This week as I was thinking about healing and God’s healing presence in our lives,  I remembered a story I heard this summer.

I have been gathering weekly with a small group of St Michael’s folks for a series called Animate Faith, which includes videos by nationally known teachers and writers.

Shane Hipps shared this story:
I remember being at home for Easter break during my sophomore year of college, and I was really stressed out about all kinds of things going on in my life. I felt like there was a storm raging around me. I’d put on a good face, but inside I was tied up. My dad and I were standing in the back yard and he turned to me and said, Shane, I have this sense that there is a knot in your spirit, and I’d like to pray for it to loosen.
My dad is a guy steeped in prayer, but he’s very private about it and he had never done anything like this before, so I was a little nervous. But I said, sounds good. And then he came, stood right next to me, and he placed his hand on my chest, and another hand on my back, which I didn’t expect, and then he said, “I think the knot is right here.” He spent a minute in silence. He didn’t say a word, and I could feel the warmth of his hand on my body, and I just breathed and in almost not time, I felt something in me uncoil, and tears were streaming down my cheeks. in that moment, something loosened in me. It was like stepping into the eye of a hurricane. The storm still raged around me, nothing in my life had changed. What changed was my relationship to those things, there was a calm, there was a peace, there was hope. It was much greater than my dad’s love for me.

Shane talks about this as an experience of salvation – but it could as easily be called healing, or revelation –  the experience of God’s presence with him.

He says, “Salvation – [healing, knowing God’s presence] – “is a moment by moment possibility while we live.  “It is a choice we make now, to trust Jesus.” 
That day Shane experienced being blessed, and knowing God was holding him in love.
The psalm today is a psalm which celebrates the blessings of God.
It reminds God’s people of the rich blessings they have received – and are receiving.
May God be gracious to us and bless us and make his face to shine upon us
    Let the peoples praise you, O God; let all the peoples praise you.
The earth has yielded its increase;
   God, our God, has blessed us.
May God continue to bless us;
    let all the ends of the earth revere God
The psalm invites the people to recognize God’s blessings with praise and thanksgiving. Even more, it is an invitation to trust – to trust fully in God’s love and care for us.
It invites the people of God into that place Shane calls the eye of the storm –resting in the loving care of God.This is what I think of when I hear Jesus say “abide in me.” It is what John Calvin called repose in God. And it is a place of healing and grace.

Sometimes when things go wrong, and we pray, we get the answers we seek –sickness is cured, relationships restored, a new job or opportunity comes through.
But other times, the situation does not change – not for a long time, not ever.There is treatment but not cure for an illness.A relationship is broken. Stress over work, struggle with addiction, worry for a child or parent, loneliness, fear -         our struggles and pain continue. But there is another kind of healing – the healing of knowing we are held by God.

The healing of abiding in God’s love and peace,  even while the storm rages. It is a healing we find in prayer.

In community. In rituals of confession and forgiveness, sharing the Peace, singing together,and receiving the grace of the Eucharist.
It is a healing we find in letting go, and in seeing blessings as clearly as struggles. This is the second time this summer I am preaching about a psalm (the first was at Live at Five in June, when I preached on Psalm 145) It is not something I’ve done often in almost 15 years of ordained ministry.
  But I think the way many psalms focus on praise and gratitude has drawn me –  I’ve been captured by my reading of them,  caught up in study of the beautiful words of poetry and themes of blessing.

Because I am feeling blessed to be at St Michael’s. Despite everything that has happened in the last year and a half, we are truly blessed.

People come here for the first time and feel the Spirit of love and friendship we have among us.

Amid our losses, we have been showered with blessings this summer: a very generous response to our mini-pledge drive in July;
  a new teacher at the preschool;  and a person coming to lead singing with our kids during children’s chapel.    

I mentioned needing a keyboard for her to use, and the first person I spoke to had one to donate.

We are blessed to have David Martin serving here, and Doug Travis coming next month.

It’s a matter of perspective.

It’s a matter of recognizing our blessings.

The blessings are all around us, if we look.

I’m aware of it in the beauty and energy of our song leaders and congregation.

I’m aware of it whenever I look out at all of you, some of whom I know well and some hardly at all, but all of us here together seeking God and looking for healing of our deepest wounds and fears.

I have struggled with depression all of my adult life.

For years I prayed for peace and healing, hoping for some miraculous day when I would wake up filled with peace and the struggle would end.

I’ve realized it doesn’t work that way.

For me, healing is a day-to-day thing,choosing again and again to trust God and keep walking in faith,  no matter my mood at the moment.

Now I pray to be present to my life and aware of the blessings I receive.

Two weeks ago, I was staying with my family in a cabin on the shore of Lake Huron.

We had one of those tube floats, and my youngest son, Micah, asked me to go out on it with him.

We floated away from shore, water around us as far as we could see,  his little 6 year old body cuddled against me.

As we rose and fell on the gentle waves, I felt such gratitude –  for Micah, for the water, for vacation and time to relax.

I knew God was holding me, as sure as the water below and the boy cuddled next to me.

Wednesday morning, I was up before 6:00 for the first day of school.

I went to get something from the car, and saw the most beautiful sunrise(something I am very rarely awake to see.)

I took a 10 minute walk, thanking God for life and beauty –and for school starting up again. As I learn to pay attention to the present, to be aware of blessings,  I experience more and more of those moments Shane talks about – moments of revelation, of healing, of experiencing eternal life now. 

I read this week about a church in Texas that does a Driver’s License Blessing  for families when they reach this life-changing milestone with a teenager.

Youth and their parents are prayed for, and the new drivers given key chains to remind them of God’s presence. They read Psalm 121.

Then the parents of the new drivers pray,

 “Holy God, you are the beginning and end of every road we take. At every moment and in every place, you are near to your children. Keep this, your treasured child, in your care. Lead him as you led the children of Israel through the wilderness. Protect him as you protected Abraham and Sarah when they left their own land and set out on a journey. Enable him to travel safely, with care for the safety of others.”

Finally, the pastors, parents, and friends encircle the youth and offer a blessing:

            “May the Lord remain constantly at your side, and guide your journey. Amen.”

A parent reflected on how the experience blessed her:

“For me, this was an incredibly touching experience, one that drew from me a well of tears as I read the prayers. The tears were tears of healing and letting go. No one gathered that day had known how tender I was about my son driving on his own, as my own brother was completely paralyzed from an automobile accident that took place in the 1970’s.”

In the prayers of her community, and in offering to God her hopes and fears for her son, this woman found healing. 

The ability to bless one another, to recognize and share the blessings we receive,   is one of the gifts of community.

We gather to share our stories, to pray with and for one another.

We gather to share our gifts and joys.

We gather to share our wounds, our yearnings, our longing and hope for healing.

As we take time this morning to offer to God our prayer for healing for ourselves and others, I offer this blessing, ancient and new:

May God be gracious to us and bless us.

May God’s face shine upon us.

May God continue to bless us.

May God grant us healing and peace, today and always.

Amen.

Recently, while I was at Fort Defiance at the Navajo Convocation, I met a group called YOUTH ALIVE, an interdenominational group of high school students from around the country, who spend a series of weeks each summer, working, praying, and living together at an assigned mission location. They have a sign posted which I found myself drawn to:

This is what it said:  "IF YOU WANT TO LIVE IN JESUS -- THEN YOU HAVE TO BEGIN TO LIVE AS JESUS LIVED!"  

Think about these words for a moment.  Jesus definitely spent a good part of his days with the people that were outcasts, disliked, and considered not "the in-crowd" by the religious of the day!

After reading the gospel lesson for this Sunday -- there were several important messages that got my attention!  Last week we heard Rev. Kristin speak about the complex composition and meaning of the parables.  Although they are clearly meant to draw our attention to issues that needed addressing --they are not the quick and simple stories we might like.

Remember the story about the farmer who sold his mule to his friend with the promise that the mule was cooperative and would do whatever told.  But after the sale, the new owner, exasperated, having done everything he could think of, from commanding quietly-- to yelling forcefully for the mule to pull his plow--went back to his farmer friend and complained.  The friend came to the rescue and taking a 2X4 swung with force and hit the mule on the rump.  "Now," he said, "pull that plow." And the mule did! 

"I thought you said he was cooperative," said the new owner, "and would do what I asked."

"He will, only FIRST, you have to get his attention!"

I believe that Jesus was teaching this parable about the wheat and the tares (weeds) in order to get the attention of the crowd! Hear again the question that the slaves asked of the master about the unwanted weeds:

         “…do you want us to go and gather them?”

         And the answer of the master was a CLEAR “NO”

That gives us our first clue as to how we are to live.  A definite warning!

It would appear, that while the owner of the field was unaware, that which was foreign to the good seed, managed to get in and settle alongside!

Weeds!  Who among us - who has gardened - does not know the battle with weeds?  But our lesson this morning gives us a somewhat different message about those particular weeds. These are weeds that Jesus lets them know need to live and grow right alongside the good seed until it comes time to harvest.  Known in biblical terms as "tares", these bearded darnel roots surrounding the roots of these good plants, make it impossible to root the unwanted ones out-- that is -- without damaging the good crop.  That is the interesting detail.

Above ground, darnel looks identical to wheat, until it bears seed.  Jesus' parable appears to be cautioning us against a rush to judgment. We cannot always tell initially what is the wheat and what is not.  The strong message regarding those elements that are not the ones we planted --- begs the question of what to do when they present themselves in our space…I would say that this parable is first and primarily about relationships between people -- not judging and not assuming WHO ARE THE WHEAT AND WHO ARE THE WEEDS:  

The other message in this parable and one we need keep in mind -- is this:   ULTIMATELY, GOD IS STILL IN CHARGE

 I suspect that Matthew was writing for a mixed Jewish Christian and Gentile congregation; neither group wanted to accept the other.  Each viewed the other as “the weeds,” themselves as” the wheat.”  We can certainly see this tendency in ourselves at times --ignoring those outside our inner circle as well as pretending we don't have some of the same flaws in us.  In a world where seeds of hatred and injustice are sown daily -- how difficult it is not to judge --not to exclude!  

When we imagine ourselves in the crowd gathering around Jesus, we realize that Jesus attracts all manner of people:  whether they be women, children, the elderly, beggars seeking a hangout, people dressed all wrong for attending our church, even those who are outcasts in society. 

-- -----BEYOND THE DESIRE TO BE WITH JESUS!

 

THERE IS NO STANDARD FOR ADMISSION TO BEING IN THE JESUS CROWD

 

Jesus prohibited judging in his teaching (over and over).  He was always in some conflict with the Scribes and Pharisees for their personal judgment of people and their attempts to control the minutiae of other’s lives.  YET, most people who have been alienated from the church today have said what they found most difficult about Christians, “Church people can be SO judgmental”!

Just how do we open ourselves to thinking and living the way Jesus calls us to live.   By his life, Jesus teaches us that no matter how critical the needs are, no matter how important the work that we do,we all, need to go away at times to a quiet place and rest in God’s presence – enabling the grace of God to work in the hidden world of our hearts.  That’s just one more example of “how Jesus lived!”

What a concept -- even though we might wish otherwise, if we are to grow up into Christ, side by side with the wheat and the chaff, the weeds,-- we are expected to accompany one another on the spiritual journey!  But as Brian Taylor used to say:  “Make this an experiment in your life – to  LIVE as Jesus lived – TRUSTING JESUS  as you go.”  Not falling back into the pattern of fear or control!

Conventional “good guy/bad guy” interpretations of this parable limit the possibilities, the chance for reconciliation, and the maturing in faith and compassion!

Sometimes there are exclusions and separations that are painful to experience, especially when people are living side by side.  Good example would be the pain experienced by those involved in the 41 wars being fought presently in our world -  many living side by side!

Some years ago, after spending a week in an interdenominational spiritual growth retreat, the large number of participants were to share in a final service together which was held in the sanctuary of the Roman Church.  As the mass began, the priest ready to consecrate the elements -- stopped.  Facing the cross with his back to his brothers and sisters , his shoulders began to shake and as he wept be bent his head to the altar.  There was absolute quiet for a moment and everyone knew the pain in this man's heart -- that he would not be able to serve many of his brothers and sister in this the GREAT THANKSGIVING -  THE BODY AND BLOOD OF CHRIST!

Following what seemed an interminable silence -- everyone could hear the footsteps coming down that long aisle.  It was a Lutheran pastor who had been one of the participants all week.  When he reached the altar he enveloped his brother in his arms and they wept together.  I doubt there were any dry eyes at that point and then suddenly ---  someone in the balcony began singing -- "We Are One In The Spirit"  …..And They'll Know We Are Christians By Our Love, By our Love… They Will Know We are Christians By Our Love….

That moment was for everyone the highest level of communion any of them could have known that day.  Somehow, the love of Christ had transcended all the exclusiveness and separations that man had created.

Sometimes we can't program our community to be exactly the way we'd like.  What if all those conference participants that day had just gotten up and walked out!!!! Instead, they sang, they surrounded with song the two pastors at the altar -- in a powerful reminder that we're all in this together!!!!  They will know we are Christians by our love.  We’re all in this together, St. Michael’s!!!!!

Understanding our gospel message today means:   strong in our forbearance and patience, hearts unfrozen, and always willing to live as Jesus lived.  I believe that St. Michael’s is ready to move ahead!  Let’s move ahead, in the Jesus crowd, by taking the risk -- trusting Jesus as we live the way Jesus lived!  To be a community as Steven Charleston describes in his prayer on Sanctuary, a house of God that shelters all those who come in need!!!!!

I want to close with this prayer from the "Spiritual Diary" by Steven Charleston :  pray with me:

Let our communities of faith be a sanctuary for any who seek safe space simply to be who they are.  Let our walls be a refuge against intolerance and fear, our welcome, a healing hand to restore the dignity of every human heart.  Let our doors be ever open, O God, to protect your children from harm.  Give us the courage to be the sanctuary for others that you have been for us, the one place we knew we could go when the dark clouds gathered and the hearth of our hope grew cold."

We are all in this together St. Michael’s.  They’ll know we are Christians by our love!!!!!

AMEN

The other day I  came across this short post by author and blogger  Seth Godin,
            Fast, easy, guaranteed.

            Pick none.

            That’s the work worth doing.

I laughed at myself a bit, because at the time I was procrastinating –
            checking my email again to put off the work of writing a sermon.
I was reminded that there is a reason preparing to preach is not fast, easy, or guaranteed.
And it is work worth doing.

I was also reminded of the lesson for today.
This morning’s gospel lesson is a parable – the first in a series of parables in the 13th chapter of Matthew, which we will read in the coming weeks.
Parables also are not fast, easy, or guaranteed.
We would like them to be simple illustrations,
            to clarify what Jesus wants us to know about the kingdom of God.
We would like Jesus to tell a parable, and have the disciples – and us! –
            say, “Oh, I see now!”

Instead, parables most often receive the opposite reaction – then and now.
What?
What does that mean?
And why do you keep telling these crazy stories, Jesus?

C. H. Dodd has suggested that the purpose of a parable is to tease the mind into active thought.
Fr. Robert Capon suggests that in using parables, Jesus was trying to obfuscate –
            to shake up what his listeners thought they knew about God,
            to challenge their assumptions about religion
            and to help them see that God’s kingdom is a mystery.

Parables are not fast, easy, or guaranteed.
But they are all the more interesting because of it,
            and very much worth the time it takes to explore, examine,
            and tease out understanding of  what Jesus is saying about God and the world.

Listen! A sower went out to sow . . .
Jesus tells a story of a farmer who takes his seed and scatters it on the ground,
            indiscriminately, with no prior preparation.
The seed meets with various fates – eaten by birds, choked by rocks and thorns,
            or growing to produce a miraculous harvest.
The disciples ask Jesus – what does it mean?
And so he explains his story.
Jesus doesn’t say who the sower is.
What he does say is that the seed is the Word.
Not words – like words on a page – but Logos, the Word.
Logos is an idea, a message expressed.
It is an utterance of God.
It is also Jesus himself, the Word made flesh.

The prophet Isaiah has said about God’s Word,
            As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there          until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving     seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out          from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that           which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.

This is the Word of God which the sower sows,
            which falls, like rain, on all types of soil.

In his explanation of the parable,  Jesus describes the different types of soil the word encounters.
He describes the ways the seed does not take hold,
            or takes hold but then is smothered or neglected.
Finally, he turns to the good soil – perhaps the disciples themselves -    
            those who receive the word, and understand, and bear fruit.

This is an important thing for Jesus to address at this time in his ministry.
He has been engaged in ministry among the people for some time,
            teaching, healing, casting out demons,
and instead of great success, he is meeting great resistance.
Chapter 12 of Matthew’s gospel is full of stories of the increasing animosity the religious leaders feel toward Jesus.
It is the first time they contemplate violence against him.

So this parable, and its explanation, offer an explanation of what is happening.
It is not that his ministry is wrong.
It is not the Word that is ineffective.
But some soils – some people – are not able to receive it.

At this point, many sermons and lessons on the parable of the sower turn to us with the exhortation to “be good soil.”
Clear our hearts and minds and prepare a place for the word to take root.
And that is not a bad message.

But what if Jesus’s explanation is more descriptive than prescriptive.
Simply pointing out that people’s expectations or  preconceived notions about God and the kingdom can prevent them from hearing.
What might that look like for us, today?
David Lose points out that “life is busy and complex and most of us come to Sunday a little bit ragged at the edges.”
The demands of work, parenting, caring for aging parents, supporting good causes and just keeping up with the ever-increasing demands of life –
            all good things, worth doing!  –
            may make us feel like soil choked with weeds or cluttered with rocks.  

Yet God sows
The Logos – the eternal, creative word of God –
            still offers new life.
The Logos – the Word of God incarnate in Jesus Christ –
            still loves us and seeks us and invites us to follow. 

We might pray, Lord, let my heart be good soil –
            let me clear my mind of distractions for a little while so I may hear you –
            let me make space to worship and read and study Scripture.
But we might also pray –
            Thank you, God, for scattering your seed – your word – your grace and love –
            with such abandon.
Thank you for tossing seed my way, even when I’m barely paying attention.
Thank you for blessing me, and seeking me, and loving me, no matter what.

The parable of the sower describes a God of abundance.
A God who never gives up, never stops scattering blessings and grace.
It invites us to trust in a God whose Word does not come back empty,
            but offers transformation and new life in our rockiest places.

And perhaps this story invites us also to be sowers.
To be extravagant in the ways we share God’s grace,
            in words of love and acts of generosity.
It invites us to give witness to what we know of God and God’s abundance,
            to share what we have experienced of God’s grace and blessing.

It invites us to scatter that blessing,
not carefully, in prepared soil, in places we can define and control,
            but with abandon – trusting the seed – the Logos – to do its proper work.

Carolyn Metzler and I were discussing this parable, and she remembered a line from a poem by T. S. Eliot: take no thought of the harvest, but only of proper sowing.
I am going to end by sharing some excerpts from this amazing poem,
            Choruses from the Rock.
I offer these not as clarifying illustrations, but as contemporary parable –
            to make us think, and offer new perspectives on sowing.

All men are ready to invest their money
But most expect dividends
I say to you: Make perfect your will.
I say: take no thought of the harvest,
But only of proper sowing.

In the vacant places
We will build with new bricks
There are hands and machines
And clay for new brick
And lime for new mortar
Where bricks are fallen
We will build with new stone
Where the beams are rotten
We will build with new timbers
Where the word is unspoken
We will build with new speech
There is work together
A Church for all
And a job for each
Every man to his work.

Lord, shall we not bring these gifts to Your service?
Shall we not bring to Your service all our powers
For life, for dignity, grace and order,
And intellectual pleasures and senses?
The Lord who created must wish us to create
And employ our creation again in His service
Which is already his service in creating.

Listen! A sower went out to sow . . .
            and invites us all to be sowers as well.  Thanks be to God. Amen

In the good ol’ bad ol’ days before I discovered the Episcopal Church I was staying at an old Convent in Keene, NH where there were many statues of Jesus with the sacred heart.  Raised as I had been in a liberal Protestant Church, this was totally new imagery to me.  I was strangely affected by these statues—profoundly drawn to them and yet repelled at the same time.  They offended my Protestant sensibilities, and yet I suspected they knew something I didn’t, and I wanted to know it.  It was something about an Incarnate God so vulnerable that God’s very heart could be wounded.  I did not like the statues—blonde, blue eyed Jesus with the tears running down his face, the sappy sentimental expression and the blood running down the open hole in his chest—ickypoo—and yet—and yet there was an invitation there which lay beneath the realm of description.  It had to do with intimacy, with joy, with a profound connection which I knew I desperately wanted.  It was my deepest yearning, my heart’s desire.  I just couldn’t get past the form of the statue to its deeper invitation.

One night I had a dream that an old woman came to me holding a great treasure wrapped in fine cloth.  She offered it to me.  I felt afraid, knowing that receiving this gift would change me.  Without words she unwrapped the offering.  As the cloth fell away I saw she was holding the sacred heart of Jesus, without sentimentality, without gilding, without sap.  It was raw, wounded, vulnerable.  She offered to put it into my chest.  I knew that if I accepted the invitation, I would be  profoundly changed; I would have to give up my life as I ran it with my own agendas, my favorite rationalizations and excuses and open myself to the certain wounding of love.  I understood the promise and also the cost.  With great shame, I took a step backward—and woke up.

“I do not understand my own actions,” writes Paul, “For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”  Who here can’t relate to that?  Ever since that dream I have wrestled with these words, remembering the dream where I spurned the gift of God which was also my heart’s desire.   I find it is more that I don’t do what I yearn to do rather than do what I despise.  I want to be a person of prayer—but—at the moment it feels more urgent to slide into another game of Spider Solitaire.

I find the words to be true of communities also.  We hear the words of the Gospel, we respond “Thanks be to God,” we nod assent to even the hardest sayings of Jesus, we watch the bread broken open at the altar and suspect we are offering our own lives to that brokenness—and then we get stuck in the stupid stuff; the imagined slights we received in community, the wrong assumptions made on our behalf, the myriad ways we get our feelings hurt.  Things don’t go the way we want them to.  We sulk.  We offer something we believe is valuable.  It is received shabbily.  We become anxious.  When we get anxious we try to control more.  How easily we forget who we are actually following.

We are all driven by things we do not understand.  For some that compulsion is born out of experiences which mark us forever.  For some—most, I’d say, it is fear.  Fear of not being loved or appreciated, or understood, fear of abandonment, or of being without, fear of pain, fear of death, fear of loneliness.  You can fill in your own “fear du jour.”  Becoming conscious of what drives us is a major part of the spiritual journey; becoming conscious and allowing God to heal that fear.  It is not easy, and none of us can do it alone.  We need each other, we need the sacraments, we need prayer and most of all, and we need God’s grace to keep working on us, calling us to be broken open to healing love.

Today’s Gospel follows a silent story not told anywhere, of Jesus’ mission to Galilee which had apparently been a total failure.  We glean that he had been received with a giant yawn from the intelligent, self-sufficient people of the area who felt they had no need of either John the Baptist’s call to repentance nor Jesus’ invitation to the wedding feast.  Theirs was the sin of indifference.  In our omitted verses today Jesus reproaches the cities of Chorazin and Bethsaida for  of their apathy.  The Greek word we translate “Woe” is not an angry, vengeful word threatening fire and brimstone.  The word is “ouai” which is more about sorrowful pity. Jesus is responding not with the outrage of a humiliated ego but with a broken heart.  It is the sadness of anyone who offers a treasured gift which is treated shabbily.  It was the look in the eyes of the old woman in my dream when I stepped back from the proffered sacred heart of Jesus. 

And then we get some lines which sound more like they come from John’s Gospel than Matthew’s about how if you want to know God you need only look at the Son.  Only through Christ can we see God.  Again the Greek invites us into a deeper understanding.  The word “know” here is not an intellectual grasping, but a word which also includes choice and intimacy.  In the Hebrew Bible the word is synonymous with sexual intimacy.  To know God through Christ is to enter the realm of lovers.

And then Jesus drives his point home.  "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."  We have heard these words over and over for so long, they have lost their punch.  By the time Matthew’s Gospel was written, Judaism had disintegrated into a network of harsh laws and regulations regulating normal life making it almost impossible for the poor to survive under the strict code of sacrifice.  The big question was “what are the requirements of faith for a Jew?”  The answer was more rules.  

We don’t groan under those burdens, but we have plenty of our own.   The greatest burden of all is that of perfectionism.  I speak as a “one” on the Enneagram.  No matter what I do, how well it comes off, there is that inner voice which picks it apart.  “Well,” begins the litany of critique.  “You forgot to do this, and you missed that part, and you could have been more articulate there, and what were you thinking when you made that stupid joke….” and on it goes.  My idolatry is that of perfectionism which I neatly disguise as my self-sacrificing service to God.  Only—it is an entirely self-imposed burden which has nothing to do with God.  It has everything to do with my own pride.  It is what made me step back from receiving God’s heart in my dream.  Perfectionism in individuals and in communities is the anti-Gospel.  It is the devil itself disguised as Goodness and Light.  God does not require perfection.  God requires humility and vulnerability.  It is why Jesus keeps using the image of children and here infants as the paradigm of approach to God.  Children are open to learning.  Children are hungry for connection, the willingness to be taught (until they get to be about six, of course.  Our daughter’s favorite line was “I do it self!”)  But perfectionists like me want to “do it self “ all the time.  So we heap more and more burdens on ourselves and become exhausted.  The poet David Whyte quotes David Stendahl Rast as saying that “The antidote to exhaustion is not rest; it is singleness of heart.”  [repeat quote]

That is why the yoke is easy and the burden light.  A yoke is a wooden frame fitted to a beast of burden to pull the work.  Yokes in ancient Palestine were made by carpenters, so it was likely that Jesus himself had made them.  The oxen were measured carefully, and each yoke was made to fit perfectly so the oxen were not chafed or bruised by the yoke.  In fact, the Greek word translated “easy” here also means “well-fitting.” A custom-built yoke!  In other words, the work God has for us will be suited to our needs and our abilities.  God does not ask us to do what is impossible for us.  True “call” is tailored to who we are so when we engage the work we can do so with joy.  Joy is never burdensome!  When the work is given and received with love, it is life-giving, not draining.  In the immortal words of the Hollies, “He ain’t heavy—he’s my brother.” 

Where I grew up in Indonesia our village was surrounded by rice paddies,  I spent long hours watching the water buffalo pull the plows.  Those yokes were double yokes—fitting two buffalo at once so they could share the strain, and take turns resting a bit.  They pulled together to ease the work.  What a wonderful image for the body of Christ!  I think it is a double image.  We are yoked together, to be sure.  But we are also yoked with God who pulls with us.  After the Examination in the Diaconal ordination liturgy, the Bishop says these wonderful words: “May the Lord by his grace uphold you in the service he lays upon you.”  God partners with us.  The stole I wear is a symbolic yoke, a reminder that I am yoked to you and we are all yoked to Christ.  I like Eugene Peterson’s transliteration of this passage:  

 “Are you tired?  Worn out?  Burned out on religion?  Come to me.  Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take real rest.  Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it.  Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.  I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you.  Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

We will not do it perfectly.  We need to forgive each other and ourselves over and over again, as God forgives each of us.  And—surprise! It is exactly our failures which become occasions of grace.  Leonard Cohen writes, “Everything is cracked.  That’s how the light gets in.”  Christ’s yoke is not one of “anything goes,” not one of permissiveness.  It is very hard to be a Christian, but not because God makes it hard.  We make it hard ourselves.  The good we want to do we don’t.  The bad that we don’t want to do we do.  We are caught in our various compulsions and fear and addictions and often don’t quite believe any of this.  Who will rescue us?   Paul in his despair about his long string of failures throws off the despair and casts himself into the ocean of God’s mercy.  Thanks be to God who gives us victory through Christ Jesus! 

Leonard Cohen (my fifth evangelist) wrote a song years ago which cries that praise rising out of the  fiasco of human failure:

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Amen.

Today’s gospel lesson picks up right in the middle of a story.
Jesus is sending out his disciples to continue his mission.
They are to share the good news that the kingdom of God has come near to them,
            to heal the sick, and to cast out demons.
Jesus has been giving them instructions, such as, take no bag on your journey,
            and receive no payment.
He says, I am sending you out as sheep among wolves.
Not a very comforting image.
Not a great recruiting strategy.

Then we get to the verses assigned for today.
And the recruiting tactics get even worse.
I have come not to bring peace, but a sword.
Do not be afraid of those who can only kill your body.
Only?
What?
What kind of mission are you sending us on anyway, Jesus?

Matthew’s gospel was written for a group of early followers of Jesus
            who were, indeed, facing persecution.
Many of them suffered for what they believed and for living in the Way of Jesus Christ.
Many of them did lose relationships with family members when they chose to follow Jesus.
So the words of Jesus, as Matthew wrote them, are for those early Christians,
            as well as those first disciples whom Jesus sent out.
Jesus is realistic with those who would follow him.
It is hard to be a disciple.
Jesus has some expectations of those who would follow him –
            that they, too, bring good news to the poor and heal the sick and feed the hungry.
But he also offers words of assurance, to all disciples who will follow,
            into generations beyond Matthew’s imagining:

Do not be afraid.
Do not be afraid of losing what you have.
Do not be afraid of people who threaten you.
            Your lives and all you have belong to God.
Do not be afraid that you cannot do what I ask you to do.
            God knows you, and God loves you, and God will be with you always.

The key to this gospel story is mission –
            the mission of all followers of Jesus in all times and places
            to share God’s love in the world by our words and deeds.
That is the very reason the church exists –
            to be a part of God’s mission of love and reconciliation in the world.
Diana Butler Bass, who has studied and written about mainline churches for many years,
            maintains that one mark of a vibrant church is its sense of mission.
When we, in the church, become too turned in on ourselves,
too concerned about what is in it for us and whether that will still be here when we want it,           
we begin to lose our way.
When we come together to hear the stories, share the bread and wine, support one another,
            and then focus our attention on meeting the needs of a hurting world –
            that is when we, as church, thrive.

We are called together so that we may reach out to people –
            to people who are hurting, people who are hungry,
            people who are lost and people who have been told they are unloveable.

St Michael’s is in a time of struggle,
            a wilderness time,
            and it is all too easy at such a time to get turned in on ourselves.
Attendance is down a bit.
Giving is down a bit.
Anxiety is a bit high.
It is natural and expected to be struggling in a time of transition,
            but it is still hard.

I said something at an adult forum a few weeks ago,
            and a vestry member who is also on the stewardship and finance committees said, “Why don’t you say that from the pulpit?”
So I said Okay, I will.

If you have a friend who is going through something hard in his or her life,
            what do you do?
Do you back away, saying,
            “Call me again when your divorce is final and things are going better.”?

St Michael’s – your friends, your sisters and brothers in Christ who make up St Michael’s –
            needs your faithfulness and commitment right now.
This is not a time for “wait and see what happens.”
We have an excellent staff working hard to support our ministry, and a mortage on a beautiful new building.
The search for a new rector will cost money,
            even before we select and call the person who will eventually lead us.
We need each one of us to hang in there –
more than that,
            to re-double our efforts and commitment to this place and our ministry together.
Join a new ministry.
Make a pledge.
Attend worship even more.
Give a designated gift to something that excites you.
Offer your gifts and talents.
So that a year from now – 3 years from now – 10 years from now –
            St Michael’s will still be the thriving community we love.

The life of discipleship is not easy – it asks us to give of our time, talent and treasure.
Sometimes it asks us to step outside our comfort zones into places of need,
            places of uncertainty.
But the other side of the coin is this:
            this is what abundant life is all about.

Week after week, more than 30 people show up here to serve at the food pantry.
Not with a sense of drudgery and duty, but with joyful hearts and smiles.
They meet people they would not have met.
They help families that need help.
And they have formed a close-knit community of support and care for one another.

A teacher in our high school Sunday program told me last weekend, “I’m teaching again next year. I love it. And if you want me to get up and talk about it sometime in church –
I don’t love to get up in front of people, but I’d be glad to tell people that I get so much more out of it than I give.”

The second week of Camp Stoney just finished.
It’s a lot of hard work for a lot of volunteers.
But the rewards are immeasurable.
Kids praying together.
Reflecting on their God-given gifts and talents.
One day we stopped on a hike and asked “where do you see God in creation around you?   That day, it was all about the snake we’d met on the trail – what excitement!

My youngest son Micah was at camp, but never paid much attention during worship.
He was usually wandering around at the edges, playing with a stick or something.
But one afternoon during Siesta he was playing with his toys, and as he set up the pirates and skeletons for battle, he sang,
            “Father, I adore you. Lay my life before you. How I love you”

What we share here together is something beautiful and valuable.
Beautiful liturgy.
Excellent music.
A warm and inviting community which seeks to celebrate difference and diversity.

Most important, we come here to seek a relationship with God –
            with the Living God, the creator of heaven and earth,
            Mystery beyond all knowing,
who still cares for us so deeply that the hairs on our heads are counted.

Sometimes we walk in darkness, struggling to see where our next steps will take us.
But God is with us.
When we commit ourselves to God’s mission of loving a hurting world,
            Jesus promises to send the Holy Spirit to strengthen and guide us.
What more could we ask?

A few weeks ago at the Pride service, David Martin reminded us of a beloved prayer,
            known as the Prayer of St Francis.
In that prayer, we pray that we may seek to console and understand and love others,
            even more than we seek to be consoled, understood and loved.
We come together to learn to console, to understand, and to love
-       to see and serve Christ in the faces of one another.
We come to be led by the one who gave himself, in ultimate love, for all of us.
We come to be fed, and then sent out into the world renewed in love and grace.

Please turn to page 833 in the Book of Common Prayer and pray with me:

Lord, make us instruments of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon;
where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.
Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.

November 13, 2011
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

What a cheery set of readings we’ve been given for today! In Zephaniah, the Lord says to those who don’t believe God has any power – Call me impotent? I’ll show you: wrath and anguish, darkness and gloom, blood and devastation! Paul picks up the theme – the Lord will come like a thief in the night, with sudden destruction.

And then the gospel – slaves are entrusted with some money by their master. Two of them turn a quick profit, but one hides it so he won’t lose it. He returns it safely, and what is his reward? The master calls him wicked, lazy, worthless, and throws him into the outer darkness, where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth. The moral of the story? The haves will get more, and the have-nots will lose what little they have.

Aren’t you glad you came to church today?
What are we to make of these readings, especially the gospel?

Jesus’ parable has been interpreted for centuries as a metaphor about faith and risk. The master in the story is God, who temporarily lends us all our resources – money, time, personal gifts – and we are expected to risk these resources so that they will grow and be useful to others. But if we play it safe, like the slave who avoided all risk, we will lose the gifts we have been given. Our inner poverty will be a kind of darkness.

There is truth in this interpretation. But there is another way of looking at this parable, an approach which Deacon Judith Jenkins took a month ago when preaching about a very similar parable, also from Matthew’s gospel. In that story, a ruthless and murderous king invited the public to his son’s wedding feast. One man who came was not dressed in proper wedding garments. Like today’s risk-avoidant slave, this poorly-dressed guest was cast into the outer darkness, where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Judith questioned our assumption that in Jesus’ parables, God is always represented by the one who is powerful, rich, or father-like. The story takes on new meaning if we see the king as the story actually describes him – a cruel and violent man – and if we see the man without the wedding garment as one who has done nothing wrong. Judith suggested that the story might be about an innocent Christ figure refusing to participate in a violent social system, and being punished – crucified – for it.

So we come to today’s parable. The story tells us that the master is known to be harsh, reaping where he does not sow. He doesn’t sound like the God that Jesus teaches about. He gives his servants money and goes away on a trip. Upon his return, two of the servants give him a 100% return on his investments, which they accomplished in a very short time. One wonders what they did to pull this off – it sounds like the Mafia. The master’s message to the one servant who didn’t exploit others for his master’s gain: nice guys finish last, loser!  

Perhaps in telling this parable, Jesus was being subversive. Perhaps he was pointing out the outrageous injustice of financial exploitation that ruins common people’s lives. In Jesus’ day, there was big money to be made in ruthlessness. There were corrupt tax-collectors, Roman taxes and temple tithes, landlords that schemed to turn people out of their ancestral property and make them indebted sharecroppers or day laborers. That’s the master and his lackeys in this parable.

And who is the so-called worthless and lazy slave? The one who refuses to play the game. The one who doesn’t go out and quickly extort a 100% return on his master’s money. And for refusing to do this, as in the parable a month ago, he is cast out of the company of the elite, into the darkness that lies outside their privileged and corrupt world. Even the little he has is taken away from him.

Exploitation is common to every era, and we are no strangers to it. It happens when people of power abuse their position, hurt those who are powerless, and gain personally from it. Power, in and of itself, is neutral. It is often used for good. And powerlessness is not always a virtue. We need some power over our lives. But power used for personal gain at the expense of other people’s suffering is evil.

We have seen this in the global financial meltdown of the last 3 years. I understand that the reasons for this are complex, but at least one strong contributing factor was a group of reckless gamblers who used other people’s money to make quick fortunes for themselves. The Occupy Wall St. movement, now global, is an unfocused but passionate cry of frustration giving voice to the millions of unemployed and debt-ridden common people who suffer from the greed of a few. Perhaps we can see this whole scenario in Jesus’ parable. To all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away.

Another example of exploitation by people of power is the awful situation unfolding at Penn State. Child abuse by the football coach was horrible enough, but even worse was the inaction, indifference and self-preservation shown by every person of power in that institution who knew about it. It rivals the worst of the Roman Catholic scandal. Power was used against the powerless – the children, in this case -  so that the University’s status and fortune created by football would not be jeopardized. To all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away.

Well, it’s easy to throw stones at obvious public examples of exploitation. But Jesus never let his listeners off the hook that easily. His parables are told for everyone.

Each of us has choices every day whether or not to use whatever power we have against others for our own personal gain. We can withhold or skew information, so that we win the contract. We can whisper half-truths about others so that we look better. We can use others for sexual pleasure. We can overwork our employees and avoid paying benefits so that our profits stay strong. We can dominate our children, forcing them to our will so that we retain our illusion of control. We all have power, and power can be used to create good or to exploit.

What is the alternative, especially in a dog-eat-dog world? I think it is a simple change of perspective. Rather than seeing ourselves as that exceptional individual who is trying to pull himself above the pathetic masses, we live horizontally, as it were, in community. From this perspective, we see ourselves among other children of God, each of us deserving respect and dignity. We are not individual units, but connected, part of the human family, serving not just our own needs, but also the common good.

Jesus’ parable suggests that there is a cost to living this way. The slave who doesn’t exploit others for his master’s gain is cast out of the company of the elite. If we live a more horizontal life, there may be a cost for us, too.

We may end up in a lower-paying job that has integrity as its reward rather than personal gain. We may pay more for products and buy less because we choose to give our money to businesses that are not exploitative. When we give away a percentage of our income to causes and institutions that serve the common good, we will have a little less money to spend on ourselves. Withdrawing from competition, we may sometimes be taken advantage of by more power-hungry people around us.

These are examples of what some call “the cost of discipleship.” But Jesus does not end with the cost. He goes on to assure us of the reward. The last will be first, the meek will inherit the earth, and self-denial is the true path towards self-fulfillment.

The lone servant who chose not to use his master’s power to exploit was, in the eyes of his peers, cast into the darkness beyond their privileged world. He was dead to them. But consider where he might have actually ended up: in the company of Jesus’ followers, among poor and rich, weak and strong, losers and winners, a mosaic of humanity whose common word, no matter what their station in life, was love.

He wasn’t in the darkness after all. He, and all who follow his example, had come into the light of God.

Nov. 6, 2011
All Saints’ Sunday
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

At the CREDO clergy conference I recently led, we began, as we always do, with little activities that help us get to know each other a bit. In one of them, we ask them to line up on one side of the room if they prefer doing weddings. If they prefer doing funerals, they go to the other side of the room.

Raise your hand if you think there are more clergy on the wedding side. Now raise your hand if you think there are more on the funeral side…you’re right; far more clergy prefer funerals over weddings.

Why is this? Are we morbid? Or is it because at funerals we can be little heroes to the bereaved, while at weddings, we’re always upstaged by the bride?

I’ve never asked, but I suspect part of the reason is that getting close to death can make us feel more alive. I find that even when I’m doing a funeral of someone I didn’t know, I’m brought back to the most basic, most important things, because these are the things people remember about those who have died. “She treasured the beauty of nature,” they say. “He was like a magnet for kids and animals.” “She poured herself into work that she cared deeply about.” “He was kind and curious.” “She was beloved.”

Seeing the departed this way can become a mirror in which we see the things that really matter in our own life. Our mundane world opens up and reveals its true wonder and depth. It is like a curtain being drawn back in some homely motel room, and suddenly, through the window, we see a full moon rising over a majestic mountain range, reflected in a shimmering lake.

So this day, the Feast of All Saints, is a holy day, a day to remember the departed, and to recall our own potential. In the Baptismal Covenant today, we will re-set our aim towards the things that really matter, or to put it in more religious terms, towards holiness of life, towards becoming a saint.

This is what Jesus aims us towards in the gospel today, in the passage known as the Beatitudes:
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

How blessed, he says, are the saints who are humble and pure of heart, hungry for God, merciful and kind, creating peace and reconciliation in this broken world. They are the saints of God, and Jesus says that they will be satisfied. He is even so bold as to say that they shall see God.

Is it possible for you to consider that Jesus is telling you that you can really know the kingdom of heaven in your lifetime? That you can be fulfilled, that you can, in fact, see God? Can you hear this as an invitation into a blessedness that is possible in your life?

If so, know that it will not happen by wishing it so. Nor does will it happen by having right beliefs or being perfect and never doing anything wrong. It happens by actively placing ourselves in the hands of God, day in and day out.

A word of caution, however. Commitment and zeal in the spiritual life are a tricky thing. We can become harsh with ourselves, pushing ourselves willfully towards something that, in the end, is a gift. I’ve done that. We can regularly lurch between zeal and disappointment, and eventually give up, resigning ourselves to lackluster mediocrity.

But somehow or another, the saints, the ones who have inspired us, the blessed ones who have lived the Beatitudes and have seen God, have applied themselves with dedication towards this hope. They understood that they have a part to play in becoming saints, that it would not happen unless they desired and pursued holiness of life.

I don’t know about you, but I seem to go in and out of this kind of commitment. Like a slow-moving tide, it ebbs and it flows. I first felt this desire rise in me many years ago, when I was 25 years old. It was during a series of crises that left me quite disoriented. In a moment of grace one night while lying in bed, I imagined myself as an old man on my deathbed. At the end of my life, I found myself being asked “Brian, what did you live for?” And as I came out of this reverie, I knew without a doubt that I wanted to live for God.

Now recently, for whatever reason, the tide of my desire for God has flowed in again. I am once again aware that I can experience what Jesus promises in the Beatitudes, that they are not just empty words.  

And I also know that this happens when I diligently practice with meditation, prayer, and self-awareness throughout the day. It happens when I orient my life around the things that matter, by reading things that encourage me, by doing what I can to remain mentally and physically fresh and alert, by practicing trust and faith when stress and worry threaten to overwhelm me.

Now you may express how you stay centered in God differently. You may have very different kinds of spiritual practice. That doesn’t matter. What matters is that if you want holiness of life, you apply yourself towards it, day in and day out.


Three weeks ago, I participated in a funeral for someone whom I only knew a few weeks. I had been called in because he wanted to talk about how to make his final journey towards death. Doug was not a member; he wasn’t even a Christian, and barely even a person of faith. None of that mattered. Because in the course of the conversation it became abundantly clear to me that I was talking with a saint.

He lived the Beatitudes. He lived the Baptismal Covenant. He was humble and pure of heart. He cared when things needed to be set right, and did something about it. He looked for the good in others and respected their dignity, even when they were very difficult people. He was a reconciler, and shed light wherever he went.

And because he did, he experienced what Jesus promises. He knew mercy and purity of heart; his hunger was filled with abundant life. Everyone who attended his funeral said this about him. You could see his light in their faces.

Doug is one of those on our ofrenda today. I put him there to honor his life, to show my appreciation for who he was. But I also put him there in order to remember that it is possible for me to be a saint, too, like him.

It’s not easy to become a saint. It’s not easy to live into the Beatitudes, or to fulfill the vows of the Baptismal Covenant. But it is possible. Those saints that shine with God’s light are not a special breed apart. They are as human, as flawed, as you and me. The only difference is that they kept aiming towards the life that Jesus said was possible. And in doing so, they proved him right.