Priorities

In the Episcopal blogiverse, there has been a whole lot of fuss surrounding the recent House of Bishops' meeting and the statement that emerged therefrom. Discussion, Dissection and Debate. Sorrow and Anger. Sturm und drang. And I have been caught up in it-- not only the letter itself, but reading (and occasionally participating in) a good deal of the discussion emerging from the usual round of suspects.

Today, however, I had other things to do.

• Visited and anointed a parishioner with such significant head trauma that the doctors are not sure how much memory or personality will eventually recover.

• Joined the local ministerial association for lunch with local school administrators (an annual event, here), to learn from them what is being done with and for the kids in this community.

• Chatted and prayed with a retired colleague, and received an amazing gift from one with whom relations have not always been entirely smooth.

• Celebrated the Eucharist, and offered healing prayer with and for "two or three gathered."
  

• Spent time with a fragile woman who has been admitted to hospice, struggling with pain and fear, until prayer and sleep brought some measure of relief.

• Chatted with a group of knitters and crocheters about life, families, God, and the quality of yarn.

Amid all the angst... real life continues. Thanks be to God.

Chutzpah

At one of my services today, during the middle of the sermon, a Former Parishioner appeared in the doorway. This was a real surprise, as FP had not darkened the door of the church since leaving the congregation last fall (the departure did not have anything to do with the local community, but rather was due to dissatisfaction with "the goings on" in the national church).

I was startled at the unexpected appearance, but smiled to give a welcome, and continued with the sermon. FP came in-- but did not sit down, instead approaching a Current Parishioner. They held a brief, whispered conversation, and then left.

Keep in mind that this is a SMALL congregation - attendance in the teens this morning-- so this did not go unnoticed. However, we continued in worship. A while later CP returned, but FP did not.

I asked CP after the service if everything was all right-- had FP been ill, or was there some other emergency? I assumed it must be something urgent, if it had been important enough to interrupt worship.

Turns out that FP had locked the keys in the car, and needed a ride-- to another church.

Sermon: Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 20C
Amos 8:4-7
Psalm 113
1 Timothy 2:1-7
Luke 16:1-13

In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Jesus is back at it again. Telling stories that challenge us. This time, he is addressing the issue of our resources and how we use them. Not uncommon, certainly; except for the Kingdom of God, Jesus talks about money (and the use or misuse of it) in scripture more often than any other single topic.

However, this particular story is uncommon in that Luke is the only one of the Gospel writers who tells it. It is also odd because it seems to hold up as virtuous some less than admirable behavior. So it makes for an uncomfortable read-- not only because we might find the subject matter touchy, but also because it’s hard to find a positive role model in the characters here.

The absentee landowner is depicted as someone who only cares about himself-- his privilege and his wealth. It’s hard to be sympathetic there. The debts that he is owed in the original accounting are oppressive. One hundred jugs of olive oil would likely have represented between 800 and 900 gallons—a year’s production for several acres of olive trees, even in a good year. The 100 containers of wheat would each have held between 10 and 11 bushels, making that debt more than 1000 bushels. Under today’s agricultural farming methods, that’s likely the production of 25 or so acres. Back then, perhaps double that. And when you consider that this was before the invention of modern threshers and other equipment, that means harvesting by hand. I am told that one can manage to harvest about 2 acres a day that way. So the debt in question, in addition to its intrinsic value, would have represented hundreds of man-hours' worth of labor. These are heavy loads to carry.

Of course, the steward isn't any better. He's concerned primarily with self-preservation, and with not having to do actual physical labor, like other servants and the tenant farmers do.

Even the debts owed after his adjustments are not light, though any relief is welcome; it may be that he simply trimmed off the fat that he had added, to line his own pocket. That sort of creative accounting was commonly accepted practice in that time and place.

So, what is the moral here? That it’s okay to rip off someone, if they are wealthy enough?
Not exactly. Think about this: in the story, the steward -- a man who has until this point lived a comfortable life by enforcing the demands of a wealthy and uncaring absentee landlord -- realizes that in the end his own welfare depends on the good will of others. Regardless of his motivation, he offers mercy and forgiveness to those oppressed by the economic system in which they operate. The landowner also, perhaps, discovers that his desire for honor and prestige is satisfied more fully by going along, however unwillingly, with the generosity that his steward set in motion for his own selfish reasons.

In other words, an unjust system was used to affect justice.

I think those words are key. The translation we read this morning refers to “dishonest” wealth; but the words there may also be more accurately translated as the “wealth of injustice:” money or property tainted by misuse, oppression or other dishonorable behaviors.

Now, I’d like to think that doesn’t apply to anything of ours, of course! We have worked hard for what we have; we try to be honest in our dealings, we do not cheat others, we try to be prudent with our spending and we are committed to giving. However, when we are really honest enough to take a good hard look at what we have and what we do with it, we can see cracks in the virtuous picture we try to paint.

The clothes we wear, for example. I am a real bargain hunter, and I try to spend my money wisely, and to look for good value. But I rarely stop to wonder how many of the clothes I’ve purchased are produced in places where the employees are treated well, and paid a living wage. How many are the products of sweatshop labor in unsafe conditions, maintained by companies who don’t care about anything but profit margin?

Then there’s the food we eat. How often have I made choices that have supported healthy, sustainable agricultural practices? And how often have my buying habits contributed to destruction of the land, or the inability of family farmers to survive, or ongoing poverty and degradation of migrant workers?

And then there’s giving. Do I consistently support the church and other godly causes with the share of God’s abundance given into my care?

These are hard questions to ask, my brothers and sisters, and hard questions to answer. And yet, nestled in the challenge, there is good news. There is one lesson we can take, from this Gospel: that even amid all our sinful choices and selfish inadequacies, it is possible to do good and godly things that follow God’s will for the world. There is virtue in justice done, even if it is incomplete. There is always good passed on in some way when mercy is offered, regardless of the reason. There is always grace to be found in forgiveness, even if we are only acting out of “enlightened self-interest.”

Of course, what is in our hearts matters; but so do our actions matter. They matter a great deal. As the prophet Micah proclaimed, “What does the Lord require of you, o mortal? To do justice, and love mercy, and walk humbly with your God.” These are action verbs, every one of them. And the doing comes first.

Perhaps because that’s why we have all that we have, in the first place: to be able to care for the church and the world in which we live.

So, when we leave here this morning and go through our days, please consider: what do we do, and what could we do, with what we are given—in Jesus’ name?

Sermon: Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 19C
Exodus 32:7-14
Psalm 51:1-11
1 Timothy 1:12-17
Luke 15:1-10

In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

In last week’s gospel, remember, we heard some startling things. Jesus sounded harsh, and it was hard to understand. We had to do some work together, digging around for the Good News behind the blunt phrasing.

This week gives us a different picture. This time, it’s easy to see and hear the love of our compassionate God in the parables Jesus tells this morning. These are comfortable, comforting images-- the Good Shepherd searching diligently for the one lost sheep, and the woman looking for her lost silver coin, not giving up until the lost is found, and then rejoicing. Yes, God loves us, just that much! What a simple, wonderful bit of Good News.

Before we get too satisfied, however, let’s look at this scripture a little deeper. One of the great things about Jesus’ parables is that they have a way of conveying several layers at once, in such a way that it is possible for different listeners to hear different messages. Indeed, the same story can tell us a variety of things, depending on who we are, and where we are in our lives.

Let’s try that-- try listening to these parables from different perspectives, to see what we can hear together this morning. Where do we see ourselves in this story?

Well, one place to start would be the place of the the lost sheep, or the lost coin. Yes, certainly, we who gather here this morning are not “lost,” in the classic evangelical sense. Most of us here have come to know the grace of God, and the love of Christ, and the presence of the Holy Spirit in our lives, in one way or another. But we don’t stop there, do we? Our walk through this world as disciples does not end at baptism like some classic fairy tale: “They accepted Jesus as their Savior, and they all lived happily ever after.”

Have any of you ever seen a show called “Into the Woods?” It’s a Broadway stage production, though it’s also been broadcast on television, and is available on DVD. It’s a 2-act play, about the lives of the characters some of the best-known and beloved fairy tales: Cinderella, Rapunzel, and Little Red Riding Hood, among others. There are a couple of Princes Charming, of course, and the Wicked Witch as well. The first act is mostly familiar-- it tells the stories, more or less, of how these characters end up together-- the good are rewarded, the bad are punished, and True Love is found, and they all live Happily Ever After.

That's the end of Act One.

Then there’s Act Two: what comes next. And as you might expect, “Happily Ever After” is not the end, after all. There continue to be trials, and tensions. Even in a land of magic, there are no magic answers; as it turns out, in reality no one is wholly good, or wholly evil. They continue to be who they are, and so they are challenged, and stretched, and grow in some profound ways.

That’s the ongoing truth about how Christian lives work. Even when we are wholly committed to our walk as faithful disciples, problems crop up. We fall short, and fail to live up to our own standards, let alone those held up by God for our good measure. We encounter trials, and struggles, and it can be hard to see the end. We have moments where we strain to see God’s presence, and just can’t seem to manage to do so. We feel “lost.” Just like that sheep, or that silver coin.

When we’re in that place, these tales become the comfort we long for. They remind us that God will not give up. Just as the sheep and the coin are very valuable items to their owners and caretakers, we are infinitely valuable to our Creator; and no matter where we are, there is no end to his seeking for us, no limit to love and care and compassion.

Thanks be to God.

But now... what if we are somewhere else? What if we see ourselves in the place of the others in the story? There are 99 sheep hanging out in the wilderness, remember, while the shepherd is out searching for the lost one. And 9 other coins the woman might have safely stored in her purse, or under the mattress, right where they should be, waiting to do what they were created to do-- to provide for the needs of the household. Think about the situation from their perspective. What are we supposed to do while we’re waiting?

I don’t know about you, but my tendency is to DO something. Anything! Shouldn’t I be helping in some way? The shepherd went that way-- Maybe if you go this way, and I go off looking in the other direction, we can find that silly lost sheep! Of course, if we do that, you know what will happen. The shepherd will have to find two lost sheep, or three, or four, who are not anywhere near one another!

No, it does not help to go bleating off in different directions, as though running about will solve the problem. Sometimes, the best thing we can do-- indeed, the only thing-- is to wait. To be patient, and trust that the Lord will take care of what needs to be done. Sometimes this is the hardest thing to manage! The good news here, my friends, is that we do not wait alone in the wilderness. We have one another to care for and support, while we trust in the promise that our Shepherd will come back, and that he’ll be bringing more beloved companions when he does.

And now... what if we are the searching woman, or the shepherd? This is a role that we usually think of as Jesus’ job, and with good reason: he is often named as the Good Shepherd, and even describes himself so in scripture. Remember, though, who we are. As followers of Jesus, we are the Body of Christ in this world today. As the 16th century mystic St. Teresa of Ávila said, “Christ has no hands and feet but ours.” We are entrusted with the responsibility and care of God’s creation, including the other people whose lives we touch. What if, instead of being the coin, we are searching for it? What if we were that shepherd, out looking for the lost sheep?

Yes, that is our role here, too. If we hear the story from this perspective, we are not comforted so much as we are challenged. We have been given important tasks, and we are reminded that we need to be diligent in performing them. Just as the earliest of Jesus’ disciples “continued in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of the bread, and in the prayers.”

No, this is not as easy as it sounds. We are called to keep showing up, even when we’re tired. We are called to care for people we don’t want to be around. We are to pray for those we don’t like, and listen carefully to those with whom we disagree. For how long? As long as it takes. We are to be persistent, just as God is persistent with us.

So-- where do you see yourself in this story? What is the lesson you hear? Patience? Persistence? Compassion?

Or perhaps a bit of all three... in Jesus’ name.

I'll Fly Away

This morning I will get on a plane, like thousands of people do every day. In my case, the reasons are joyful-- I'm heading back east to attend the ordination of a gifted and godly friend, something to which I committed back when this did not seem as though it would necessarily part of the journey.

At the same time, I cannot but be aware of the significance of the date, and the fact that, six years ago today, four planes took off and did not land at their original destinations-- and as a result, the world changed.

No, I'm not intimidated at the prospect of flying on this day. Mostly I've been mildly irritated at the quirky preparations that precaution (one might suggest, compulsively paranoid, illogical over-precaution) has made necessary. I will not be checking luggage, so I have bought the tiny (less than 3 oz.) toiletries, sealed them into their TSA-approved plastic baggie, and muttered about not having access to my usual product set because some things just are not available in that way. I have emptied my pockets and bags of any stray pointy objects (though the steel knitting needles will happily pass through!) that may be construed as a Threat to National Security. I have planned to wear shoes that will come off and on easily, and arranged to be at our small local airport with plenty of time to spare.

Even as I grumble, however, I am made acutely aware on this date of the tenuous nature of "the best laid plans."

And as we, by God's grace, lay hands on a prayerful head and invoke the Holy Spirit to "make a priest in Your Church," I will be grateful to remember this day for another reason.

O God, you made us in your own image and redeemed us through Jesus your Son: Look with compassion on the whole human family; take away the arrogance and hatred which infect our hearts; break down the walls that separate us; unite us in bonds of love; and work through our struggle and confusion to accomplish your purposes on earth; that, in your good time, all nations and races may serve you in harmony around your heavenly throne; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

See you on the flip side, my friends.

Sermon: Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 18, Year C
Deuteronomy 30:15-20
Psalm 1
Philemon 1-21
Luke 14:25-33

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

This morning, we’re going to talk about the way we read scripture. Yes, contrary to popular belief in some quarters, Episcopalians really do read the Bible! This is an important truth to clarify, especially in light of some of the heated discussions currently going on in the wider church.

So, first of all, think about our typical Sunday morning worship. Whether we are celebrating Morning Prayer or Holy Eucharist, we not only read significant portions of both the Old and New Testaments; but most of the other prayers and responses we use are biblically-based as well. This has been true since Archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Cranmer and his advisors put together the first Book of Common Prayer in 1549, and it is still true today. Our liturgy has deep roots, and they are wholly biblical.

Then, believe it or not, many Episcopalians-- even some right here in this very church-- actually pick up a bible during the week, as well! In addition to personal devotional reading, we have an ongoing Bible Study group that meets at Calvary, and another short study series starting next week at St. Paul’s. There were also people in all four of our regional churches who made the effort to read “The Bible in 90 Days” earlier this year. And that doesn’t count the unidentified number of folks who read on their own.

Now, this is not to say that is sufficient. There are those of us who are perhaps less intentional about reading the Bible than we could be. It can be hard, I know. There are a number of reasons for that, of course; but I would suggest that often, the problem is that we try to read in isolation. That can mean two things: either (1) reading only select bits and pieces, or (2) reading scripture all by itself, without relation to other contexts.

Today’s Gospel is a fine case in point. Picture, if you will, that you decide you are going to be more intentional about reading the Bible. So, you trot down to the local bookstore and pick up a nice new copy, in a good, contemporary translation. Then you head home, pour yourself a glass of your favorite beverage, sit down in a comfy chair, turn on the reading lamp, adjust your glasses, and open the book to this:

"Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.”

Whoa! What in the world is that supposed to mean? Imagine, if one were to try to take that literally, the kind of thought process that might result.

Is Jesus actually saying that I am to hate my siblings? Is he telling me to abandon my family? To commit suicide? That verse, taken all by itself, could lead to some unhealthy or even tragic actions taken “in the name of God.”

On the other hand, it would be hard to blame someone who chose to shut the book and pitch it in a corner, and never darken the door of the church again. I mean, if that’s the kind of stuff Jesus were teaching, I’d want no part of it either!

Fortunately, “in isolation” is not the way we approach scripture. It never has been. One of the hallmarks of our Anglican tradition is that, just as Jesus did in his teaching, we have always encouraged a multifaceted approach.

One of the architects of Anglican theology was Richard Hooker, a 16th century priest and theologian. He maintained that it was important to recognize that the Bible was written in a particular historical context, in response to specific situations: "Words must be taken according to the matter whereof they are uttered.” He also argued that reason and tradition were important when interpreting the Scriptures. These three things-- scripture, tradition, and reason-- are often termed as foundational pillars of Anglican thought.

So, back to today’s Gospel reading. What happens if we keep these pillars in mind? Well, we start with the scriptures. We might first go back to the Greek, and discover that the word here translated “hate” does not, I am told, always carry the emotional sense of loathing that we think of when we hear the word. Instead, it can indicate more along the lines of detachment, the opposite of intimacy. Well, that’s at least a little more palatable.

But we also need to consider more of the Bible beyond this passage-- not only what comes before and after this particular section, but what other portions say that might be pertinent to the issue. In Matthew’s gospel, for example, the parallel teaching says

"Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.”

Going further, we might consider in comparison the many times that we are told to love: to love one another, to love our neighbors, and even to love our enemies. That happens over and over. In Luke’s gospel alone, it occurs more than a dozen times, where this contrasting instruction to hate only happens once-- and the few other references to hatred have more to do with how we are to react when encountering hatred from others. So, the preponderance of scripture leans against a literal understanding of this passage.

Next, let’s consider tradition. Nope-- no hatred encouraged there, either. Many of the early church fathers instead interpreted this passage more like the following:

Even those affections which are in themselves worthy, praise and commendation must be controlled and kept in order, so that godliness may have the upper hand and have preeminence.

Then we come to reason (though we’ve been using reason all along here, I hope!) . Let’s take what we know of God, and of human relationships, and think about it. Does it not strike you as illogical that a God of love would tell people to hate one another, in that way? And if our life is a gift from God the Creator, how could it be something we should despise? That just makes no sense. Far more reasonable is the interpretation which says that God, being God, is more important that anything or anyone else. The Creator takes precedence over the created.

There you have it. A verse of scripture, if taken in isolation and read “literally,” clearly says one thing. But when we read more carefully, in light of the rest of scripture, and the traditions of the church, using our God-given abilities to reason together, it says something entirely different. Heard properly, it offers a warning against idolatry, and a reminder of where our priorities should lie.

Oh, sure; it would be much easier to not work this hard. “God says it - I believe it - that settles it.” The only problem with that... is that it doesn’t.

So, continue to read your Bibles, my brothers and sisters. Listen to the proclamation of scripture on Sunday morning, and attend studies as you are able, and read on your own. But never be afraid to question, to dig deeper, and to refuse to take the words at face value.

That’s what discipleship is all about.

Hutterites and fine dining

I love farm stands. This time of year, they crop up everywhere back in the midwest-- some farmer who has a surplus of corn/beans/etc., parks his or her truck along the side of the road, opens the tailgate, and waits for hungry customers to stop. It's delightful, and a source of some of the best and freshest produce ever.

Around here, however, I hadn't seen any such thing-- until last week, when I was delighted to spot a temporary farm stand set up on my way home. It belonged to a young Hutterite man, up from the colony in Ryegate.

Coming from Indiana, I am more familiar with other Anabaptist traditions: the Amish and Mennonites. The Hutterites are another branch of this faith tradition-- in many ways bearing a marked resemblance to their cousins, but with discernable differences as well. The biggest distinction to an outsider is that they live communally, in colonies. If you're interested, you can learn more here.

This smiling conversationalist had a number of things to offer: Fresh veggies, canned produce... and chickens. His colony raises poultry, and sells both meat and eggs. They are not "certified organic," because they do not jump through the hoops required for such; but that's the way they farm. The chickens, for example, are treated humanely, not fed hormones or antibiotics, etc.

So, I bought a passel of veggies, and a few of the aforementioned chickens; and last night, oh, did we eat well! Roasted chicken on the grill (recipe follows), mashed potatoes, steamed fresh green beans... and cold watermelon for dessert.

Thank you, my Hutterite brother. Through your good work, we had a feast!

Beer Butt Chicken

Courtesy of my cousin Matt. Go ahead and laugh; it does sound silly! But try it anyway; this is wonderful stuff.

• 1 whole chicken
• 1 can of beer
• olive oil
• crushed garlic cloves (3 or 4)
• seasoning rub for chicken (I used sea salt, cracked black pepper and garlic powder; but you may use whatever rub you prefer)

Preheat the grill (350°F if you use a gas grill; light coals and wait until they're white, if you're a purist).

Wash and trim the chicken, and remove the giblets; rub liberally inside and out with your choice of seasoning or meat rub (see above).

Open up the beer can and pour off a little bit, to make room; drop in the crushed garlic.

Oil up the outside of the beer can and lower the chicken down on top of it. The beer can goes into the chicken's body cavity and allows the bird to stand upright.

Optional: set the chicken in a pan (I used a cast-iron skillet); this will collect the juices, help keep the grill clean and let you make gravy, if you desire.

Place the bird on your grill, close the lid, and cook the chicken until its wings are loose and the skin turns clear (160° on your meat thermometer). That's about 15-20 minutes per pound.

Enjoy!

Friday 5: Overcoming

1.Have you experienced God's faithfulness at a difficult time? Tell as much or as little as you like...
Perhaps the first time I was truly aware of this was years ago, when we were first married. My husband was in grad school and I was the primary wage earner. Life was pretty smooth. Then we went through a period of adventures. I was laid off... took a year to find a new job, and then got pregnant... husband's fledgling business went sour, and we were sued by a dishonest partner... It was not pretty.

And yet... we survived. We never went hungry, all our needs were met, we were cared for, and able to care for others, by God's grace. There were times that grace was almost physically palpable.

2. Have you experienced a dark night of the soul, if so what brought you through?
Yes, I have. One thing I've found helpful is music. No answers; but calm, and patient, and expressing the sacred in a way that I could not. That's how I began to learn that the presence of God is not dependent on whether I "feel" it.

3. Share a Bible verse, song, poem that has brought you comfort?
Through seminary, Thomas Merton's prayer hung on the wall over my desk.

My God,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following your will
does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore, I will trust you always
though I may seem to be lost in the shadow of death.
I will not fear for you are ever with me
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

4. Is "why suffering" a valid question?
Is there such a thing as an invalid question, before God?

5. And on a lighter note- you have reached the end of a dark and difficult time- how are you going to celebrate?
The perfect celebration: good food, good drink, good music, and a good friend or two with whom to share them.

Sermon: Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 17C
Sirach 10:12-18
Psalm 112
Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16
Luke 14:1, 7-14

In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

In the last week or so, I read in the newspapers about the death of Leona Helmsley. Do you remember her? She and her husband Harry were New York hotel operators and real estate investors who amassed a huge fortune. She had a reputation of controlling, tyrannical behavior toward those who worked for her, earning her the nickname of “The Queen of Mean.” There was even a movie by that title made about her life. Perhaps the most famous story about her came from her trial on tax fraud, when her housekeeper quoted her as saying, “We don't pay taxes. Only the little people pay taxes.”

Now, before we launch into mental condemnation of such an attitude, let’s not get carried away. After all, it’s very easy to look at such a situation, and think smugly how WE would never behave that way! We would certainly treat people better than that, regardless of their social station. We would use that much money more kindly and generously during our lifetime, and dispose of it in a more virtuous manner afterward to boot!

But before we start that sort of self-righteous line of thought, let’s take a deep breath, and listen again to Jesus in this morning’s gospel.

When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host...

This still sounds like common behavior at a social gathering, doesn’t it? Some things haven’t changed in 2000 years. These are the manners we’re taught, most of us, practically from the time we’re old enough to feed ourselves. That’s why most folks are reluctant to be the first in line at the buffet, or to take seats at the table until the host or hostess indicates how things should be arranged. This is why some people use place cards, especially at large receptions-- and no one would dream of plopping down at the head table at a wedding, unless one were specifically told beforehand to do so.

However, it’s too easy to fall into that trap away from simple social situations. It’s too easy to feel more righteous than perhaps we should when we compare ourselves with others around us. Any of these sound just a little bit familiar?

“We’ve been members for years, so we’re entitled to have our opinions carry more weight.”
*or*
“We’re new, and can see things with a fresh perspective, so we’re not stuck in ruts and bad habits.”

-----------

“I’m older, so I have valuable experience that some young twerp couldn’t possibly understand.”
*or*
“I’m younger, so I can understand better the way things need to be, unlike some clueless old fogey.”

-----------

“I have financial resources because I have earned them, and been prudent and responsible, so someone who is less affluent must be less capable.”
*or*
“I’ve dealt with adversity that has made me a better and more caring person; someone with a comfortable life is probably more selfish and arrogant.”

Amazing, isn’t it, how we measure ourselves against one another? How we seem to need to be better than someone, in order to be acceptable?

But Jesus turns that around. He reminds us that we need to give greater consideration to those around us... and he doesn’t just mean at the banquet:

“For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted."

That’s the first reversal we hear in this passage: How we find our proper place in this world might have less to do with how important we think we are, than how important we allow others to be. And that affects in turn how important we allow God to be.

So, how do we do that? One way, perhaps, is shown in what happens next in this story. Jesus turns to the host, and offers another, more surprising reversal of custom and culture.

When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors... But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.

Hardly how we usually plan our guest list, is it? Keep in mind here the way the first listeners of this story might have heard it. This was a culture where misfortune was seen as deserved, where birth defects or disabilities were thought to be due to sin and part of God’s judgment. The “usual” people, the socially acceptable and the elite, would know of them of course; but they would not have been part of their regular social circle at all.

Now, think of the last people you’d think to invite into your home. This might be someone you simply can’t stand... or maybe you envision a convicted criminal of some sort.

Or maybe, perhaps, there are folks that you simply haven’t thought about at all. Those who are not normally on your radar, in a given context.

Think about this for a moment... and then, bring it back home. We have a banquet, a feast, right here in this church almost every week. Who have you invited to the party lately? And who have you not invited? When have you hesitated, and why? Was it because you thought they might not fit in? (That’s not up to us to decide, remember). Or was it because you didn’t want to seem pushy? Or because you were nervous about what they might think? Isn’t the place of God in our lives worth sharing with those around us, at least as freely as we do other opportunities for connection and relationship?

Perhaps it might help to remember that we all have also been the poor, crippled, the lame, and the blind, in one way or another-- and we’ve already been given the invitation, in Jesus’ name.

Katrina: Two Years and Counting

Some 733 days later, the good folks of Louisiana and Mississippi still deal with horrific aftermath, every day:

St. Casserole, remembering what was:

...We saw where Katrina's eye came ashore later in the morning. Cell phone and land line calls did not work as we tried to call our friends who stayed in their homes. We didn't know that our hurricane preparations made no difference...

Fr. David Knight, overwhelmed by what is:

I thought also of the scores, SCORES, of volunteers who have come to our aid, who have changed us and who have themselves been changed, I thought of all the people I have gotten to meet, to work with and laugh with and eat with and pray with, people I would have never known otherwise. I thought of that great image of St. Paul, the body of Christ, all connected, all vital, all needed, ALL needed.

And Bishop Charles Jenkins, speaking plainly about what could and should be:

Recognizing our vulnerability, not to terrorism, but to the deadly force of severe weather, I would like to ask the President how he plans to clearly demonstrate his calculation of our people’s worth and his government’s commitment to our safety?

...Does the President realize what hundreds of thousands of Americans are saying when they come to gut and rebuild this city block by block with their own bare hands?

Get serious Mr. President. Make an impact worthy of the scale of this disaster. Rally corporate America to ante up. Name a high-powered “czar such as Colin Powell or James Baker” to run this show. Create a “Herculean clean-up effort” as we did for Wall Street after 9-11. Invest boldly in the rebuilding. Think “Marshall Plan.” Mobilize on the scale of a world power.

The above will at least honor the fact that thousands are investing everything they have left to recover the land and heritage of generations of forebears, and prove you are not choosing inaction as a tactic, hoping we will all soon be washed away.

Those who have ears to hear, listen!

Cleverly Disguised as a Responsible Adult

That was the theme this morning. I've just finished several hours in that arena, and I'm feeling pretty good. Not that everything looks so rosy (we are still recovering from seminary bills, among other things!). However, I did accomplish the following:

• Balanced the checkbook. I am compulsive about this. To the penny, every month.
• Paid the bills. At least, the set currently due. Like laundry, this is a job that never really ends.
• Set up quarterly taxes for payment. Like many churches, mine do not take payroll deductions; so I pay Uncle Sam (and Aunt Montana) quarterly. They are not due until the 15th, but I can set them up and authorize them early, and get it out of the way. Just another thrilling part of the clerical adventure.
• Cancelled a paid-off credit card. Huzzah! Less plastic is better!
  
• Obtained copies of our credit reports, and corrected errors in same. By law each of the three credit reporting agencies have to provide one free annual report. You can get one via the Federal Trade Commission (don't go elsewhere-- there's always a catch), and it's easy to request an adjustment of anything in error. In our case, the corrections were not huge-- two old inactive accounts we needed to close, and a couple closed accounts that were not recorded properly.

And now, I've just about had all the Grown-up Time I can stand for a while. Time to go ride my bike!