The Third Sunday after the Epiphany-Year C

The Very Rev Melanie Dickson Lemburg The Third Sunday after the Epiphany-Year C January 26, 2025 You might have noticed that I’ve done something a little different with our readings today. Our gospel passage assigned for today was actually the first half of the reading—Jesus’s first sermon back in his hometown of Nazareth at the beginning of his earthly ministry just after his baptism. Normally, next Sunday, we’d have the second part of the reading which we heard today, which is Jesus’s extrapolation of his sermon and how his hometown friends and family received it. But instead, next Sunday, we will have the Feast of the Presentation—when Jesus as a baby is presented in the temple, which is a major feast of the church that when it falls on a Sunday, we commemorate it. So we weren’t going to get to hear about the fall-out from Jesus’s sermon at all this year. So, we have a double gospel reading today, and I just went ahead a cut the other readings to accommodate that change. This past week, I got to hear the Rev Dr. Bertice Berry, who is a deacon serving at Christ Church, preach at the MLK eucharist at St. Matthew’s. Bertice preached about Jesus’s sermon on the plain and how it was a “leveling” which included the golden rule. She spoke eloquently about all the ways that we “other” each other, drawing lines between we who are in and those who are out, and how those lines can constantly shift. I’ve been thinking about this concept of “othering” this week as I’ve watched the news swirling around the Rt Rev Marianne Budde, the bishop of the diocese of Washington DC and her sermon at her cathedral earlier this week. I’ve watched as she has been heralded as a champion by many and also demonized by many who question both the validity of her ordination as a woman bishop and even her right to American citizenship. And I have become so very curious as to how a sermon about unity has become so deeply divisive. i. It’s an interesting juxtaposition that our gospel readings for today give us a glimpse into Jesus’ first sermon back in his hometown of Nazareth. It’s unclear if Jesus himself picks the scripture or if, like us, he preaches on what is assigned for that day’s reading. (Scholars suggest it could be either option.) Jesus’s reading threads together several different passages from the book of the prophet Isaiah saying, "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." Then he sits down and says, (in what may be enviably the shortest sermon ever) "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." Jesus is proclaiming how his work flows out of his baptismal anointing as God’s beloved, and he shows through the words of the scriptures how his ministry will be one of restoration and reconciliation for the lost and the least. And his hometown folks are understandably proud. But Jesus doesn’t leave it at that. In the second part of the gospel, we see him give his hometown folks, who are feeling quite proud of their hometown hero, a bit of a jab which almost gets him thrown off the cliff. He reminds them that in the past, the prophets of God have shown up most frequently for those who are considered other—not the hometown folks but the foreigners and the enemies of Israel. When his hometown crowd is feeling proud because of their connection with him, Jesus immediately sides with the “other.” And they become angry and unsettled by what appears to be a shift in his allegiance. But here’s the thing. Jesus is reminding the crowd and us that in the Kingdom of God, there is no “other.” All are God’s children, and as God’s people, we are called to recognize our kinship with everyone. There is no “other” in the Kingdom of God, no matter how much we might want there to be. Think for a moment about who you might consider to be an “other” in this moment. And hear Jesus proclaiming that even that person is a beloved child of God, a part of Jesus’s mission of healing, reconciliation, and restoration for all. Noone is outside of that mission. Today, Jesus is reminding us of the inclusive embrace of God, and he is showing us how the Holy Spirit is so often willing to use “others” or “outsiders” to unfold new narratives for God’s people and all of creation. I wonder how God is inviting us here at St. Thomas to live more fully into this reality? I wonder how God will continue to be revealed here in our midst through people and places we might not expect? i. Here is the full text of Bishop Budde's sermon: https://dioet.org/blog/bishop-mariann-buddes-sermon-from-service-of-prayer-for-the-nation/?fbclid=IwY2xjawH_QUhleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHTenL8nqXGeEqjenpn-_9uIv0zchDa214UPihxMy46zm5WX-ZYSGoZgi0g_aem_sq0l66p3u7-0iJkH_9qJhg

The First Sunday after the Epiphany-Year C

The Very Rev. Melanie D. Lemburg The First Sunday after the Epiphany-Year C January 12, 2025 I’m not someone who regularly watches the news. I get most of my updates from daily emails from NPR with the headlines, and that’s almost more than I can stand. But this week, I’ve been paying more attention than usual because of the wildfires in California. It started early in the week when a seminary classmate of mine who is now the bishop of Arizona and is from California shared the news about how the Diocese of Los Angeles had lost St. Mark's, Altadena, the rectories of St. Matthew's, Pacific Palisades, and many homes of church members to the fires. And I’ve watched the stories about how so many people are evacuating and still some choose to stay, wetting down their rooves to try to prevent losing their homes. It makes me wonder what people are thinking who choose to stay and face down a wildfire. It reminded me of the stories I heard along the MS Gulf Coast after I served there after Hurricane Katrina—about parishioners who live a block back from the water who would always stay and ride out the storms. They’d never had any problems before. But Katrina was different, pushing a wall of water so many miles inland. As the waters rose throughout the day, my parishioners moved from the ground floor to the second floor, and then finally from the second floor into their attic. As they watched the waters continue to rise from the tiny attic window, the wife called her best friend and told her, “The water’s still rising, and I don’t think we’re going to make it. Whatever you do, don’t let them play Amazing Grace at my funeral.” i Two of our readings for today give glimpses of God’s providence over the elements. Psalm 29 is a reminder of God’s creative power, how God speaks creation into being and how the Holy Spirit moves over the water at creation. It is a song of reassurance and thanksgiving from the voice of an individual that when they go through the fires and floods of life, God’s providence has been faithful and that God continues to give to God’s people strength and the blessing of peace. In the reading from Isaiah, we see the voice of God speaking to God’s people through the writer of Isaiah as the people have been taken into captivity in Babylon. Removed from their homes, their temple destroyed (and probably many of their homes, too), the people are captives in enemy territory for anywhere from 50 to 70 years. In this passage from Isaiah, God reassures God’s people that in the midst of this crisis, God has not abandoned them. God continues to be with them as they walk through fire, as they face floods and rivers. God promises that they will not be overwhelmed and that God finds them precious in God’s sight. In both of these passages, we see glimpses of chaos that God’s people are swept up in, and we receive assurance that God controls the uncontrollable. God promises that we, too, shall not be overwhelmed, and that God is enthroned over the metaphoric floods of our lives. It is a part of the human condition that we all will, at some point or another, face fires and floods in our lives. They may not be literal, but all of us face things that are beyond our control. Can you think back over your life and identify past floods that you have encountered, and how God showed up in those? What does the flood feel like in your life today? How might you envision God enthroned over that flood? How can God help you from feeling overwhelmed?ii It’s really easy to judge the people who are wetting their rooves to try to save their homes from the wildfires or the people who stayed during Katrina and ended up stranded in their attics facing possible drowning there. But when we think back about our own floods and fires in our lives, we can see how certain decisions we made put us in a similar place. No one willingly chooses to be stuck in their attic facing drowning in the midst of a flood. But so often, that’s exactly where our decisions and our choices put us. Perhaps it is because so often in the face of our floods and fires, we try to be like God; we try to exert our control over forces that are just too big for us, and this is part of how we get overwhelmed. So, maybe you’re thinking, “well, that’s just great, Melanie. But what’s the alternative? Are we just supposed to lie down and die in the face of the diagnosis or the family member who is trapped and looking to us for help? The job loss, the broken relationship, or the death of those close to us? What, then, should we do? We know we are supposed to trust God, but what does that actually look like?” And to that I say, I hear you! Every day, my faith journey is an exercise in questioning what areas are mine to influence and control and what is best left to God. I promise you, I haven’t figured it out yet. But here’s something that has helped me this week. Retired Bishop Stephen Charleston posts daily on social media, and here’s what he posted this past Wednesday that spoke to me: “We live in a time of extremes. Extreme weather, extreme events, extreme anxiety. These are forces that we cannot control. Therefore, control is not what we seek. We concentrate instead on keeping our balance. We adapt. We adjust. We remain flexible, riding over the impact as best we can, staying close to one another, being alert for chances to help. When reality turns hard, we become like water.”iii What does that mean—in the face of floods and fires and forces we cannot control--to become like water? Water is fluid; it can be both gentle and powerful. It can cool and refresh, and it can also reorder and reshape. What does it mean to become like water in the face of whatever flood or fire you may find yourself in? My parishioners who were trapped in their attic during Katrina made it out. They faced the complete destruction of their home and the world around them, but they survived. And they rebuilt their home. Three years after their brush with death, we blessed their newly rebuilt home, during Epiphany-tide, the season of light. “We live in a time of extremes. Extreme weather, extreme events, extreme anxiety. These are forces that we cannot control. Therefore, control is not what we seek. We concentrate instead on keeping our balance. We adapt. We adjust. We remain flexible, riding over the impact as best we can, staying close to one another, being alert for chances to help. When reality turns hard, we become like water.”

i. This is the story of Maria Watson and Julius Ward who were parishioners of mine at St. Peter’s by-the-Sea in Gulfport, MS. Maria called her friend, Joy Jennings, who was also a parishioner. ii. This idea is from Khalia J. Williams as share din Everyday Connections… iii. January 9, 2025 https://www.facebook.com/bishopstevencharleston