, convictions, struggles, triumphs, and sacrifices have made it possible for them to be where they are, and also who they are. This is a discovery of something bigger than them and an awareness that there is a much bigger dream going on in their lives and it leads them to the question, “What dream is being lived in my life”?
This is the question I ask you to go home with today. “What dream is being lived in my life”?
So today, I invite you to join me in an exploration of our genealogy as a people of God. But, we’re going to explore our genealogy a bit as the people of God.
Imagine if you will, you are a child of God. I hope this is not a new concept for you. You are a child of God and a child of Israel and you are living somewhere in occupation in 721 AD. You have been carried off somewhere in the the Assyrian Empire, maybe Nineveh for example. Or imagine it’s 500’s AD, and this time it’s the Babylonians who have invaded your land carried you away for a life of indentured service in Babylon. How are you making sense of this for your life? What is life like for you? How much do you miss your house, your yard, your friends, your family? How will you make it day by day with these strange people of strange customs in a strange land. You believe in God and you wonder “How can God let this be?” You wonder if this will be your life forever. You find it difficult to even think about the future. This is your story, your fear, your challenge. How do you make sense of it? Who am I now? Where did I come from? How did life get me to this place? What stories of my past might I long for to help me make sense of this?
Look on the family tree. There you’ll find Abraham. Abraham wondering around in the wilderness lost. A nomadic people he represented. Wondering and looking for a place where he could pitch tent. A land which would produce fruit. He carried with him a bit of livestock. Imagine Abraham coming into encounter with God in this wondering around, schlepping around. God says to Abraham, “Look at the stars and count them, this is how how populous your people will be.” God says because you are my people, this is the dream I have for you, Abraham. Imagine Abraham looking around at the desolation around him, at the bit of livestock he’s carrying from place to place and at his very elderly wife, Sarah, clearly past the age of bearing children. God looks at Abraham and says, “I have a dream. You’re going to be part of it.” Quite impossible it seems. Imagine then when Sarah does indeed get pregnant. Imagine the amazement, joy, and wonder when Isaac is born. Imagine how incredible the living and the hearing of this story is.
So, you are sitting in exile searching for a story. I remember the story of Abraham. God has a dream for me and it’s in the person of Abraham, and indeed Isaac is born. Imagine again hearing the story of Isaac, who in his age grew blind and deaf, and when his two sons, Jacob and Esau, came to him seeking his blessing. Blind and deaf he reached out in desperation, trying to feel the backs of their hands so that he can identify by the hair on their knuckles who was who. God looks at Isaac who is blind and deaf and says I have a dream for my people and you are going to be part of it.
Imagine that Jacob, the one I preached about a few weeks ago, the shyster, the crook. Jacob who tricked his father out of the blessing so that he could receive the economic position of the family. A far cry it seem from God’s dream for God’s people. But imagine then, this Jacob, who despite himself wonders away and finds himself with his head on a rock, and God descending upon him in a dream to remind him that even through him God has a dream and he will be part of it.
Imagine then as we land in today’s scriptures with Jacob’s family, the twelve boys, Joseph, the boy who had dreams himself, we remember how that story goes --Jacob’s offspring, Joseph, and his brothers being jealous of his dreams and his fancy clothing. I’m the youngest of four boys, you know this never happens--they were jealous. And so one day, they take the advantage. They’re wondering away, and they take their brother Joseph and they throw him into a pit and they leave him for dead. And they go home, and they tell their father with tears in their eyes that God’s dream is dead. But God looks at Joseph in that pit and says I have a dream for my people and you are going to be part of it. And Joseph gets himself some help out of that pit and finds himself in Egypt and makes his way because of his gift from God to the favor of Pharaoh and becomes a person of prominence. How ironic in God’s world that his brothers come looking one day for a free meal because they’re starving. Once they figure it all out, they are expecting for Joseph to punish them but instead they get God’s grace. God looks at all of them and says I have a dream for my people and you’re going to be part of it. Imagine then as life will have it that a new pharaoh is in town and Joseph is out of favor. But, having served there with his people so well, his offspring themselves, God’s plan and God’s vision and God’s dream of multiplication occurs and the Pharaoh is threatened because these Hebrew people are a threat. Probably more so God’s dream in them is the threat. And there is this baby born and his name is Moses and despite the plea and the orders from Pharaoh for all of the first born male to be killed, it’s Pharaoh’s own daughter who looks in the river that day and sees this baby floating, and with compassion in her heart she plucks it from that water. God looks at Pharaoh’s daughter and says I have a dream for my people and you will be part of it. Pharaoh’s daughter becomes part of God’s salvation. Literally saving that baby from the water. And it will be that baby who will be salvation for the people of Israel.
So imagine again, we are in exile. Life is blows hard and you’re looking at your Assyrian captors or your Babylonian captors and you’re wondering where is God’s dream for me? Look at the family tree and recognize that God is tenacious in his dream for his people. That dream is a dream for freedom. And for generation God’s people would look at God alone in the midst of the powers of the world that would seek to oppress it. And that reliance on God’s dream of freedom would literally become the hope for generations. Hope for generations because God looks at God’s people and says I have a dream. It is a dream of freedom for all of my creation and you will be part of it. God has a dream for you and for me because we too are children of God and in all our family tree is Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and Joseph and his brothers, and Moses, and the prophets and Jesus Christ his son. And all the faithful servants who throughout time and from place to place regardless of how hard the winds of life would blow, asked the question—what is God’s dream for me?
Isn’t it interesting how the eyes of faith can change the whole picture? Putting on the eyes of faith when you are wondering around a desolate country and doubting God’s promise. Whether you’re Isaac who has grown and blind and deaf. Or, whether you’re Jacob who lays your head hard on a pillow at night only for God to descend upon him with his angels. Whether you run far far away from all of whom you love and all that is promised, or whether you’re like Joseph who’s thrown into a pit, or whether you’re like Pharaoh’s daughter and sit in a place of honor. The eyes of faith lead us to God’s dream of freedom for God’s people and this gives birth to hope and possibility for our lives.
A story, if you will. A true story about a man who shared his life of challenge and faith and doubt, of serendipity and of a discovery of who he was and what God’s dream was for his life. When serving on the staff of the Diocese of Virginia I visited a small mountain parish. And going there to meet with a group of people, we began as we always did with studying the scripture. And, at this time of Bible study, the scripture and the discipline asked, how it is that we discover God in our lives. And this very humble gentleman, probably in his late fifties or early sixties, he said I have a story if you’re willing to listen to it. And we said of course. He said that when he was an infant, toward the end of World War II, he was one of seven. In growing up in rural and poor Oklahoma, his mother could not afford to keep all seven children at home. So the seven children were dispersed among family members throughout the country and he went off to Virginia to live with a distant relative. Shortly after he was dispersed, his father was killed in action. And so the story goes that his mother did the best she could. She saw the children when she could. When he was a young man, in the earliest parts of the Vietnam War was called to serve. When he was getting ready to ship out, his mother contacted him and said I want to give you something from your father. It was his military chest. She dug it out of the attic and she sent it to her son with a note that said I never opened it when it was returned to me so you’ll have to clean it out and put your own things in there. He said he let the chest sit there for a few days and when it became time that he was going to ship out he opened up the chest and began to clean it out. In it he found his father’s Bible. He said I pulled out the Bible and I began to leaf through it and out of the Bible fell an envelope. I opened the envelope and it was a letter written to me from my father. And in the letter he said my father told me that he doubted he would see me again because the place in which he served was very violent. But he wanted me to know how much he loved me and he wanted me to know that he read his Bible every night and that he was certain that God had great plans for his life. This humble gentleman looked across the room at all of us who were now dumbfounded and he said that’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m part of this community of faith. That’s how I discovered God’s dream for me because my father shared with me his faith. God has a dream for God’s people. God has a dream for you and I and we will be part of it.
Amen.

The Third Sunday of Pentecost

The Rev'd Canon Mariclair Partee

Song of Solomon 2:8-13 + Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

The last portion of the gospel reading for today is, I would wager, the second most recognizable piece of scripture after John 3:16. As with most of the classics of the New Testament, it sounds best in the King James Version:

"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

 It doesn’t lend itself to banners at the super bowl or a nascar race like John 3:16 does, or enormous billboards on the side of a highway like some other verses, but it has a gravity and a sense of comfort that has emblazoned it on our collective mind and that has linked it, inextricably, to our national identity.

I was raised as a summer vacation bible school only kid for most of my childhood (mainly to give my folks a break for a week), so was basically a heathen, but it is telling that I was around 10 years old before I could be convinced that this verse was from the Bible, and not part of the Emma Lazarus poem found on the pedestal of the statue of liberty (Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free- that one). 

This wasn’t just a rookie mistake- in Matthew’s words of shared burdens, I think, we identify a sense of  our selves, our country as a beacon of open armed welcome, of refuge for the homeless and rescue of the tempest-tost from teeming foreign shores, though we don’t seem to want to live into this so much as of late.

In one commentary* I read in preparing for this morning it was pointed out that this passage from Matthew was viewed by many as a rebuke of the 613 laws that observant Jews were required to follow in their daily lives, kept most publicly by the Pharisees of Jesus’ day. Some have proposed that Jesus was offering a simpler way of being faithful that did not involve complicated purity or dietary laws, and this makes sense when the passage is taken on its own, but when read in the context of the wider gospel, this explanation doesn’t hold up. It becomes clear that the life of faith that Jesus sets out for his disciples, for instance in the Sermon on the Mount, is more rigorous than the piety of the day, not less, and Jesus makes strenuous demands of his disciples in previous chapters, going to great length to impress upon them the rejection and persecution they should expect to face as a result of following him.

Christian life should not be viewed simply as doing good. If that were the case, we could join any of a number of public service organizations doing all kinds of good both in the local community and the wider world, feeding the hungry, eradicating polio or malaria- and often with much more calculable results. Doing good is certainly a part of a Christian life, but isn't all-we are called as followers of Christ not only to live a life of loving our neighbors as ourselves, but to live a life defined by a blinding sense of God’s love, a life lived as a way to give glory to that almighty love that created us and gave us our being, redeemed us, and supports us still.

This is much more complex than adhering to laws- it means changing our entire orientation, moving the center of our lives from our own interests to God’s.

Loving God means respecting the dignity of every human being, really, even in the little things (and believe me I have struggled mightily with this part, particularly since that construction started outside of our parking lot on Wyandotte St!).

Loving Gods means forgiving those who have hurt you, and accepting the forgiveness of those you have mistreated. Loving God means putting aside fear and embracing this life that has been given to us as a gift, and it doesn't happen just once, it is a lifetime of turning our faces toward God, breaking open our stone hearts again and again and again and allowing them to be replaced with hearts of flesh.

Is there a more passionate, a more palpable description of that love we share with God than in the Song of Solomon? There is some confusion among biblical scholars about why this book was included in our scriptural canon; it is beautiful but there is no mention of God in it, no mention of heaven or hell, and in many ways it looks more like a popular song from tavern life, circa 1000 years before the birth of our Christ, sung from one lover to another.

Ultimately, this is why many think it was included in the Bible- as a love letter in which God worships us, worships the perfection of our being created by God’s own hands, assuring us of our worth by our precious value to the one who created us.

And so- we are not being let off the hook today, we are not being offered an easier way to live a life of faith. Instead, we are being offered a purpose, a future, one that demands everything of us and summons our best parts.

We are being called in the gospel today to open ourselves up to God’s love, to help make all of God’s dreams for us come true.

We are being called to accept the yoke of our gentle and humble Lord, and in accepting it to embrace a worthy life that puts our souls at ease.

AMEN

*Lance Pape in Feasting on the Word, Year A Vol. 3

The Sixth Sunday of Easter

The Rev'd Canon Mariclair Partee


John 14:15-21

The idea of a tripartite God is often the hardest for kids, also for adults, to grasp in catechism. Our church spent its first thousand years or so trying out different explanations for how our God could be three but one, and many lost their lives as heretics in the mean time. This is one of the reasons that we don’t hear many sermons about the Holy Trinity to this day, and we hear perhaps less concerned solely with the Holy Spirit, but that is what we have in our Gospel today, so let’s jump right in.

I think the best description of the Trinity that I ever heard was of Dad, his Son, and their pet bird. We’ve struggled with the Holy Spirit the most, I think, because we don’t get a whole lot of scriptural  discussion like we do with Jesus, with God the Father. Some identify the Holy Spirit with Sophia, the Greek personification of Holy Wisdom, and having a feminine member of the Trinity is a comfort to some, gives a feeling of inclusion in this holy mystery. Others recall the Holy Spirit present at Creation, traveling over the waters like a wind. In the gospel today quite technically the Holy Spirit is called the paraklete, a Greek word meaning something like counselor, comforter, advocate, or quite literally “someone called to your side”. Jesus in this passage form John is describing this advocate, this paraklete, as solace and companionship for the disciples after his own death, a means of ensuring that they are not left orphans when Jesus departs his earthly ministry. Throughout time and church history this advocate has taken on more and more of a lawyerly form, pleading our case in God’s court. This of course requires an angry God, one who must be dissuaded from damning us for eternity, and I don’t think that is an image of God that most of us identify with. I was discussing this notion of the Holy Spirit as divine attorney with a friend over email and his reply was so perfect that I have to share it with you:

“So, what do we do with this idea of the Spirit being an Advocate, or Counselor? Well, let’s try looking at it from a different perspective. What if Jesus is sending the Advocate to make his case to us? What if the Paraklete comes to us to make God’s case against our judging hearts? What if, as Jesus says, “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever.” And notice he says, “another Advocate?” Seems that maybe Jesus is the first Advocate, doesn’t it? As if Jesus came to make the case, to show us the love of God in his words and deeds, and now another Advocate will come to continue to make the case to us. But, “the case” seems the wrong term, really.

Have you ever read the play, Cyrano de Bergerac? Or, seen the movie? Or the Steve Martin version, Roxanne? Even if you haven’t, you kind of know the plot, I’m sure. Cyrano loves Roxanne, but ends up putting words into the mouth of Christian, and captures Roxanne’s heart through a messenger, or advocate . . . and it’s hard to tell which one is the advocate for the other, in this play. Now, you never want to press an analogy like this too far, but since we’re dealing with John’s gospel (where Jesus is called the Word), maybe it’s more apt than it seems at first. The great lengths that Christian and Cyrano go to in order to win Roxanne’s heart are perhaps a good glimpse at the effort that God goes through to win our hearts. It’s not a court of law, you see? It’s a romance!

What if the Advocate is not coming to be our helper in the courtroom? What if instead the Advocate is sent by God in order to win our hearts? What if God so loved the world that he sent his only son? Doesn’t Jesus show the ultimate depths of God’s love for you, in that he is willing to lay down his life proclaiming the love of God? Jesus walks among us, preaches the Good News to us, and then . . . well, we have to kill him. We don’t want to hear it.

But God does not give up. Here comes the Advocate to deliver the same message. The Spirit knocks on your heart’s door with the message of God’s love, and will continue to do so forever, because forever is how long God’s love for you lasts. Well beyond the grave, I might add.

And I will tell you the most important part of the message. Jesus says it himself in today’s Gospel: Because I live, you also will live.

There’s a lot more to the message, of course, but it all grows out of that main point: Because I live, you also will live.”

This is what the Holy spirit is, this is what God is trying to tell us, over and over, if only we can listen: the Holy Spirit is God’s love, working in our midst, singing the love songs of the Holy, calling us always back to the care of Him who made us.

“We cannot come to Jesus unless the Father draws us. And the Father draws us by sending the Advocate to plead with our hearts. And the Father and the Spirit together draw us to this altar today, where with the saints of every time and every place…with all of them, we meet the risen Lord in the breaking of the bread.”

(Quoted correspondence is between the author and The Rev'd George Baum)

The Fifth Sunday of Easter

The Ven. Richard I. Cluett

1Peter 2:2-10    +    John 14:1-14

Today’s Gospel speaks of some things of great importance. Most of us are familiar with the gospel scripture in the context of the burial of someone we love or have known. It is good to remember, though that Jesus was speaking to the disciples he was about to leave behind. He speaks about their life ahead and the way forward.

He speaks of fidelity and commitment and trust. In the midst of his disciples’ feelings of abandonment, betrayal, grief, and fear, Jesus speaks a word of comfort, “Do not let your hears be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me.” The Greek word could as easily be, trust. “Trust in God, trust also in me.”

The opportunity to fall into despair is regularly presented to us by the happenstance of life, by the action of others, by the frailty of our own selves. The tendency to despair lies not far below the surface of any one of us.

Barbara Crafton once wrote, Life is hard. For some, hunger and thirst, the grinding daily experience of poverty and want, from birth to death. For some, lifelong physical pain, or terrible terminal illness. And for those whose physical needs are easily and consistently met, other things: the loss of love, the crippling inability to give oneself completely and its corresponding loneliness, the paralyzing presence of chronic anger. War, and the fear of war. Disappointment. Betrayal. -- For everyone, something.

We share a common human experience of being – in our hearts, in our minds, in our behaviors – at some times, the most wretched of sinners, at other times just ground down by life and circumstance, and at the same time we are people who have known, received, and experienced mercy, the amazing grace of an infinitely loving God.

Everyone, without exception, either has stood or will stand before God at sometime in his or her life hoping against hope that the Good News is really true and dis­covering that it is true, and then being washed new and clean and be­ing freed and empowered for a new-born life.

The lesson of today’s scripture lessons is Don’t give in, don’t give up. Believe in all I have taught you, believe in all I have shown you. Believe in me as I do in you. Trust in me, as I trust in you. If you have trouble believing my words, then believe what you see. “Believe me because of the works themselves.”

In my life I have believed at times, but I have also doubted. I have trusted at times, but I have also been afraid, not trusted. And then I catch a glimpse of what happens when people believe, when people trust, when people don’t give in, when people don’t give up, when people don’t walk away, when people believe and carry on, when people trust and plow ahead. When I see others, then I find I can believe, I can trust – again.

Jesus is speaking about a new-born life, one that lives in hope, believes in salvation, finds power in fellowship with other believers and strugglers, knows purpose in being God’s people – not only comfort, but purpose; a reason to be, a reason get up, a reason to go on, a reason to go out, a reason to seek and finally to find. It is amazing what happens, when we believe, when we trust.

In my national work for the church, I have seen the dead raised. I didn’t believe it possible at first, but I have seen the lame walk and begin to run. I have seen hope triumph over despair.

For those who may not know, I have been privileged for the past 3 years to work with dioceses that had been abandoned by leaders and members seeking, what they would call, a greater and more fundamental orthodoxy than they found in the Episcopal Church.

In a sense not one stone was left upon another stone in these dioceses. In one sense all that was left was the chief cornerstone and a faithful remnant. Church buildings and property were gone, all the holy books, vessels and vestments, leaders, records, funds, trusts, members, history and traditions, friends and even family members. Gone. All that was left in some places were a few people and their faith.

They could have gone to the local Lutheran church or some other congregation. No one would have blamed them. But battered and bruised as they were, they would not let their community die. So they gathered, a faithful few in living rooms and club halls and church basements, and shops, still the Episcopal Church of St. Whomever of the Episcopal Diocese of Quincy or San Joaquin or Fort Worth or Pittsburgh. They had their faith and they had each other. Period. They decided not to die, but instead to live, to be reborn, and to grow.

In the Diocese of Quincy all that was left was one full parish and two small congregations with about 1/3 of their original members remaining in their buildings; 2 full-time clergy and two retired, and that was it. No bishop, no diocese, no vestries. That was 3 years ago.

Last weekend I was in the Diocese of Quincy to help lead their first-ever Diocesan Ministry Training Conference. 180 people from nine congregations participated in ministry training workshops, learning about leadership and governance, Eucharistic and pastoral visitors, stewardship, Christian formation, evangelism, community advocacy, and more. The day ended in an extraordinary celebration of life and thanksgiving in the Eucharist, and the commissioning of these faithful people to carry on the mission of the church.

I have seen what was lost, found. I have seen what was dead, come alive. And if that can be true in Illinois and California and Texas and Western Pennsylvania, it is true wherever and whenever life needs a new birth. It is true for a diocese, it is true for a congregation, it is true for the lives of God’s people, and it is true for your life and mine.

For, We are … God's own people, in order that we may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called us out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once we were not a people, but now we are God's people; once we had not received mercy, but now we have received mercy.

Thanks be to God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Maundy Thursday

The Ven. Richard I. Cluett     

On the night before he was to die, Jesus did what he always did. He asked those around him to come for dinner. He invited those closest to him. He invited even the one who was to betray him. He invited the strong and faithful. He invited those whose faith was weak and full of doubt and fear. Some were wealthy, some were dirt poor. Some were righteous, some were wicked. Some were famous, some were infamous, some were notorious, some remain unknown to this very day.

Jesus did what he always did; normal human acts of kindness, invitations into the warmth of human community and fellowship. He took the stuff of everyday life and gave it new meaning. Bread, wine. He broke the bread and gave it to one and all to share. He blessed the cup of wine and he gave it to one and all to share.

No requirements about who could share the bread and the wine. Just normal everyday folks who believed and wanted to follow in his Way – just folks who were doing their best as best they could, and Jesus welcomed them.

Everyone was welcome at his table, as he knew God welcomes everyone.

He welcomed these everyday folks and gave them one another, and he gave them the gift of his continuing presence with them, even beyond death and the grave. Gave them one another and gave them himself.

¹⁹Then he took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, ‘This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’ ²⁰And he did the same with the cup after supper, saying, ‘This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood.

“Jesus… does what he always does: he issues an invitation in the breaking of the bread. On this night, as Jesus invites us to his table, he invites us … to remember him EVERY time we break bread -- at the altar, certainly, but also in the lunchroom and the dorm cafeteria, the family dinner table or the counter at the diner. Whenever we break bread, or draw breath, we are invited to do so in remembrance of Jesus, until he comes to complete the redemption of the world for which God anointed him.” *

After Jesus and the others share in the bread and wine, he tells them the special context of this Passover meal. He is the lamb that will be slain. He will give his life for the world. And when they eat this bread and drink from this cup, they will know him present with them, until the day he returns to complete his work of redemption in the world.

While they wait for that day, he says, “the greatest among you must become like the youngest, and the leader like one who serves. ²⁷For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one at the table? But I am among you as one who serves.”

This self-offering and this servanthood is not what the people of that time - including the disciples - expected from God, from the Messiah of God, or from the man Jesus who has come in the name of the Lord.

It is not what people from this day and time expect, either.  People do not expect the power of God to be shown in patient acceptance of this final cost of his discipleship, nor to be shown in servanthood to all sorts and conditions, the lonely, the outcast, the lost, the sick, the alien, “The tired, the poor, Those yearning to breathe free, The homeless, and the tempest-tossed.”

People do not expect power to be patient in suffering for the sake of others. They do not expect power to be an offered love in the service of others. They do not expect power to be willing to endure for the sake of others. But that’s the way it is. That is Jesus, and that is the way of Jesus.

The Jesus we remember this night is the one who offers himself. He is the Jesus who serves others. He is the Jesus who goes to the Cross for the life of the world. He is the truth of God.

And he invites us to join together with him and with one another and to be fed with the bread of life and the cup of salvation. And he asks us to go then and be his body and to serve the world in his name.

* Dylan Breuer

The Fourth Sunday in Lent - John 9:1-41

The Ven. Richard I. Cluett

How do you tell the difference between a First Class Miracle and an everyday miracle? That’s a tough question, maybe too tough to start. Let’s start with a more basic question. How do you know when a miracle is a miracle; when something happening is miraculous?

Is it simply something out of the ordinary, an exception to one’s day-in, day-out experience? Something unexpected? Or is it a miracle when something good happens if you have been expecting something bad? Or maybe some thing or some event is a miracle when it aligns with what we believe to be signs of God’s kingdom, signs of God’s presence, signs of God’s action.

That works for me. I think a miracle happens whenever we see a sign of God’s presence, God’s activity, God’s purpose, God’s way, God’s kingdom in the everydayness of our lives.

How do you spot a miracle? We are told in the song that miracles happen every day. Where? When? I don’t see them everyday in my life. How about you? See them every day, do you? Have you seen a miracle any day in your life? What if that is the problem, that we don’t see, we don’t notice, we don’t look, we don’t expect?

Was it a miracle that Samuel found a God-ordained boy named David to be the new king of Israel? In hindsight I think it probably was, but not a first class miracle. (I wasn’t actually present when Samuel found David.)

How about in the gospel lesson from John? Was it a miracle that Jesus healed the blind man? Absolutely it was a miracle, to my mind and my faith. First class? I don’t think so.

Did you think it was a miracle when you heard this in the first verse of the reading? “As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth.”

When all the others in the story had seen a blind beggar by the side of the road, as they crossed to walk on the other side of the road, when they had only seen a beggar, Jesus saw a man, a man, a man born blind.

I think that is the first class miracle. Jesus saw a man, a man born blind who had been forced to beg by the side of the road in order to live. A man in desperate straits. A man in need. A man. And Jesus healed that man.

Jesus healed all the time. It was pretty ordinary for him, and for other itinerant healers, too. But Jesus first saw this blind beggar as a man, as a man in need, to be sure. But he knew him first as a man, a person, a child of God, a brother, a human being. And only then, as a person in need and then he was moved to act. A first class miracle in my book.

Perhaps the most damning point in this gospel story is that to the others in the story he was only that blind beggar. As I have not seen others from time to time.

I want to tell you another story of a First Class Miracle, told to me by my good friend, Bud Holland. Bud worked for many years at the Episcopal Church Center in New York City. These are his words about another man named Richard.

“I met Richard on my way to the Church Center. Over the years we became good friends and prayer partners. When I met him he said that he was "special." He had two first names: Richard Jeffrey. He and I laughed. I brought people to meet Richard. Initially I said my name was Bud. It is Bud as in Budweiser. He laughed. Later I introduced Jerry Drino to him. He had not heard the name Drino before so he decided to call Jerry "Heineken." Again we laughed.

“I often wondered what he was about on that corner of 38th and 3rd Avenue. He did have a cup to receive money but it was such a passive way of asking for money. He never verbally asked for money. Then over time I realized that he was bartering love and he became for me a prayer partner. He always remembered the people I asked him to pray for. When people passed him on the street they would greet him by saying "hello, Richard." So he was known by so many others. Knowing folks who work on the street by name is unusual to say the least. It bears witness to his witness and faithful friendship over the years.

“When I told him that I was not going to be working in the city and would therefore not be seeing him very often, he rose from where he was sitting, tears filled his eyes, and he uttered these words: ‘It will be all right. God closes the distance between us.’ By the way, I was recently in the city and did not see him at the corner. In a very special way I believe we will always be in each other's prayers.”

In my words, a First Class Miracle.

When we truly see a person we could easily pass by as a neighbor, as a man, as a woman, as a brother or sister in Christ, as a person, with a name and a face which bears the light of God’s presence in our meeting, we will truly see. And we will know at that moment that we have been part of a First Class Miracle. Today, Jesus shows us the way.

Third Sunday in Lent - Samaritan Woman at the Well

The Very Rev. Anthony R. Pompa

Samaritan Woman at the Well

It appeared each morning and evening outside the door of my humble accommodations in the Bishop’s residence in Romogi– a large container or two of water for me to wash each day, on a long journey in a strange land without any of the conveniences of home. A hot sticky, uncomfortable slim bed, food that was difficult for my palate, the only water to drink in bottles, warm, the long days with people speaking a different language– what a gift this water outside my door was as it met my physical need to wash the hot sticky smell of a long day or the sweat of a hot night of difficult sleep.

From the wells of Romogi I came to realize that the women of the village, like generations before them, gathered each day and night at a watering place. But the water, poured on my body, lovingly heated, came from the wells of Romogi–bore holes drilled by prayers and actions of a people here in Bethlehem I had been called to serve. It is a generation of exile giving way to these women gathered at this well, their songs, their children in tow, their disappointments and pain, and now their hope for a future. They go there for their physical need of water, to drink, to cook, to wash, to feed their children, and water their gardens. These are physical needs, yet it is their songs, their community, their smiles, and their hope in a future that seems to transcend. It is their stories of faith in the midst of war, their grace in extending hospitality to me, a stranger, that transform the action at a well in Romogi from meeting a physical need to presenting a spiritual experience of Salvation.

I cannot help but feel I am living in John’s story of the Gospel as I reflect on the wells of Romogi. Like Nicodemus in chapters past, I draw near to Romogi as the learned man of the religious establishment who struggles to understand this simple faith of the people in whose midst I am. The experience and practice of hopefulness, given the grim conditions and oppressive history of these people, seems to have difficulty penetrating my mind and soul and my physical needs in the midst of my discomfort.

Yet like the Samaritan woman at the well who encounters Jesus, I, an “outsider,” seem to have been offered water that will transcend my physical needs and invite me to come alive to the experience that is before me. Like the Samaritan woman, I just have to stay with the experience of those standing before me, listen to them, engage them, and receive their gifts.

I listen to their songs, I delight in worship with them, and I listen to their stories and meet their children. I hear of brave decisions not to flee villages targeted for destruction and I embrace dreams of rebuilding a faith, a church, a village, a country, and then I realize my concerns for my own physical needs have dissipated and I am fully alive in a strange land, with new friends whose stories have gripped my heart and shaken me awake! Like the woman at the well with Jesus, I AM in the presence of Salvation!

Some have written that Salvation is an experience first and a doctrine second. I know this to be true. The experience of Salvation is to lose yourself in a moment only to realize you are more fully yourself than you ever have been before! It is like getting lost in a special moment where a performance transcends the seeming boundary of a theater in which you may be sitting and you suddenly become aware that you have been united with the gifts and spirit of those who are offering their gifts. Suddenly you are lost, but more fully aware of yourself in a way that leads you to want to conquer the world, a performance transformed. It is like losing track of time, commitment, hunger, need, or when standing with a friend whose heart is broken by life and suddenly your heart breaks. You lose yourself, your own needs, and you are one with your friend in their pain—Salvation.

Who knows when and where we will experience Salvation. All of us have stories when we realized we were into the event to the roots of our hair! It might even be the moment we come to fully give thanks for the day we were born, in all understanding, the moments when “I” didn’t matter so much, because of getting lost in the “WE.” In losing the “I,” we discover more of the “who I am”— Salvation.

From the wells of Romogi has come Salvation.

The Second Sunday in Lent

The Rev. Canon Mariclair Partee

The passage we read today from John’s gospel is rich in coded language-

The very setting of the scene is cloaked in mystery- Nicodemus, a leader of the Pharisees, comes in the night to praise the work of Jesus, who has been shunned by the religious establishment until now, and will continue to be.

On its face this makes no sense, and only ten or so chapters later, after the crucifixion, when Nicodemus comes forward in the light of day with an extravagant amount of spices and herbs with which to prepare Jesus’ body before it is placed in the tomb, do we understand that he has been a follower of Christ, a secret disciple since this early appearance in John’s gospel.

Our confusion about Jesus’ late night meetings with high placed officials is nothing compared to Nicodemus’ own bewilderment in the conversation that takes place on this night-

He comes to pledge his faith to Jesus and instead is told that in order to truly believe he must be born again from above. A practical man, Nicodemus is completely lost, trying to understand the physical reality of how being born a second time would work- but willing to ponder what would be a ridiculous proposal, and Jesus continues to offer non-explanations- a meditation on the wind, talk of Moses and serpents, even some gentle mocking.

In case you think this is one of those passages in the bible where our unfamiliarity with the context or the culture of the time is to blame for our inability to parse the language, know that what Jesus is saying sounds like nonsense to Nicodemus as well, and we never are told if he gets what Jesus is saying, or if he walks back into the night shaking his head, hoping that everything will eventually come to make sense for him.

Beyond the coded language in the passage between Jesus and Nicodemus, some of the words and phrases used here have come to be code words of their own, to carry their own secret meanings two thousand years after they were spoken that identifies them with particular groups or movements.

In our culture as 21^st century Americans, we are used to seeing John 3:16 in very public places, held aloft on posters and banners at baseball games, and we can probably all recite the verse from memory in a way that we never could, say, Acts 2:12. In preparing for this sermon I considered simply putting on a curly rainbow wig and unfurling a John 3:16 banner from the pulpit. I reconsidered, since I really do love my job here, but a parishioner offered to make the banner for me.

We’ve seen John 3:16 cited on billboards along the highway, Tim Tebow’s grease paint, and other unlikely spots. The numbers of chapter and verse have taken on an evangelical meaning in their own right, and sometimes represent a sort of protest by some Christians who feel marginalized in an ever more secular world.

Whether it is fair or not, “born again” carries even more coded meaning- having been raised as a Baptist in the deep south, for me being “born again” has a very particular meaning. It conjures images of an adult profession of faith resulting in baptism, stadium revivals and emotional altar calls. In a more social sense, being asked whether someone is “born again” can also be a way of figuring out exactly where that person falls on the fundamentalist/evangelical spectrum, whether he or she is “Christian enough,” and sometimes whether his or her politics and social views are “conservative enough.”

I imagine this coded meaning of being born again carries psychological weight for some of you as well. It’s the kind of language that can turn folks off immediately, shut down a conversation, because of the many different meanings it carries. I think that as Episcopalians, too often, we stop short of sharing our faith stories, of engaging in our call to share the good news of Jesus Christ, because we are afraid of being thought of as one of “those people,” the kind that wield Jesus as a weapon, preach a gospel of hate, and picket funerals.

We probably don’t realize that by keeping quiet as progressive Christians, we inadvertently support the belief in the secular world that “those people” represent all Christians. We keep quiet the fact that we too are believers who have been born again in our baptisms, who are born afresh every day as we live out our baptismal covenant, who believe that John 3:17- "Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him" is just as important as the verse that precedes it.

Most of us no longer spend Lent flagellating ourselves for our sinfulness, abstaining from any pleasure in food or entertainment, and instead take on a discipline of daily prayer, study, mindfulness, or service. I think that we could add becoming more familiar with our baptismal covenant to the list of healthy, meaningful ways to mark these 40 days. Where the Nicene Creed gives us the theology of our faith, the baptismal covenant gives us a plan of action, and the two are equally vital. If you get a chance, grab a Book of Common Prayer, flip to page 304, and read over this pledge that was made on your behalf at your baptism, and that you have renewed at every baptism that we have had here at the cathedral, that we renew periodically throughout our church year even if we have no babies to welcome into the body of Christ with water and the Spirit.

It is hard to read these words, for me, without getting a little excited about this church that we are part of, this life of faith that we are living. I always find myself feeling proud when I read through the phrases, the promises, particularly the pledge to respect the dignity of every human being. It is difficult to meditate on this pledge of faith and action without being reborn a little bit, without becoming refreshed, and shaking off the insecurity, the fear of being pigeon holed as a “crazy Jesus person”, and sharing the message of love of God, and neighbor, and self.

We can reprogram code words; we can make them our own; we can take back their meaning. And each and every day, we can all be born again.

The First Sunday of Lent

The Very Rev. Anthony R. Pompa

Let me begin by acknowledging that I am certain that at least a bit of what is on your hearts and in your minds this morning are the people of Japan. Indeed, we keep the people of Japan in our hearts and in our prayers. In this, in my memory, unprecedented time of natural disaster, we once again rise up with the people of Japan, in this case, as they respond to this disaster. We, in the world community as we respond to this disaster, have yet one more opportunity to discover what we are made of. I will say a bit more about Japan at the offertory, but I want to talk about this discovering what we are made of on this first Sunday of Lent because not only our Lenten journey, but actually our Christian and human journey is about discovering and finding our place in the order of things and discovering what we are made of.

Today we have two very familiar pieces of scripture. First we have the story of the garden. We learn of this story in Sunday school. I still remember sitting in Sunday school, hearing the story for the first time, and beginning my life-long journey of trying to figure out exactly what’s going on here. In the story of the garden and in the story of Jesus’ temptations in today’s Gospel, we have two of the most fundamental stories of our tradition. We find these stories formulating classic Christian theology, the stories that have shaped our existence forever. In fact, since the 300 ADs, one Augustine of Hippo developed for us the doctrine of original sin reflecting on this story of the garden. Indeed, what the story is about is humanity trying to figure out its place in the order of things. Whether you have read Augustine or not, this classical teaching of theology is implanted deep inside of you. It is from the story we get that our nature in Adam and Eve in humanity their inability to live in the simple law of the garden. Basically the law in the garden is do not trespass and, indeed, Adam and Eve just can’t help it. What we draw from this story from classic Christian theology is that we discover the limitations of our human nature, and we recognize that we do rely on God at every stage of our life. This is classic Christian theology.

In Romans today, St. Paul begins to spin out his experience of the risen Jesus, the Christ, who, as we discover in the Gospel lesson, is one who is able to live into who he is, able to withstand temptation, and through it he lives into what he was made of and for. St. Paul reminds us that the new Adam that is in Jesus, we get a breath of hope that through Christ and a relationship with Christ, where we fall short Jesus can redeem and make us new. This is classic Christian theology. Where Adam and Eve could not get it right, Jesus gets it right. Christ is tempted in the wilderness shortly after the Holy Spirit has named him for who he is, the Son of God. He takes his baptismal identity into the wilderness and it will be tested. He spars with Satan who offers him relief of the basic human needs of hunger and the basic human inclination to grab for power and have control. Jesus sticks to who he is, digs deep for what he is made of and, indeed, then lives out his mission as the Son of God, that identity that would lead him with courage to Jerusalem where he would offer himself up, where he would be crucified, and where God would do a mighty thing on behalf of all humanity.

Does all this sound right- classic Christian theology? So we get it. We rely on God and through the person of Jesus, we discover the true nature of God, and we find hope. Today I want you to park just for a few minutes, that life-long piece of your DNA that has taught you this Christian classic theology. Because I think that, as we discussed in Bible study this week with the Bishop, it is easy for us to go on automatic pilot then and say, OK, we’re never going to get it right, Jesus gets it right, and all will be well at the end of the day. But I would submit to you that there is more going on here, that it really is up to us to find ourselves in the story, to bend ourselves into the story, particularly on this Lenten journey, and to ask the same questions that Jesus was being asked in the wilderness which is “what are you made of,” discover what you are made of. That is what this journey is about, and we don’t have to be Adam and Eve and God knows we are not Jesus, but there is something in this for us if we bend ourselves and ask what we are made of.

So I share with you the true story of Ruby Bridges. Some of you may know this story. My daughter has been hounding me for months, because she has studied the story of Ruby Bridges, to sit down with her and actually watch the short Disney video that tells the story of Ruby Bridges, the six-year-old little girl in 1960 in New Orleans, Louisiana, who was ushered by federal marshals into the all-white school each day. It was her mother’s dream and hope that she would get a decent education. Some of you may remember well those early days of integration. Ruby Bridges, this six-year-old girl, would discover what she was made of in this experience. Her experience was that of many and in her little school, she was the only black child whose mother insisted that she go, and you know how that story goes. The first day she arrived, ushered and protected by federal marshals, one by one the parents of the young white students came and removed their children from school. Each day, as the day went on, surrounding the outside of the school, Ruby Bridges walked through crowds of people protesting the integration of that school. Day by day, Ruby heard things and witnessed things that she never would have imagined as a six-year-old girl.

As she tells the story, not as Disney tells the story, but if you’d like, Netflix, as she tells the story she says I learned that there were people in the world who hated and there were people in the world who loved, and it didn’t matter what color their skin was. She said that each and every day she would walk to school, and she did what her mother taught her to do, that was pray for God’s protection. Each day she would get up, she would say her prayers and she would ask for God’s protection as she walked through the angry mobs that were there each and every day, all day long. As the story goes, there was a psychiatrist, Dr. Coles, who, knowing the story and being deployed locally in the military, and being concerned for her emotional and mental health came to the family and asked if he could be of support. They finally agreed, and day by day they established a relationship. Working with her each day, he was concerned about what she was doing with all of that which was coming at her. He also witnessed that day by day she was growing less and less verbal. He worked with her and he said you need to bring those feelings to speech. You need to articulate to the people who are shouting hateful things to you. You need to let them know how you feel. Each and every day she walked through those crowds saying her prayers, until one day finally, as she tells the story, “I forgot to pray in the morning, so when I was walking past the angry crowds, I stopped and I turned, and I began to move my lips.” Dr. Coles, who stood in that crowd every morning in support of her, was feeling she was finally going to speak to the crowd, tell them how she felt, but he couldn’t hear her over the shouts of the crowd. All he saw was this little girl’s lips moving. He asked her later, “Ruby, I saw you bring to speech. What were you saying to the crowd?” She said, “I forgot to say my prayers, so I was praying for God’s protection, and I was praying that God might love them, too, and that God might forgive them.”

You see, this is really the stuff that we are made of. A six-year-old girl, discovered in the midst of what the world had to throw at her what she was made of, and she discovered that there are two types of laws that we live with. There is the law that tells us not what to do: Do not trespass, and there is the law of God’s nature, which is like the law of gravity. It just is. It’s a law of grace and love. It’s a law that calls us to discover what we are made of and when we dig deep to discover that law, that love can transform anything. So this is our Lenten journey, to discover that which we are made of, to dig deep as we live in a world that throws things at us, to live into the law, the law of God, which is love and grace, and can transform anything.

“Twenty plus one plus one” is a movement many churches, beginning in Christ Church, Warwick, New York, our brothers and sisters at Trinity, Bethlehem, and now growing among many churches. Twenty plus one plus one: 20 minutes a day in prayer, reflecting on who we are and what we are made of. One hour a week in worship, or a little more, coming together with each other, bringing our differences, bringing our hopes, bringing our prayers, bringing our thanksgivings. One hour a month in service so that others out there might know what we are made of: 20+1+1.

Amen.

The Eighth Sunday after the Epiphany

The Rev. Canon Mariclair Partee

Today in our readings we have many beautiful images that are being painted with words for us. In Isaiah, we have the image of God as mother and Zion as child. God, in this metaphor, is described like a pregnant woman and creation as her child, moving in the womb. God can no more forget us than a pregnant mother can forget the child that lives within her. Isaiah restates this and said God is like a nursing mother, unable to take her mind off of the child that she must feed every hour or two, her very body protesting if too much time goes by between feedings. A number of my girlfriends have been having children lately, so I know from being around nursing women and any of you who have been a nursing woman, there is a sort of second plane of existence that happens when you are responsible for nourishing another being. You really can’t ever take your focus off of what’s going on with that baby.

This is powerful stuff that we’re getting today. This is beautiful, tender stuff. We are told that not only can God not forget us, but God inscribes our names on the palms of his hands so that we are always comforted and held within him. These beautiful pictures go on into Matthew’s gospel with the lilies and the birds. I can’t read this passage without thinking of a hymn that was sung to me as a child and I think everyone knows it, even if you weren’t Southern Baptist at one time. It’s about how God’s eye is always upon us. “I sing because I’m happy, I sing because I’m free. His eyes are on the sparrow, so I know he watches me.” It’s such a beautiful sense and a wonderful sense of how important we are to God.

God’s eye is always upon us. He cares for the birds of the air so how could he possibly forget us? We are told not to worry about what we will eat because God feeds all of his creatures, even those who don’t sow or reap, or store up in barns. We are told also not to worry about how we are clothed and where we will find clothing. We are told to look to the lilies of the field that are clothed in the purest white and cloth of gold, clothed even surpassing the lavishness of Solomon but, like the grasses, they only wither and die. So how much more must God love us, whose lives are longer than a thousand lilies?

We are given all of this beautiful reassurance throughout the readings today and then we are told, don’t be anxious. This is one of those questions or one of those statements that Jesus makes throughout his Gospel that catches us off guard, if we are really listening. This part of Matthew comes right after the Beatitudes, so we are still in the middle of the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus gives these wonderful comforts and then says, so don’t be anxious. I think for most of us, on one hand we can weigh those beautiful comforts, but on the other hand we can still have a lot of anxiety because everything we see every day is telling us to be anxious. You can’t get on the Internet or open a newspaper or call your mother, in my case, without being reminded of all the things that we should be worrying about.

So how do we live as a non-anxious presence in an anxious world? I don’t think that Jesus is telling us today that we shouldn’t worry about where things come from, that we shouldn’t plan ahead, that we shouldn’t try to make sure that we are covering our future needs, but I think what he is telling us is actually we shouldn’t let that worry become so central to our lives, so much a part of our being, that we are paralyzed by it. We are anxious because we have reason to be anxious. There are many frightening things going on in the world today. We have many more worries – we have to worry about college funds, retirement plans, bank bailouts, all of these things, but all of this anxiety serves to keep our focus on ourselves, and ultimately to keep our focus off of our neighbor and off of God.

How do we live a non-anxious life? I think the only answer that we have to this question truly is prayer. Prayer is the only real balm that we have. There is a school of thought that defines sin as distance from God, and I think that anxiety can fall under the same definition. When we are so anxious that we can only focus inward, we can only focus on our own immediate needs, we can’t focus outward. We can’t make room for God to come in and hold us with the palms of his hands, and comfort us, and give us his strength. So how do we pray? I think ultimately prayer, at its essence, is learning to be comfortable with our silent selves and in that way, becoming comfortable with God. I think this can only be achieved through constant steady conversation with God. If we have a prayer life, then we have a foundation for an examined and non-anxious life, and a life that can then be turned over to the work of God rather than anxiety.

How do we pray? We pray in many ways. As Episcopalians, obviously we come together corporately on Sunday mornings, on Wednesday mornings, on Saturday evenings, and we pray together. We know that we can find God and hear God in the midst of our community. We also pray individually. For me, silence is key in this. Now you can pray on your knees, you can pray on a walk, you can pray on a comfortable chair, looking out the window or sort of sitting in that place that’s in between waking and sleeping, but I think the important aspect is that it is intentional. We intentionally give ourselves a moment to stop, lay aside the worries of the day, clear our heads, clear our minds, give ourselves over to God, and give God the opportunity to be present in our lives, to be present in us. We must empty ourselves so that we can be filled with God’s love.

So prayer is intentional and prayer is self-examining, but ultimately, I think, if we keep at it, we will find ourselves in a place where we will know with certainty that, just as God’s eye is on the sparrow, he is always watching us, and our anxieties will leave us at last as we remember that we are inscribed on the palms of God’s hands always, and he can never forget us.

Amen.