Trinity Episcopal Church, Newport, RI

February 3, 2008

Last Sunday in Epiphany

 Mountains, Magic, and Much More . . .

                                 A brilliant magician was performing on an ocean liner. But, every time that he did a trick, the captain’s parrot would squawk, “It’s a trick. He’s a phony. That’s not magic.” Then, one evening during a terrific storm, the ship sank while the magician was performing. Ironically, the parrot and the magician found themselves sharing the same lifeboat. For several hours, the two just glared at each other. Finally, the parrot spoke: “OK. I give up. You win. What did you do with the ship?”

                                The parrot was stumped. He was sure that the disaster was the work of the magician, but he couldn’t explain it. This last trick was just too much to comprehend --- even for a clever parrot. 

                                The disciple Peter found himself in much the same quandary. Standing on that mountaintop with James and John, he caught a breath-taking glimpse of Jesus as the Messiah. Like the parrot, he couldn’t explain or comprehend this experience: he was awed, he was frightened, so…he probably sputtered the first thing that came into his head: “It’s good that we are here, Teacher. Let’s build three monuments --- one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” 

                                Life is filled with events that challenge our full comprehension. Sometimes, they are mountaintop moments: the birth of a child, a wedding, a graduation.  Sometimes, they are valley moments: the death of a loved one, a divorce, the loss of a job.

                                Be they high or low, these moments evoke a whole range of emotions that stretch from unspeakable joy to unspeakable fear. 

                                The presence of Jesus could evoke fear. In the gospel stories, how many times do we hear Jesus say to his disciples, “Don’t be afraid”?  Don’t be afraid of the storm. Don’t be afraid of those who wish you harm. Don’t be afraid of the power of my works.  This kind of New Testament fear is not due to the human condition. Rather, it comes when we sense that we are in the presence of the extraordinary, the other, the sacred. It comes when we sense that we have come finally face-to-face with God. 

                                This kind of experience and the impact it makes upon us is well illustrated by this example.   A father or mother teaches their child to have a healthy fear of the traffic in the street in front of their house.

“The street is a dangerous place,” warns the parent. “Don’t even think about crossing the street without my permission.  You are never to cross the street without holding my hand.”

                Then, the child grows older and eventually is allowed to cross the street on his own. Years later, when that child becomes an adult, he would say, “My parents were right. Many of the bad things in life that happen to us take place when we are trying to cross to the other side.  A lot of pain in life could be avoided if we only followed this simple rule: don’t cross the street unless you are holding someone else’s hand.” 

                                When we return to the privacy of our own thoughts and feelings, we may want to ask, “Where am I in distress?  What do I fear? What am I struggling to understand?”  The good news of the Christian Faith invites us to touch these dark places with one hand, AND put the other in the hand of a waiting God.

                                 A lot of pain in life could be avoided if we only followed the simple rule: don’t cross the street unless you are holding someone else’s hand. 

Trinity Episcopal Church, Newport, RI

January 27, 2008

Epiphany III

In my distant past --- which is to say, my college years --- I majored in history --- American history, to be specific. To be perfectly frank, many decades later, I admit that I have grown “rusty” in my knowledge of the subject. There remain, however, a few historical images that are still vivid.  One of these has to do with the field-hands that worked the farms and plantations of the ante-bellum South. Frequently, I learned, they would communicate with one another by “call and response.” The “call” would often be thrown across a field in a sing-songy voice.  The “response” might be a repetition of the caller, or an answer.

Why this unusual style of communication?  Partly, to make the voice carry; partly, to entertain; partly, to avoid raising the suspicions of the overseers! [Music lovers might be interested to know that this practice became the roots of that early form of jazz called “the blues.”]

Even if the study of history holds little interest. Even if we don’t “dig” the sound of jazz, “call and response” is a fundamental pattern of human routine. It takes place between parents and children; it takes place between co-workers; it takes place between partners.

Voices may or may not be raised, but requests are often made, orders are often given, questions are often raised, and in each instance, some kind of response is expected.

Today’s Gospel event --- a pivotal one in the ministry of Jesus--- is all about this pattern of “call and response.” On the busy shores of the Sea of Galilee, Jesus called his first disciples, four fishermen.  He called them to learn his message; he called them to continue his ministry; he called them to exchange their nets for evangelism and become instead “fishers of people.”

Now, notice their response: they left everything ---- their community, their trade, their families --- so that they could make haste to help bring others to God.  

That ancient call to discipleship is just an s fresh and urgent as it was some 2,000 years ago. One by one, people are called to help ourselves and others discover the mystery of a personal, loving God at work in our lives.  AND, LEST WE THINK THAT ONE LIFE --- OUR LIFE --- DOESN’T REALLY MAKE A DIFFERENCE, listen to this.

Over the years, the back door of an old house and had opened and closed with a bang thousands of times.  One evening, an angry son stormed out of the house and slammed the door so hard that a hinge came loose.  Hours later, when he had cooled down, he returned home only to find that door would not open.

“What’s the matter with this door?” he shouted. ‘Someone let me in!”

“Now you’ve done it!” said the mother. “You broke it.”

“The door isn’t broken, it’s just the hinge,” said the boy.

The mother pushed and tugged for a few moments, “Well, I can’t make it budge. You’ll just have to wait until your father comes home.”

“No, you push and I’ll pull, and together we’ll open it,” insisted the son.  Eventually, after several minutes of struggle they managed to open the door. Once inside, the boy looked at his mother and said [with some wonder in his voice], “Boy, you wouldn’t think that one little hinge could make such a difference!” 

We can be “hinges.”  Using our talents and circumstances, we can be “hinges”: that open doors…

… to a deeper faith,

…to deeper sense of community,

…to a deeper commitment to service.        

Call and response. That age-old pattern continues. Jesus calls. Interesting --- simply by showing up here, perhaps, we have already made our response. 

Amen.

Trinity Episcopal Church, Newport, RI

January 20, 2008

Epiphany II

 Last Sunday we read Matthew’s story of the baptism of Jesus, a story found in all three of the Synoptic Gospels.  This week we read a similar story in John’s Gospel.  While John doesn’t tell us the story of Jesus’ baptism, he does give us this story of the manifestation of Jesus to John’s disciples, several of whom become Jesus’ disciples.  And again, it is a story about the manifestation of Jesus as God’s savior for the world.  Here he is called the “Lamb of God” after the Passover Lamb of Sacrifice because Jesus will sacrifice himself for the salvation of all God’s people from their sin. 

I always have a little trouble preaching this Gospel because we don’t live in a culture that makes animal sacrifices so we don’t have a personal frame of reference.  The story doesn’t get much easier because when Andrew and the other disciples follow Jesus to where he is staying, after only a few hours with him, they declare him the Messiah and run off to tell Andrew’s brother Simon, who upon meeting Jesus, has his name changed to Peter.  It all sounds like a fairy tale to those of us who spend a lifetime wondering whether or not there is a savior, let alone finding one! 

Congregations in the search process go through a similar experience.  As the conversation develops over the course of many months about the kind of person they seek as a rector, it becomes obvious that they are seeking a savior!  Unfortunately, all too often what they end up is a sacrificial lamb!  But I recently came across a wonderful story that clears the message for me and I hope it will for you too.  It is a story from M. Scott Peck, the author of the 1978 best seller, The Road Less Traveled.  If Trinity was like many congregations at that time maybe you even had a study group that read and discussed that book.  Here is the story Scott tells to illustrate this gospel about the discovery of God’s Messiah. 

“The story concerns a monastery that had fallen on hard times.  Once it had been a great order; but, because of hard time over a couple of centuries, along with the rise of secularism in the nineteenth century, and modernism in the twentieth century, all its satellite monasteries had gone under.  Only five old monks lived in the decaying mother monastery-the abbot and four others.  Clearly, it was a dying order.

            In the deep woods surrounding the monastery there was a little hut that a rabbi from a nearby town occasionally used for a hermitage.  Through their many years of prayer and contemplation, the old monks had grown a bit psychic, so they could always sense when the rabbi was in the hermitage.  As he agonized over the imminent death of his order, it occurred to the abbot to visit the rabbi to ask if by some chance the rabbi could offer any advice that might save the monastery.

            The rabbi welcomed the abbot to his hut.  But when the abbot explained the purpose of his visit, the rabbi could only commiserate with him.  “I know how it is,” the rabbi said.  “The spirit has gone out of the people.  It is the same in my town.  Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore.”  So the old monk and the rabbi wept together.  Then they read parts of the Torah and quietly spoke of deep things.  When it was time for the abbot to leave, they embraced each other.  “It has been wonderful to meet you after all these years,” said the abbot, “but I have still failed in my purpose for coming here.  Is there nothing you can tell me, no piece of advice you can give me that would help me save my dying order?”

            “No, I am sorry,” said the rabbi, “I have no advice to give.  The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you.”  When the abbot returned to the monastery, his fellow monks gathered around him to ask, “Well, what did the rabbi say?”  “He couldn’t help,” the abbot responded.  “We just wept and read the Torah together.  The only thing he did say; just as I was leaving-it was something cryptic-was that the Messiah is one of us.  I don’t know what he meant.”

            In the days and weeks and months that followed, the old monks pondered this and wondered whether there was any possible significance to the rabbi’s words.  The Messiah is one of us?  If that is the case, which one?  The abbot?  Yes, if he meant anyone, he probably meant the Father Abbot.  He has been our leader for more than a generation.  On the other hand, he might have meant Brother Thomas.  Certainly Brother Thomas is a holy man.  Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of light.

            They wondered about Brother Elred-but then quickly dismissed the notion.  Elred got crotchety at times, a thorn in people’s sides.  Yet, in looking back on his time at the monastery, Elred was virtually always right.  Maybe the rabbi did mean Brother Elred after all.

            Maybe Brother Philip, they thought for a moment, only to ditch that idea too.  He was too passive, a real nobody.  Yet, almost mysteriously, Philip had the capacity to be there when you need him.  He seems to magically appear when you need someone.  Maybe Philip was the Messiah.

            As they contemplated the matter, the monks, individually, thought about themselves, whether they were the Messiah-a preposterous notion they each dismissed immediately.  But then something strange began to happen as they looked for the Messiah in their midst.  The old monks began to treat each other with extraordinary respect on the off chance that one of them might be the Messiah.

            Because the forest in which the monastery was situated was beautiful, it so happened that people still occasionally came to visit the monastery to picnic on its tiny lawn, to wander along some of its paths, and occasionally to go into the worn-down chapel to pray and meditate.  As they did so, without consciously recognizing it, they sensed this aura of extraordinary respect that now began to surround the five old monks and permeated the atmosphere of the place.  There was something strangely attractive, even compelling, about it.

            Hardly knowing why, they began to come back to the monastery more frequently to picnic, to play, to pray.  They began to bring their friends to show them this special place.  And their friends brought their friends.

            Then it happened that some of the younger men who came to visit the monastery started to talk more and more with the old monks.  After a while one asked if he could join them.  Then another.  And another.  So within a few years the monastery had once again become a thriving order, and-thanks to the rabbi’s gift-a vibrant center of light and spirituality in the realm.”

Andrew, the disciple, became one because he listened and paid attention.  He went out from his encounter with Jesus and invited others to “come and see” the wonderful gift he had found.  And he kept it up all his life. 

Martin Luther King, Jr. found in Jesus a marvelous savior and example for non-violent change.  Through his preaching and his example, he brought a whole nation to understand, just a little bit, how sin could be overcome, even though he paid with his life to teach the lesson. 

What could happen at Trinity Church in Newport, RI if we began to look for the Messiah in each other?  The priest you call as rector will not be your messiah, no matter how anxious you get or how hard you try to make that person into one.   And you face a great risk of making that person a sacrificial lamb.  The Messiah has already come – behold the Lamb of God!  Now seek that love in each other and try to find the messiah in your midst, in each other, in the community that you want so badly to be a part of.  Growth and new life will come with the respect you show each other, the love you share with each other, and with all those who are called to this place in order to find the one who saves, Jesus, our Messiah.

Trinity Episcopal Church, Newport, RI

January 6, 2008

The nature of gifts is fascinating:

They can be expensive or not.

They can come in the form of an object or gesture.

They can take months of preparation, or they can be created at a moment’s notice.

Besides that, gifts can be given for all sorts of reasons:

They can be an expression of love or gratitude.

They can inspire or manipulate.

Whatever their form, whatever their motive, gifts make statements!

The legendary gifts of the Wise Men made enormous statements.  According to Matthew’s version of the Nativity, these sages from the East laid three different gifts at The Manger in Bethlehem. Each one of them made a significant statement about this special Birth.

Gold bespoke royalty --- not the kind of royalty of worldly power and wealth --- the royalty of God’s Messiah.

Then came frankincense: once lit, it produces an aromatic smoke used in worship. How appropriate for the One whom we worship alone and in community.

The third gift was a lotion called myrrh. Myrrh was used to anoint bodies for burial. Here was an ominous gift that foretold the sacrifice that Jesus would be asked to make.

Finally, the Magi brought the holy child the gift of themselves.   These Gentiles [these non-Jews] from a foreign culture made this long, exhausting, dangerous journey to seek and acknowledge a special birth. Their effort and their presence foreshadowed nothing less than the universal nature of the Christian Gospel.  This holy life was sent by a loving God as a gift ---- not just for the people of Israel --- but for the whole world. 

The gifts of form and substance. The gifts of time and effort. The gift of presence --- these are the highly symbolic gifts of the Wise Men, gifts that make enormous statements.

Now, here’s the quirky thing about gifts. They make statements. They bear potential. Yet, gift-giving can also be risky! Despite our best intentions, we can never be completely sure how our gifts will be received, or if they will even be used.  So, in the end, gift-giving is an act of faith. Like a meal, like a work of art, like a performance, we choose, we prepare, then we present. But, once the gift leaves our hands, the impact of the gift will be decided by the recipient.

Somewhere, someone, sometime penned a few thoughts about the nature of giving. It’s a piece entitled “Anyway “and it goes like this:

People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered. Love them anyway!     If you do good,, people will accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Do good anyway!   If you are successful, you may win false friends and true enemies.  Succeed anyway!   The good you do today mayl be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway!  Honesty will make you vulnerable. Be honest anyway!   The biggest people with the biggest ideas can be shot down by the smallest people with the smallest minds. Think big anyway!   People favor underdogs, but often follow the top dogs. Fight for the underdogs anyway!   What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight. Build anyway!   People really need help, but may attack you if you help them. Help anyway!   Give the world the best you have and you may get a kick in the teeth. Give the world your best anyway! 

AMEN.

Trinity Episcopal Church, Newport, RI

December 25, 2007

It was a Friday morning clergy cloche. The coffee was poured, greetings exchanged, and then the usual free-wheeling conversation took off. The topics ricocheted from politics to family news to parish programs. Eventually, the talk turned to our seminaries --- and some of the memorable experiences we had there. In this conversation, I realized [after so many years] that some of my most important learning took place during the summer of my Clinical Pastoral Education.

It was in this mixture of psychology and theology that I learned what it means to really listen to another human being.  Being present to another person means listening beyond the words. The spoken word is only a part of the communication. We need, equally, to focus on body language, moments of silence, and facial expressions --- if we really want to hear what the other is trying to express…

But, then you probably already knew that. Your own experience with partners, colleagues, and children instinctively taught you this fine art of listening.  You probably also know that in those precious moments when deep listening does take place, it can make a difference both to the one who has been heard and to the listener, as well. This is communication at its best. 

Strip away all the excess of the Season and we will discover that, at its core, Christmas is all about communication: God’s communication with the human race.    One Christian writer has captured this idea with these simple, but inspired, words: “ Jesus is God simplified, God approachable, God understandable, God lovable…Jesus puts a face on God.”

Jesus puts a face on God.  And, what does this “face” tell us about the nature of God?  It’s a staggering message of immeasurable compassion, forgiveness, patience, inclusion. It’s a breath-taking statement about God’s complete identification with the human condition.

In Tom Brokaw’s book The Greatest Generation, a story is told about a woman named Mary Wilson. This modest looking woman was, in fact, a recipient of The Silver Star and bore the nickname “ The Angel of Anzio.”      When the Allies got bogged down in the boot of Italy during the Second World War,, they attempted a daring breakout by launching an amphibious landing on Anzio Beach.  Unfortunately, the Allies were pinned down at the landing site and came dangerously close to being driven back into the ocean. It looked as if another Dunkirk was in the making.

Mary Wilson was one of the fifty one nurses who went ashore with the troops at Anzio.  Then, the situation became so bad that bullets zipped through the tent where she was assisting doctors in surgery.  When the condition continued to deteriorate, arrangements were made to evacuate all the nurses.  But, Mary Wilson refused to leave.  Years later, she explained, “ How could I possibly leave them. I was a part of them.”

How could I possibly leave them? I was a part of them.

Emmanuel. Incarnation. Son of God. Messiah. That’s what these familiar words of the Christmas Season mean.   In the face of Jesus, we find a God who is an intimate part of our lives --- both when the laughter rings and when the bullets fly.   Wherever you find yourself on life’s journey this Christmastide, may you be blessed and supported by this human face of God.

              Amen.

Trinity Episcopal Church, Newport, RI

December 23, 2007

Here is a modern take on the Nativity Story just begging to be told.   Some years ago, a grade school class put on a Christmas play which included the story of Joseph and Mary’s arrival at the inn.  There was one young boy who wanted very much to be cast as Joseph.  However, the teacher sought fit to give that role to his biggest rival and cast him as the inn-keeper.

During the rehearsals, the disappointed student plotted in his mind what he might do during the performance to get even with his arch-rival playing the part of Joseph.  Finally, the day of the performance arrived. Mary and Joseph walked slowly across the stage, knocked at the inn door.  The inn-keeper opened the door and asked gruffly what they wanted.   Joseph answered, “We would like to have a room --- any room --- just for the night.”  The inn-keeper grinned wickedly, opened the door wider and said, “Great, come on in and I’ll give you the best room in the house!”

 For a few panicked moments, Joseph was speechless, but thinking quickly, he looked inside the door, glancing to his right and his left. Then, taking Mary by the arm, he declared, “No wife of mine is going to stay in a dump like this. Come on, Mary, let’s go to the barn!”   And once again, the story was back on course. 

Today, it is Joseph’s turn to step ever so briefly into the spotlight.  Joseph, silent, mysterious, fleeting Joseph --- yet, in his own way, he was a truly remarkable person.   Forget John Wayne.  Forget Clint Eastwood. This step-father of Jesus is the prototype of the strong, silent person. Be they male or female, there is something reassuring about people blessed with this presence.  They are dependable, capable. They can be counted on the get the job done without fanfare.  Their quiet, unassuming style bespeaks real leadership. 

Such was this man Joseph. It is easy to overlook Joseph. He appears so briefly, says nothing quotable, then steps back in the murky shadows that surround the story of the Nativity.  All we do know is that he was the village carpenter. Like most artisans, he was probably organized, meticulous, exact in his work --- but, then Wham!  God intruded into his life and things began to get messy.

Mary was pregnant and not by him.

What’s more, she claimed her condition was an act of God.

Then came the emperor’s command: everyone back to his hometown to register for an imperial census. We can only imagine Joseph’s state of mind.

But, here’s the thing: Joseph heard the voice of God in a dream, and he obeyed!  Orderly, exact, careful Joseph  --- cast into a dicey situation not of his making --- stepped out in faith.  He was willing to stumble along into an uncertain future trusting in God. In doing so, Joseph the town carpenter took a place of honor in this greatest story ever told. 

In my preparation for today’s sermon, I discovered an intriguing turn of phrase; one writer referred to a “ Joseph kind of faith.”   A “ Joseph kind of faith grows out of three beliefs: God loves me; God will provide resources for whatever I face; and, if I submit my will to God, if I am willing to step into an uncertain future trusting in God, then God can do wonderful things with my life.

At some point, Joseph’s story becomes our story. When WE find ourselves tossed into the midst of uncertainty ---- wrestling with unfulfilled dreams, unanswered questions, unresolved situations --- even if we can only grope our way through the situation trusting in God’s presence and care, then we, too, can have this “ Joseph kind of faith.”

Back in the middle of the last century, a renowned German theologian traveled by ship to the United States to deliver a series of lectures. On the crossing, he became aware of a large German shepherd on board whose master had placed him in the care of the crew while the master made the trip by air.   That was one miserable dog. He found himself in an unfamiliar world with unfamiliar scents and people. The floor beneath him rocked and at the railing of the ship, his world came to an abrupt end.  The poor creature moaned in abject misery.

On the return voyage, however, the theologian found a different dog on board. This one was an appealing mutt, and even though the circumstances were exactly the same, this dog was utterly content. The reason? Because his master was beside him!  From time to time, he would glance at his human partner as if to say, “This is one craze world, but if you are in it with me, then I trust you to make things OK.”

That’s the kind of faith we often see in our beloved pets, or in a child, or in a dependent elderly person. That’s the kind of bedrock faith we need as Christian people. When all is said and done, that is quite simply a “Joseph kind of faith.” 

AMEN.

Trinity Episcopal Church, Newport, RI

November 25, 2007

Christ the King

                                It has often been said that preaching is an art not a science. In fact, some maintain that “preachers are born, not made.” Nevertheless, a course in homiletics --- that is, preaching --- is normally required of most seminarians.  Towards the end of the term in one course on preaching, the instructor startled the class with the announcement that this year there would be a final exam!  A final exam? gasped the students.  Preaching courses never have final exams.

How can you test the art of preaching? What would be on the exam? How would we study for it?  Still, the instructor prevailed and the day of the final arrived.

                                You can imagine the anxiety of the students as they took their places in the classroom. The professor arrived, passed out the blue books and then gave them their assignment. “ Gentlemen [ and in those days, it was just “gentlemen’] …Gentlemen, I want you to picture this: you are standing in the pulpit on your last Sunday in the ministry. You are about to deliver your final sermon. This is your last chance to sum up all that your have tried to preach and teach throughout your career. What would you say? Why would you say it? How would you design your sermon? You have three hours, and I look forward to reading your responses.” 

                                Wow! There is one opportunity to sum up. Quite a daunting one, at that. Of course, there are many times we find ourselves offering summaries. We sum up figures. We sum up a meeting. Sometimes, we even try to sum up the meaning of a life. Whatever the focus happens to be,  a summary attempts to distill the essence of what has been written, spoken, experienced up to a certain point. 

                                That’s precisely what we are doing today. Today is the last Sunday on the Christian calendar. It’s the final Sunday in the Season following Pentecost.  Some denominations, like ours, even have a name for it: We call today Christ the King Sunday. The job of the Scripture and the preacher is to “ sum up “ what the Bible and the liturgy have proclaimed throughout the past year which began on Advent Sunday 2006. If we take the Gospel readings and our worship seriously, we can only come to one conclusion: Jesus is Lord. Or to frame it another way: Jesus is God Incarnate. Jesus is Messiah. Jesus is our King.

                                But, what an unusual king!  He has broken every stereotype of monarchy.  Instead of force, he modeled humility and compassion. Instead of aloofness, he modeled radical inclusion. Instead of noblesse oblige, he modeled servanthood.  ---- and, and, he invites us to do the very same.  It’s here, right here, where the credibility of the Gospel [ and yes, the credibility of the preacher] are on the line.

                                Even a youngster can sense the disparity between the Christian ideal and the often rough reality of life.  Compassion, inclusion, service may all sound fine in print or coming from the pulpit, but take a few steps beyond the front door of the church and the chances are good the Christian ideal will be severely challenged by something or someone.        So often, so very often, our behavior is shaped by forces over which we feel that we have little or no control: economics, biology, bureaucracy. Our culture tells us that this is what really shapes and controls our lives. What’s more, there is really very little we can do about it --- other than make our peace with these powers-that-be.

                                If you have experienced this tension in those vulnerable moments of your own life, you are in very good company.  But, when we find ourselves on the edge of despair, let’s all try to remember these encouraging words of one American preacher.  His name is William Willimon. He is the former Dean of the Chapel at Duke University and Bishop in the Methodist Church.  His words are so appropriate, so comforting that I quote him directly.  How can we resist the enormous might of the powers of this world? How can we live as subjects of Christ the King?  “ …I’ll tell you,” writes Dr. Willimon. “ Every time that you pray that prayer that our King has taught us, you are saying …that Jesus Christ is Lord and the ‘powers’ [of this world] are not… Every time you bow your head and say a blessing at a meal, you are…saying that the food…is a gift of God, not an achievement of your savvy economic mastery. Every time that you come forward and receive the blessed bread and wine, you are partaking…in the victory celebration for the defeat…of the powers [of this world]. “   May I simply add, every time we serve the need of another member of God’s creation, we are making a pledge of allegiance to the sovereignty of Jesus. 

                                In the 2004 presidential campaign, one of the candidates used the theme, “ Hope is on the way.”  May I suggest that hope has arrived. It’s here. It’s not an object nor a myth. It’s a person. Jesus. Lord. Messiah. Our King.                                     

AMEN.

Trinity Episcopal Church, Newport, RI

November 18, 2007

Pentecost 25

                                It was one of the most startling remarks I have ever heard. At any time. Under any circumstance, The words were spoken by the wife of a former colleague of mine. Here she was, gaunt and pale, lying on a hospital bed just days away from death. She had spent the previous year in a mighty battle with cancer. Unfortunately, the disease had won the contest --- physically, but not emotionally. As our brief conversation drew to a close, she looked at me with eyes still burning with life and said softly, “This has been the best year of my life!”      

                                My face must have betrayed my utter surprise because she continued, “When you’re in the constant company of death, you appreciate everything --- the small and the big --- so much more.” If there is such a thing as a “model death,” this woman is an example.  She took death and turned it into a life filled with gratitude and joy. 

                                Maybe our own battles have not been waged with something as stark as imminent death, but still I am sure that we can draw some parallels. A relationship ends. A job disappears. A diagnosis is made.

A cold raw fear begins to grip us.  How will be cope? Where can we turn? Will we make it?   Then, as we live through and with the pain, perhaps we have ever so slowly started to discern the creation of something new, something unexpected, something good.

                                Whatever the particulars of our situation, there is a common bond of experience here: invariably, for something to be born, something must die. For the creation of a new world, we have to let go of an old one. For the possibility of resurrection, there has to be loss, grief, and death. Something new, something different, something wonderful may be on its way, but that newness, that change is not without pain.                               

                                For all of its grim details, that is basically the underlying message of today’s Gospel. Jesus warned his disciples against idle speculation about the future, and encouraged them to see any presence of distress as signs of God’s activity and God’s creation of a new and better day. He warned them that they would face hostility, imprisonment, betrayal, even death for their fidelity to his message, but even in the midst of this intense persecution, they would have the opportunity to witness to their faith.  It would get tough, it would get brutal before it was all over, but their suffering could plant the seeds of belief for generations yet to come. 

                                Change/growth.  Loss/creation. Bad news/ good news. The life and ministry of Jesus of Nazareth is marbled with this paradox. So is the Christian Faith. Let me put it this way. In the new home of one of them, two close friends were sharing drinks at the end of a mild fall day. They were sitting on the patio that overlooked a tranquil pond. The guest remarked on the beauty of the setting, and then asked, “How did you decide to move here?”

                                The other replied with a smile, “I didn’t. I was forced to move here. The highway department planned a major road that cut right through the farm that has been in my family for generations. When we got the news that we would have to leave our land, my wife and I were sick with grief. This was the only home that I had ever known. It felt as if everything important had been ripped away from us.

                “But then, we moved here. We had to move somewhere, so we came here.” He paused, and then went on, “We love it here. Frankly, it was the best thing that ever happened to us. “Another reflective pause, then he spoke again, “At first, I thought the highway department had just about killed me. As it turns out, they gave me a whole new, wonderful life.” 

                                Today’s Scripture is a standing invitation to each one of us to name the distress in our lives. Then, to face it with all the resources and prayer that we can muster. It might be God calling with the gift of new life. 

Amen.

Trinity Episcopal Church, Newport, RI

November 4, 2007

Trinity Episcopal Church, Newport, RI

October 21, 2007

Pentecost 21

                The story that forms the bulk of today’s Gospel goes by several names: The Parable of the Unjust Judge; The Parable of the Faithful Widow; or, if you want to give it a good Yiddish spin, The Parable of the Nudge!  Whatever we call it, the plot is the same: vulnerable widow meets indifferent judge; widow pesters judge for a favorable verdict --- and pesters and pesters until the man is so worn down, he grants her request.

                Here’s a modern retelling of this ancient tale. In a certain city, there was this corrupt bureaucrat who couldn’t care less about the opinion of God or people. In that same city, there was also a welfare mom who kept coming back to his office saying, “Sir, make my landlord fix the furnace. Every month I struggle to pay my bills, but my kids are still freezing.”  Initially, the bureaucrat wouldn’t give her the time of day, but she persisted --- until finally, through sheer attrition, she wore the man down. An order was sent to the landlord, the furnace was fixed AND the landlord even insulated her apartment!

                A week later, however, the woman showed up at the man’s office again. She thanked him for his help, and then added, “Now, let me tell you about my plumbing!” 

                                Pester. Prod. Persist. No matter how we hear this story, it’s certainly a celebration of perseverance.  And should we want an immediate application of this principle, we have only to think about the work of our parish Profile Committee. Talk about perseverance. They have been presented with page upon page of individual reflections --- what we like, what we don’t like, what needs to continue, what needs to be fixed --- and, finally, what we want in our next rector.  Then, they have been asked to distill all this data into a comprehensible document that will be a key in the search that follows.  That enormous assignment takes a deep commitment wrapped in layers of perseverance.

                …and that perseverance can be seen in the hours and hours this Committee spends in reading, responding, discussing.  Without their persistence in this task, the search process would be denied a vital resource. Perseverance, it can make all the difference. 

                                In my research for today’s homily, I came across a phrase that really caught my attention. One writer said that the widow in the story had –what he called – “ holy chutzpah.” In Hebrew, the word literally means “insolence” or “audacity.” That is most definitely a negative connotation. But, when “chutzpah” appears in the Yiddish, all of a sudden, it takes on a positive [even congratulatory] meaning. When we say that someone has “chutzpah,” we are saying that we admire that person for their gutsiness --- a gustsiness bordering on the heroic.

                Now, apply that to prayer. If we approach God with a sense of “holy chutzpah,” that means we are willing to hang in there with our God; that we are so committed to our prayer task, that we will return and return and return to God until our souls find some answer, some closure.  By saying this, I know that I am skating on thin ice. This idea of “holy chutzpah” almost begs the question; does God have to be nagged into answering prayer?    I don’t believe that for a moment.

The God of the Christian Gospels is a God that not only understands us inside out, but a God who delights when we make even the smallest attempt to enter into a relationship with Him.

                Perhaps, then, the real message of this parable is this: when the things we pray for mean as much as to us as the goal of the persistent widow, then power in prayer will occur.  In other words, the asking, the seeking, the sheer chutzpah of persistence is not to change God, but to change us. One theologian couched it in this down-to-earth saying: “God wants the little ones, [the ones] who always lose in the market game, to have their stuff.” Holy chutzpah is a step in the right direction.

Trinity Episcopal Church, Newport, RI

October 14, 2007

Pentecost 20

                A young mother was in a flurry of activity. She was preparing for a dinner party that evening. Something of a perfectionist, she wanted everything to be just right or her guests. She cleaned the house from top to bottom, polished the silver, arranged the flowers, and even made name cards for each guest.   Six o’clock arrived, and so did the guests. When they were eventually seated at the table, the young hostess turned her four-year-old daughter and asked her say The Grace. “I don’t know what to say,” replied the child. “Oh, just pray what Mommy would pray,” answered the mother. The child thought for a few moments, then solemnly bowed her head, closed eyes, folded her hands and said, “ O God, why did I invite all these people to dinner?!” 

                The subject is gratitude. Gratitude is that state of thankfulness which finds expression in a variety of ways.   We can verbalize it --- thank you, merci, gracias, danke shoen.    We can write it --- Dear Friends, your hospitality this weekend made me feel so special…    We can express it with a gesture ---- a bouquet of flowers, a box of candy, a hug. Or, we can reciprocate it ---- with errands run, children minded, invitations to a meal. 

                Gratitude is a state of the heart as well as the mind.  And, when we feel it deeply, we almost automatically give it some outward form of expression.  No wonder Jesus exclaimed, “Were there not ten healed? Where are the other nine?” 

                Luke tells us that Jesus was on a journey. He was on his way to the final showdown in Jerusalem. But, he took an unusual route: a route through the despised area of the Samaritans which separated Judea from his native province of Galilee. As he approached a village on the border, here was where the miracles took place. Ten men with leprosy called to him for healing. They could not come near him because the fear of contagion was so great that lepers were banished from normal society. To be a leper was not only to suffer physical disfigurement, but to suffer psychological, social and spiritual pain as well.  Jesus responded to their plea for help by telling them that they had already been healed. All they had to do was report to the local clergy to make it official.

                In that one simple gesture, Jesus accomplished three amazing things. He healed what was considered an irreversible disease. In doing so, he broke a biblical boundary by reaching out to those deemed untouchable. Finally, this powerful act of compassion --- freedom from pain, freedom from isolation --- was also free of charge.  Now, given the enormity of this act, you would think that some expression of thanks would be forthcoming. It wasn’t ---- except [and here’s where the story plunges to another breathtaking level] by a Samaritan, a member of a renegade Jewish community repugnant to any decent Jew of the time.

                It was this alien, this foreigner who was the only one to express his personal gratitude to Jesus for his life – restoring gift of health.

                If the story ended there, it would still be a dramatic, attention-grabbing story. But, there is even more good news here. Luke tells us that when the healed leper got up from his knees, he was not only cured, he was made whole. In other words, in giving thanks and praise, the man was doubly blessed.  That’s one of the amazing, not-so-well-kept secrets of gratitude: when we live thankfully, we not only bless the giver, but WE are blessed as well.  

                The first billionaire in America was a man who knew how to set goals and achieve them. By the age of 23, he was a millionaire. By the age of 50, a billionaire. But, three years later, he became desperately ill. His body was racked with pain and he became completely bald. Here was a man who could buy anything he wanted, reduced to a diet of milk and crackers. Life no longer meant anything to him, and his physicians predicted death within the year.

                One morning he awoke from a disturbing dream. He could barely recall the details, but the message of the dream was crystal clear: in spite of his phenomenal success, he could take nothing with him at the time of death.  Pondering this realization, he quickly summoned his counselors and announced that he wanted to channel a vast amount of his assets into medical research.  On that day, John D. Rockefeller established his renowned foundation that has touched so many lives.

                Perhaps, the most amazing part of this story is a deeply personal one. The moment Rockefeller began to give back a portion of his wealth, the moment he understood that gratitude was essential for successful living; his body chemistry was changed so significantly, that he began to heal. Once doomed at the age of 53, he lived till the ripe old age of 98!

                When we live thankfully, we not only bless the giver, WE are blessed as well. Can it get much better than that!?

Trinity Episcopal Church, Newport, RI

September 23, 2007

                Irony. Paradox. Humor. Today’s Gospel is shot through with all of them. The Christian author, Anthony de Mello, tells a story that captures the essence of these words.  A man left his brand new bicycle unattended at the marketplace while he went about his shopping. Juggling a hundred details in his mind, he only remembered the bicycle the following day. He dropped what he was doing and rushed back to the marketplace expecting to find it stolen.  To his enormous relief, he discovered it exactly where he had left it the day before.

                Overwhelmed with joy, he went immediately to the nearest house of worship to thank God for the safe recovery of his bike ---- only to find, when he left the building, that the bike was gone!   As an old proverb has it, “Trust God, but tie up your camel,” or, in this case, Trust God, and lock your bike! 

                Recently, Robert Gates, the Secretary of Defense, illustrated this same truth on much more somber note. Speaking to a group of Washington professionals, he said that sometimes our government has to cooperate with other individuals and nations whose moral character is, shall we say, lacking.  We have to do this, he observed, in order to achieve goals that will benefit our national interests.  Call that pragmatism, call that compromise, call that politics, it’s another way of saying that, sometimes, even idealists can take a page from the worldly wise. 

                That’s more or less what Jesus was saying into today’s Parable of the Wicked Steward. Because this story can send such an unsettling message, let’s revisit the plot. A dishonest manager was caught red-handed squandering the money of his boss. To save his own neck, he compounds the offense by cutting shady deals with those who owe his boss significant sums. He does this precisely to ingratiate himself to the debtors. Once again, the boss catches him in the act --- BUT, rather than punish him for double duplicity, he commends him for his cleverness!

                What’s going on here? Is Jesus advocating dishonesty?! Is Jesus holding up a scoundrel as an example for his followers?  A superficial reading might suggest this, but a larger view of the Gospel’s portrait of Jesus reveals an altogether different intent. In the tradition of rabbinic storytellers, Jesus was using exaggeration, humor, and irony to make his point. He was trying to use the element of surprise to grab his listeners’ attention. Behind this façade of double-dealing, what Jesus was actually saying was this: his followers have a lot to learn from the secular world.  The worldly are often past masters at creative thinking, determined focus, and absolute commitment to a goal.

                Now, the worldly use that sense of total commitment for their own ends, for their own purposes. They are out for Number One. Christians, on the other hand, are challenged to commit to the Gospel-centered life. We are asked to step out in faith, to take risks, to scramble to act in love in the face of uncertainty --- and that, good people, means to become vulnerable. We may act out the best intentions. We may pour ourselves into a worthy project with creativity, determination and absolute commitment ---- but, we can never be certain of the final outcome. We can only undertake our Christian work step by step, trusting that the Spirit will lead and provide. Without that sense of adventure, without that sense of faithful risk-taking, like the steward in today’s parable, we will never know what surprising blessings await us at the end of our efforts.

                One pastor’s experience frames this well. An affluent young man came to him one day to learn about the Christian Faith. Although he came from a long line of believers, he had fallen away from the Church, but now felt he wanted to explore it in depth.  After several conversations, this young man decided that he should seek baptism.

 So, he enthusiastically attended an inquirer’s course to prepare for Christian initiation. When the day of baptism arrived, he stood eagerly with his family and was baptized by the clergyman into the Christian community.

                Several weeks later, he started to attend a new member’s class with the same energy and enthusiasm. One Sunday morning, the discussion turned to the topic of tithing. He learned that some Christians often give ten percent of their income to their church. That was a shocker! For him, ten percent was a very large sum, and if his local congregation expected that kind of commitment from him, then he was in the wrong place!  He left the church that day and never returned.

                Poor guy. He couldn’t take that risk, he couldn’t step out in faith, and he couldn’t make that commitment. Sadly, as a result, he never did find out how God was waiting to bless him! 

Amen.

Trinity Episcopal Church, Newport, RI

September 2, 2007

Humility, Hospitality, Hope

                                The Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed. The Kingdom of God is like a hidden treasure. The Kingdom of God is like a sumptuous banquet.  When Jesus wanted to talk about God’s realm, he was seldom content merely to make a statement. Invariably, he would tell a story or make a gesture. Then, invite his listeners to appropriate the meaning of those words and actions for themselves. This Sunday --- or, for that matter, any Sunday --- I could do no better than the Master, himself. So, today, I offer you my bundle of words in the shape of three stories --- with the hope that, at least, a few of them will stick to our minds and hearts. 

                                The first story deals with a common pattern of human behavior.  A football coach contacted one of his former players to help recruit some new members for the team. The name of the former player was Mike, and several years out of college, Mike had become a professional athlete. The conversation between the two men went something like this.

                                                “Mike, I hope you can help recruit a few new members of the team for the coming season.”   “Sure, coach, what kind of player are you looking for?”  “Well, let’s put it this way, Mike. There’s the kind of player who when you knock him down, he stays down.  We don’t want him….Then, there’s the guy who when you knock him down the first time, he gets up, but when you knock down the second time, he stays down.”   “ You don’t want him, right coach?”

“Right, Mike. And then there’s the player who when you knock him down, he gets up. Knock him down, he gets up. Knock him down again, he continues to get up ---- again and again.”   “ That’s the kind of guy you’re looking for, right coach?”   “ No, Mike, we don’t him either. I want you to find the guy who can knock down everyone. That’s the guy I want!”

                                The winner. The top dog. The one who is always first across the finish line. These are the people with whom we want to be seen; with whom we want to associate. These are the kind of people we want to be. We do not want to be associated with those whom society labels the losers, the also-rans, and the marginal. BUT, these are very folks whom the Gospel embraces…and that, dear listener, segues into the second story.

                                It was a warm summer morning in the mid-1950’s. A rather aristocratic, downtown church was gathering for worship. The crowd was not large and a decidedly cool atmosphere prevailed in the pews despite the outside temperature. In the short time since the historic Supreme Court decision of 1954, the parish had been debating the issue of inclusion --- and it appeared that the spirit of exclusion was about to defeat Christian conscience.

                                The ushers had just started to take the collection when heads swiveled toward a newcomer walking down the aisle. The young man was definitely not dressed according to this congregation’s code of attire. He was wearing faded khakis, a short-sleeve drab looking shirt and --- heaven forefend! --- tennis sneakers!  Yet, even though he was dressed as a vagrant, his clothes and demeanor were spotless.

                Within moments, he settled into a front row pew and smiled a greeting at the nervous and startled clergyman --- seemingly oblivious to the intense stares of those around him.  At the end of the service, those same stares followed him as he walked to the rear of the church where he was greeted by a new young usher. The usher hesitantly shook his hand and mumbled a greeting: “glad you came, hope you’ll come back…sometime.”  The searching eyes of the stranger smiled in reply, “Thank you… I shall.” Then, he walked through the large double doors, descended the stairs to the street --- and, just like that, disappeared.

                Later that morning, the young usher sat in his car across the street from the church describing to his wife the strange events of that church service. Suddenly, the stranger appeared, walking down the sidewalk towards them. He greeted them with that same enigmatic smile without stopping. The couple turned, but once again, the man had swiftly disappeared. There seemed to be nowhere for that stranger to go or hide ---- but, in a flash, he was gone. It was as if he had disappeared into the earth --- or the sky.

                It certainly is an unusual story, unbelievable to many, but true. You see, many years later, it was that same usher who told this story.

That’s the kind of experience that makes us go “ hmmmmm…” It’s also a story that underscores today’s caveat in the Letter to the Hebrews, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels…”

                                Placed side by side, these two stories deliver an unequivocal message: fight pride, strive for inclusion. That directive, in turn, begs the question, Why?  Why is this Gospel conduct so important? Here’s one way to answer that query.

                                Imagine if you will, one of God’s angels returning from a hard day’s work. Now, imagine that angel returning to Heaven only to find the Lord Jesus preparing a feast, an offering of every blessing that God can give: joy, peace, grace.  “Guess who’s coming to dinner?” asks Jesus with a broad smile. Without waiting for an answer, Jesus enthusiastically answers his own question. “I have invited sinners… anyone who has ever broken God’s laws. I have invited people who have betrayed others, people who have abused their bodies and minds, people who have been crippled by all kinds of painful memories, and even some people who have been indifferent to others’ pain.

                                “But, why Lord?” blinks the angel in disbelief. “Why would you invite people like that? “  “ Because,” answers Jesus, “I hope that once they have been fed, they might just be moved to feed someone else.”    …They might just be moved to feed someone else. 

                                                For what do we hunger?  How does Christian community feed our hunger?  How might we, in turn, feed others? 

                                                                                                                                AMEN.

Trinity Episcopal Church, Newport, RI

August 12, 2007

                                Today’s Gospel reading concludes with this blunt warning:

Therefore, you must …be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour that you do not expect.  There’s the good news and the --- not-so-good news. The not-so-good news is that we always accountable for our lives. Judgment of some sort can always be imminent. The good news is we swim in a sea filled with abundant daily opportunity. 

                                The 19th Century theologian, Soren Kierkegaard, makes the point with this whimsical little story.  The king of a long past domain was touring his realm. Village after village poured accolades on him. One day, the king and his entourage arrived at the market square of a small town. To the amazement of his neighbors, one young farmer stepped forward and approached the king’s carriage. “ Sire,” he pleaded, “ please grant me a special blessing.”  To the even greater amazement of his neighbors, the king replied, “ Of course, my good man. Come and live with me. Share my table. Marry my daughter. Become my son-in-law.”

                                The young man was overwhelmed with surprise and delight --- and then, he began to think about the king’s offer:  No more comfortable peasant clothes;  no more familiar surroundings; no more Saturday nights at the local  pub --- no, this new life would mean that he would dress formally, learn the manners of the court --- even take a bath once a week!

                                And so, the young man lowered his eyes and shook his head. “ No, sire, I cannot accept,” he said to the king. “ If you really want to do something for me, give a plot of land to farm and a home. But, to live in your palace, to share your table, to become your son-in-law would be too uncomfortable. It would require more than I think I can give.” And so, he declined the king’s very generous invitation. 

                                The young man quickly learned a vital lesson in life: when opportunity appears it can offer enormous potential. The flip side is also true: opportunity always requires responsibility ---- and risk---and change.   Jesus firmly believed that. He taught and lived that belief. With both words and gestures, Jesus repeatedly taught that…

                …God calls each person to be part of God’s Kingdom;

                                …God calls each person to sit at His Table;

                                                …God calls each person to become His sons and daughters… AND God calls each person to respond responsibly to that gracious invitation. 

                                Barbara Brown Taylor is an Episcopal priest. She has enjoyed successful ministries in both parish and academic settings. However, she is best known as a celebrated preacher. Her comments on today’s Scripture demand serious attention. 

                                                I remember something that one of my professors told me once, about how the second coming of Christ was an idea cooked up by some church father with only two fingers. The truth, he said, is that Christ comes again, and again, and again --- that God has placed no limit on coming to the world…The only thing we are required to do is to notice, to watch, to keep our eyes peeled.

                                [Jesus said]   “ Therefore, you must be ready, for the Son of man is coming at an hour you do not expect.”    How do you deal with a piece of advice like that? Well, why not be ready all the time, not only for the end but for whatever the [present] moment brings?  Every morning when you wake up, decide to  live the life God has given you to live right now. Refuse to live yesterday over and over again. Resist the temptation to save your best for tomorrow. Do not put off living the kind of life you are meant to live. There is no time for that…

                                Go ahead and make the decision, write the letter, get the help you need, find someone to love, give yourself away. Why waster your time making preparations for an end time you cannot predict? Live prepared…so that wherever you are…you are ready for God, for whatever happens next, not afraid but wide awake, watching for the Lord who never tires of coming to the world.

                                Who knows [she concludes]? Ours may be the generation that finally sees him ride in on the clouds, OR we may meet him the way generations before us have --- one by one by one, as we close our eyes for the last time. Either way, our lives are in God’s hands. Either way, God leaves the living of them to us. [and so] To God be all honor and glory, now and forever. 

                                What is left to say but …AMEN!?

Trinity Episcopal Church, Newport, RI

July 29, 2007

Starfish

                                Jesus promised, “Ask and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you…”

                                Yes, Jesus promised, and then he made that promise even more accessible by drawing a picture with words. Here’s what I mean, he said to his listeners.  A man knocks at his neighbor’s door late at night. It seems he has run out of food for some unexpected guests. The groggy man is less than receptive to the person’s request --- but, despite his annoyance, he puts on his bathrobe, pads downstairs and raids the kitchen to fill his neighbor’s need.  Apparently, generosity had nothing to do with it: he simply wanted his neighbor to stop nudging him and go home!

                                Once again, Jesus used story and wit to make an important point; in this case, persistence is the fuel of prayer.  Even though we may not see immediate results, we are to persist…we are to keep on keeping on.   Persist in our prayers.   Persist in our works of compassion.   Persist in praising God.   

                                Christians are not asked to change the whole world. That’s God’s business. Our business is to do what we can, where we can, with whom we can.  Our business is to make a difference wherever we find ourselves planted --- and trust that God will bless our efforts and our persistence.

                                Perhaps, a familiar story says it best.                                                               

                It was a brilliant summer morning following a severe storm. A visitor to the area was leisurely strolling along the beach. He noticed quite a few shell collectors gathering up some of the ocean’s debris, piling them into baskets. But, then, in the distance, he noticed a solitary figure doing something different: he wasn’t gathering, rather he seemed to be throwing something back into the sea. Curious, the man walked closed to see what on earth this person was doing.

                The figure walked slowly by the water’s edge. Every few moments, he would stop, stoop down, pick up an object and throw it into the surf. As the other man came closer, he could see what the thrower was doing: he was tossing beached starfish back into the water.

                The visitor stood next to the man as he picked up another starfish. “It’s alive, isn’t it?”  “Yes,” said the star thrower as he tossed the living thing back into the water. “If the current picks it up, it will survive”

“Do you ever collect any of these?” asked the visitor. “No,” replied the star thrower. “I only collect the living and return them to the sea.”

“I guess death is the only true collector,” remarked the visitor and continued on his way.

                Later in the day, the visitor ran into the star thrower who was still at his task --- looking, stooping, throwing, saving.  This time, the visitor joined in the effort, but after some minutes, he stopped and said, “The task is immense. I wonder if all your labor really makes a difference.”

The star thrower did not respond immediately. Instead, he picked up yet one more starfish and threw it into the waves. Then, he turned and with a large gentle smile replied, “It made a difference to that one!”

Trinity Episcopal Church, Newport, RI

July 22, 2007

Martha and Mary - You Go, Girls!

                                Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess. Now, this princess had many offers of marriage, but she could never make up her mind. You see, she was a very romantic girl who wanted a man to love her more than anyone or anything else. Out of this desire, she devised a way to test the love of her suitors.

                An announcement was sent throughout the kingdom that on a certain day, there would be a race on the palace grounds. The race was open to any to every man in the kingdom, regardless of his station in life.    The chosen day arrived, and the palace grounds were crowded with would-be suitors. The contestants were told that the princess waited at the finish line, and whoever reached her first could ask for her hand in marriage.

                Just before the race began, the king made an announcement. He told the racers that he had scattered some of his finest treasures along the course: there were necklaces, pendants, jewel-encrusted cups and swords. Each runner was welcome to stop and take as many as he could carry.  Then, the race began…

                …One by one, the runners turned aside to fill their pockets ---- blinded by the possibility of immediate wealth, they forgot about the waiting princess.  All, that is, except one young man. He pressed on. For him, the objects so liberally strewn were simply trinkets compared to the hand of the princess. Finally, he crossed the finish line and greeted his bride.  He was victorious because --- to borrow a phrase --- he kept his eyes on the prize! 

                                The moral of this story can be summed up in three words: Beware of distractions!  Distractions --- they come in so many guises: material possessions, power, money, personal agendas. But, they all have the same affect: they break focus and undermine achievement.

Consider the story of Al and Betty Johnson.

                The Johnsons live on a farm some 200 miles northeast of Rapid City, South Dakota. Not many people live in that area --- the folks like to say that while it isn’t the end of the earth, you can still see it from there.  So, Al and Betty keep a running list of things they need to do and buy whenever they are going to Rapid City.  

                A while back, Betty’s mother was flying to the area for a visit. Al made a list of all the things he needed to do on his way to the airport.

Later that evening, when he returned to the farm, he was so pleased to tell Betty that he had accomplished all his errands ---- new tires for the truck, new tools for his workshop, and all the items she had requested at the mall.  Betty interrupted him, “ Al, where’s Mother?”  Al’s face turned ashen and then bright red. In his determination to complete his list, he had forgotten to go to the airport. 

                                Poor Al! It’s so easy to be so busy, so distracted that we forget the most important thing. Poor Al… and poor Martha!  Her intentions were admirable. Her effort was great. She wanted to offer Jesus the best hospitality that she could. Unfortunately, the preparation of the meal became an end unto itself. She was so distracted by activity that she failed to see that her sister, Mary, was offering Jesus her own kind of hospitality: the gift of listening, the gift of attention, the gift of presence.                               

                                This often-told and often-misunderstood incident offers an elementary lesson about the Christian lifestyle: namely, that Christian living is characterized by BOTH SERVICE AND LISTENING.  What’s more, each response is dependent upon the other.  Doing without listening can become purposeless; listening without doing can make our professions of faith empty. 

                                This fundamental insight seems to be germane to our current situation here at Trinity Church.  The parish finds itself once again in the rigors of transition.  Periods of transition can be a demanding experience.  They can also be a time of opportunity. In the coming months, we will be asked to participate in a good deal of activity: identifying strengths, naming our needs, discerning patterns of relationships.  THEN, we will be asked to LISTEN to this data. What does it tell us about ourselves?   What does it tell us about our use of resources?  What does it tell us about our future potential as a community of faith?

                Christian life. Church life. Spiritual life.  To work, they all need the