2nd Sunday after Epiphany-Year C

2nd Sunday after the Epiphany Year C January 20, 2019 I have a confession to make. There were many times that I, as a relatively new priest, would say to my colleagues: “I’d rather do a funeral over a wedding any day.” (I think if there are times in our lives when God just laughs and laughs at us, and maybe even says kindly, “Be careful what you wish for” that this was one of those times for me.) But weddings are often so complicated—so fraught with heightened (and often unrealistic) expectations. There’s usually drama, often family drama; and if the couple is especially young, the sense that they have absolutely no idea what they are getting into, and that they are spending too much energy focusing on the wedding and not enough energy focusing on the marriage. But then something changed, and I started doing weddings for older people—people who had been divorced, people whose spouses had died and who had miraculously found love again, people who were past the first blush of youth and getting married for the first time who had worried at many points along the way that they had missed the window and probably would not ever get married. And it was these couples who helped me see past the wedding drama, the family arguments, the ridiculously high expectations and the blissful ignorance to recognize that weddings at their best are symbols of God’s new creation. In our readings for today, we have not just one but two passages about weddings. In the gospel reading, we see Jesus’s first act of his public ministry in John’s gospel which is the changing of water into wine at a wedding in Cana. This miracle becomes one of seven signs in John’s gospel, whose purpose is to reveal the person of Jesus. This first sign is a manifestation of God’s abundance. The second passage about a wedding that we heard today is from the Old Testament reading: Isaiah 62:1-5. This section of Isaiah is known as 3rd Isaiah. Scholars have determined that the lengthy book of Isaiah was written by at least three different writers over three different time periods. The first part of Isaiah deals with Israel’s breaking of the covenant and God’s abandoning them to be taken into exile in Babylon. Second Isaiah focuses on the hope for the return from exile in Babylon back into Israel. And Third Isaiah considers what happens after they go home again. And this portion of Isaiah for today is interesting because it does not start with the “happily ever after.” Rather it starts with the call by the prophet to God to make things right. In fact, the prophet offers lamentation on the peoples’ behalf, demanding that God make amends for forsaking God’s people, that God set things right. The prophet acknowledges that these people have known suffering, and that all is not yet put right, even though they have been restored to their homeland. But then the prophet speaks on behalf of God, assuring God’s people that they are going to receive new names: “You shall no more be termed Forsaken,/ and your land shall no more be termed Desolate;/ but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her,/ and your land Married;” This is significant because any time in the Bible, when someone is given a new name (think Abram to Abraham; Jacob to Israel; Simon to Cephas or Peter; Saul to Paul), it is a sign that God is doing something new in the life of that person. God is bringing about a new creation in that person’s life. In Isaiah’s passage for today, God is renaming God’s people and signifying that God is doing something new here, bringing about a new creation, and the new names also signify a change in relationship between God and God’s people, signifying a new commitment to the people on God’s part. The passage concludes with the prophet’s assurance to God’s people that God delights in them, and that God rejoices over them like a bridegroom rejoices over the bride. During the season after Epiphany, we celebrate, remember, and look for the ways that God has been and continues to be manifest in our lives and in our world. In walking with people who were going to be married who had suffered loss (either through divorce or death or long-frustrated hope), I learned about how God works in us a new creation. It is the gift of those who have known lamentation who once again receive God’s delight. I, too, have tasted this loss and delight. I was forced out of the church that I served before I came to St. Thomas. It was the work of a small group of people, and it became a long, drawn-out, public conflict that was incredibly painful to me, my family, and so many others in that church. I was called to that church as priest-in-charge, and on the outside, the conflict was about whether or not the vestry should call me as rector, but as with most conflicts, there was so much more under the surface. Finally, on a Monday in April, the vestry voted not to call me as rector. And that was the most heartbroken I had ever been in my life, and this after months of nastiness and heartbreak. On the next day, a Tuesday, I interviewed via Skype with the St. Thomas search committee. I didn’t know it at the time, but I have since some to realize that was the beginning of God’s work of new creation in my life, in my vocation, and in the life of this church. And not a day goes by when I am not grateful for that gift of love and life and delight again after that season of hardship, heartbreak, and rejection. So this week, I invite you to look for ways that God continues to be manifest in your life and your world. Think about a time in your life when you knew loss, heartbreak, or change and how the Holy Spirit brought new life, new love; how God began a new creation in your life. And then talk to someone about it; share with someone the good news of God’s delight in you. In closing, I’ll pray over you the blessing that I have been using and will continue to use throughout this season of Epiphany: May Christ the son of God be manifest in you, that your lives may be a light to the world. Amen.

First Sunday after Epiphany Year C

First Sunday after the Epiphany-Year C January 13, 2019 Thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. These words from the portion of Isaiah that is known as 2nd Isaiah are being spoken by God to the children of Israel after they have been taken into captivity in Babylon. We don’t know the state of the people, but we can imagine it. They have been forcibly removed from their homeland. They have been told repeatedly by the prophets that they have forsaken their covenant with Yahweh and because of their sinfulness, Yahweh has allowed for them to be vanquished and exiled. They don’t know what the future holds; they are overwhelmed and unprepared for where they find themselves; and they are very, very afraid. Twice in these seven verses, God reassures God’s people that God is still with them, urging them twice in this passage alone: “Do not fear.” But these words of God—“do not fear”—are not empty words in this passage. They are backed by the promise of God for redemption: “I have redeemed you.” Now, this means something totally different for us hearing these words today than what they would have meant to the original hearers. One scholar puts it this way: “To be redeemed according to Israel’s law means to be bought out of human bondage by one’s kin…[so] when God redeems Israel, God asserts close kinship, family relationship with them.”i So in this passage from Isaiah, God is telling the people in exile, “do not be afraid. I have claimed you as my family and bought you out of slavery; I am with you, and everything is going to be all right.” This past week, I watched the Netflix movie that lots of folks have been talking about: Bird Box. It’s an interesting exploration about fear and relationships. In the movie, Sandra Bullock plays a woman named Mallory, who is trying to raise two young children under some very unusual circumstances. A global situation has occurred in which normal people who are going about their lives suddenly and inexplicably commit suicide. The survivors identify the fact that there are some sort of mysterious force, creatures, (we aren’t really sure what) at work, and when most people see them, their eyes change and they are provoked to madness/suicide. The survivors cope by covering their windows and staying inside, and they discover that when they do have to go outside, if they blindfold themselves, then they stay safe. (In this instance, what they can’t see, can’t hurt them.) It’s an interesting take on fear, specifically fear of the unknown, and how self-enforced blindness can occasionally help but mostly hinder us in trying to deal with frightening situations in our lives. The other interesting aspect of the movie is that it points to how fear affects our relationships. Mallory and her boyfriend Tom have very different philosophies about how to raise the two young children. Tom wants them to help the children cultivate hope. But Mallory’s philosophy is to make sure that they survive, and it is her philosophy that wins out because the children do not even have names. She calls them “boy” and “girl” and they call her Mallory (even though one of them is her biological child). She is so focused on their survival that she doesn’t name or claim either of them. For me this week, this movie was in sharp contrast to what God is doing for God’s people in Isaiah, and it was a helpful reminder for me of how fear can distort our relationships, but how in God, we find our true belonging. And if the Isaiah reading isn’t enough to remind us of this, this week, we have Jesus’s baptism by John in the Jordan in Luke’s gospel, where God affirms that Jesus is God’s beloved. And we hear echoes of our own baptism in that--when we were “sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism, and marked as Christ’s own forever.” It’s easy to remember all this, sitting here in our lovely, safe church, when all is well in our lives. It is a whole different matter to remember all this, to trust in God’s promise that we do not need to be afraid because we are already a part of God’s family, during the hard places in our lives: the death of a loved one, the news of the diagnosis or even the potential for a diagnosis, the child who has gotten into trouble and seems beyond the realm of your help or even your knowledge of how to help. In those times and in those seasons, perhaps it is more helpful for us to remember past times of fear and God’s faithfulness in our own lives. Back when I was a brand new priest and a relatively new mother, I became convinced that I was going to die soon. There was no rhyme or reason to it, no rationality. I just had this feeling that I was going to die. I spent a lot of time thinking about all that I was going to miss in my child’s life. (Jack hadn’t even been born yet.) And I was so sad and so scared. One day, I was driving on the highway in a torrential rainstorm, and I thought, “Well, this has got to be it. This is how I’m going to die.” And I was so afraid. But then I had an epiphany. I had been dealing with an elderly parishioner who was clearly dying but who refused to go on hospice. I had been trying to convince her that hospice would help her, and I was frustrated because she was spending so much energy fighting and denying that she was dying. And I realized that this woman, whose life to me had seemed to be almost over, had just as much passion to keep living as I did. And I was able to feel compassion for her then in a way that I hadn’t before. (You’ll be happy to know that I did not die. After that epiphany, I made it safely to my destination, and I no longer had the feeling that I was going to die.) This week, I invite you to remember a time in your life when you have been afraid and to think about how your fear affected your relationships with God and with others. How was your fear resolved? What did you learn about yourself, about God, about others? At the end of the movie Bird Box (spoiler alert), when Mallory and the children reach a place that seems safe, she gives them each a name, and then she tells them that she is their mother. May you remember this week and always that God has claimed you as God’s beloved, a member of God’s family; and that you have absolutely nothing to fear. No matter what happens. i. Exegetical Perspective for First Sunday after the Epiphany by Kathleen M. O’Connor. Feasting on the Word Year C Volume 1 ed. Bartlett and Taylor. Westminster John Knox: 2009, p 221.

Christmas Eve 2018

Christmas Eve 2018 “The weary world rejoices.” I was scrolling through Facebook several weeks ago, and these words jumped out at me from one my oldest friend’s pages. She’s an artist, and she had posted a number of her Christmas items for sale. And that is the one that, like an itch, caught my attention. “the weary world rejoices.” How do I know that line? (In my defense, this was before I was really listening to Christmas music.) So, I will confess, I eventually had to google it typing: “the…weary…world…rejoices” and search. And what I saw first, took my breath away. It wasn’t the title of the famous song to which these words belong. What I saw first was the line just before this one; it’s musical mate, if you will. And when I saw that line, I couldn’t help but sing it: “A thrill of hope; the weary world rejoices.” (I’m sure you’ve all figured this out by now, but the line is from O Holy Night.”) I reached out to my friend to see if she had any of the prints left, but she didn’t. And so I thought that was the last of it. But then, on the 3rd Sunday of Advent, Reverend Aimee referenced this very line in her sermon as she preached about messengers. And since I’ve learned over the years, to pay attention to those snatches of song that get stuck in my head, I realized that this verse of this song--“A thrill of hope; the weary world rejoices”—kept being sung in my soul by the Holy Spirit, who prays in and through us before we can even begin to think about praying; and therefore, it was, for me, either a message or even, perhaps, a messenger. But what on earth did it mean? What’s the message? How to figure it out? Well, like any sane person, I decided to listen to Nat King Cole’s version of “O, Holy Night” over and over and over again, to try to discern the message. (You’ll be happy to know that I did spare my family from this, by only listening to it over and over and over again when I was in the car by myself.) But nothing was revealed. So, then I went to the story of Jesus’s birth in Luke’s gospel to see if it could give me any clues as to the message of this persistent verse: “A thrill of hope; the weary world rejoices.” And there, I certainly found an abundance of the “weary world” that helped me to connect with the “weary world” of today that we find ourselves in. This story is located in a particular place and in a particular time. In this process of being registered, people are traveling from great distances and descending upon Bethlehem. And we can relate to busy travel at certain times of the year, can’t we? How many of you had to get on an airplane to get here tonight? How many of you drove more than an hour to be here? How many of you will drive more than an hour some time in the next week? Mary and Joseph are caught up in this great wave of travel, and when they get to Bethlehem, there is no place for them. Now, sometimes we modern people make the assumption that they can’t get a room in the inn because they are poor, but I’m not sure that is correct. How many of you have ever had to evacuate for a hurricane or other sort of natural disaster? Have you experienced all the hotels being full in a certain area and so you have to look further afield? And in this weary world in which Mary and Joseph find themselves, they are at the mercy of political forces that seem so far beyond their control. (We know something about that, too, don’t we?) And so they hunker down and have the baby in less than ideal circumstances, because babies come when they will, weary world or not. Then the shepherds get involved. Now, they really are homeless, living in the fields with their flocks. They are so poor they are really beneath the notice of the registration process. But suddenly, the glory of the heavenly hosts breaks into their weary world to tell them that the savior of the world has been born TO THEM this night, and they should go see him. “Do not be afraid [the angel says]; for see-- I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. And with “a thrill of hope”, they journey from the fields into Bethlehem, where they find the savior of the world who has been born to each one of them just as the divine messengers said they would. Whatever journey has brought you here this night, whatever weariness the world holds for you, know that the good news holds true for you tonight—as true as it was for those shepherds keeping in watch in the fields all those many years ago: “Do not be afraid; for see-- I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” The Trappist monk, Thomas Merton, said it this way: “Life is this simple: we are living in a world that is absolutely transparent and the divine is shining through it all the time. This is not just a nice story or a fable, it is true.” Tonight, and every night, may you encounter a thrill of hope as you live in this weary, transparent world through which the divine is shining all the time. May you be open to seeing it; hearing God’s messengers who proclaim it to you; and may you help others to experience this thrill of hope at the love of God which shines forth in this weary world this night and always.

Advent 4C

Advent 4C December 23, 2018 I’ve been thinking about the Magnificat this week, as our 4th Sunday of Advent will tumble quickly into Christmas Eve. The famous song of Mary, which has been set to so many different types of music and sung throughout the centuries is almost benign to me in its familiarity. When you really sit down and think about it, the Magnificant is an amazing statement that was sung by a teenager; Mary was probably about 13 or 14 when she was chosen by God as the one to be the mother to Jesus. And her vision for what the kingdom of God will look like in and through Jesus’s birth is one that can still speak to us, even today. This past summer, at the middle school session of camp at Honey Creek (where at least four of our St. Thomas youth were present), the 12-14 year olds there, were invited to re-write the Magnificat to reflect the concerns of modern day teenagers. It’s an interesting exercise to think about how Mary would say it, if she had it to do over again as a teenager, today. I was curious as to what they wrote, so I asked my friend, who was one of the spiritual directors for that session to send it to me, and as I read it, my curiosity was quickly replaced with awe. Just as Mary has taught us throughout the centuries, her Magnificat continues to speak, and for me, has taken on new life in the words of our teenagers who also wrestle with living more fully into the lives of faith to which God calls them and helping to be more fully a part of the kingdom of God. I’m going to read to you The Middle School Magnificat. And I invite you to take a copy and spend some time sitting with this, as you prepare for the annual celebration of Jesus’s birth two days from now.   The Middle School Magnificat Honey Creek, Camp St. Peter II, July 2018 My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior; For he has looked with favor on his lowly servant. From this day all generations will call me blessed: The Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is his Name. He guides those who are misled and protects the wounded. He brings happiness to those who have been judged, and he opens the eyes of those who cast judgment. He has scattered the intolerant; he has educated the close-minded and provided acceptance and equality to the downtrodden. He has welcomed the oppressed. He has made it so we can express ourselves without fear of being picked on or ashamed; he has removed the masks of the insecure. He has dis-empowered the bullies, but rescued their victims; he has raised up the kind. He has cleansed the world of violence and brought peace. The promise he made to our fathers and mothers, To Abraham and Sarah and their children for ever. This is what we pray for to be born into our hearts and our world at Christmas. May we have the courage of Mary and our teenagers to say: Amen! Come, Lord Jesus!

Elaine Hodgkins' funeral homily

Elaine Hodgkins funeral homily December 16, 2018 Martha said to Jesus, ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.’ Two tiny words in these two sentences are so very important today as we celebrate the life of Elaine Hodgkins and commend her to God’s care and keeping. Martha is encountering Jesus who has come too late to heal her brother and his friend Lazarus. And this expression of her faith in Jesus is also a true and authentic cry of one in mourning that is not often heard said aloud. The authenticity is found in the power of the tiny word: “If”… If only this. If only that. What might have happened differently; possibility that is now ended, cut off, cut short by death. Elaine Hodgkins had a variety of relationships with the people gathered here in this church today. She was the soul-mate to Phil; one who shared his expectations, his disappointments, his hopes and his dreams, and it was in her marriage to Phil that she finally found joy. She was a faithful communicant of this church, finding her community in and among this choir. She was an artist, working in a variety of different media—pastels and oils, photography, scrapbooking, and quilting. She was a mother and a grandmother, and her relationship with each of her children was as different and varied as they are, but all complicated (and dare I say? Challenging). She was fiercely independent, and she didn’t put up with a lot of nonsense. I found her to be really smart: an interested, interesting, and engaging conversationalist. All of us feel the burden of that “if” in different ways today: some perhaps in unresolved expectations; others in the face of a long-term and lingering illness which took a sudden turn toward hospice and Elaine’s death. But there’s another tiny word in today’s gospel passage that offers us the good news, even on this day, when “if” seems to loom so large. The word is “but.” Martha says to Jesus: ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.’ If the “if” in Martha’s statement is frustrated hopes and dreams and expectations, if the “if” is Good Friday, then the “but” in Martha’s statement of faith is Easter Sunday. The “but” is Jesus’s resurrection from the dead, which we also remember and celebrate this day. Jesus’s crucifixion is all of the worst that humanity and this world had to offer; it is broken relationships and frustrated hopes and dreams; it is disease of mind, body, and spirit; it is the times when we could and did not love as we should have loved. But… Jesus’s resurrection from the dead is God’s way of saying, “But…”. It is God showing, once and for all, that God can and will redeem all of our worst. God can and will redeem and re-create relationships, even as God recreates us in our bodies in eternal life. Jesus’s resurrection shows us, once and for all, that God’s love is stronger than absolutely anything; stronger than old age, disease, and infirmity; stronger than our broken and challenging relationships; God’s love is stronger than heartbreak and disappointment. God’s love is stronger than anything, even death. So whatever “if” you may bring with you here this day, as we remember the unique soul that is Elaine and commend her to God’s care and keeping, know that in the kingdom of God, there is always a “but” to go with that “if.” And that but is that in God, all things can and will be redeemed and made new.

2nd Sunday of Advent Year C

Advent 2C December 9, 2018 I’ve always liked to think of Advent as a season for nesting. It’s like the season in the life of a woman about to give birth when she is torn between times of a quiet listening and inward looking and times of frenzied activity of preparation—trying to get the home ready for the baby’s arrival. For me, Advent is the spiritual equivalent of this. (I often have to remind myself of this when I find myself doing seemingly crazy things during Advent that are the spiritual equivalent of a 8 and a half months pregnant woman climbing a ladder to try to clean the ceiling fans.) I was struck this week by two different readings. The first is the Old Testament reading from the prophet Malachi. Now, I can’t remember the last time I read the book Malachi—probably seminary. It is short-only 4 chapters. It’s placed as the very last book in the Old Testament. It is written by an unknown person. (The name Malachi means “my messenger,” which is the chief theme of the book.) It is written to the very diverse and restored community of Israel about 100 years after they have been returned from exile. The writer’s chief concern is with upholding covenants: the covenant between God and Israel; the covenant between God and the priestly class (aka the “sons of Levi”); and the covenant between husband and wife in marriage. The writer accuses the people that all these covenants have been and continue to be violated; he promises God will send a messenger to prepare the way for God’s coming and to purify all, so that they may be once again pleasing to the Lord. Change is a-comin’, the writer of Malachi promises. Most of us feel both excitement and apprehension when we know change is coming. Close your eyes for a moment and thing about what are you most excited about in your life, in your faith right now? What are you most apprehensive about? Advent is a time to dwell in both of those emotions—excitement and apprehension—and to try to be open to what may come, what ways we may be changed. The second reading I was struck by this week is a poem by Mary Oliver titled “Making the House Ready for the Lord.” Dear Lord, I have swept and I have washed but still nothing is as shining as it should be for you. Under the sink, for example, is an uproar of mice - it is the season of their many children. What shall I do? And under the eaves and through the walls the squirrels have gnawed their ragged entrances - but it is the season when they need shelter, so what shall I do? And the raccoon limps into the kitchen and opens the cupboard while the dog snores, the cat hugs the pillow; what shall I do? Beautiful is the new snow falling in the yard and the fox who is staring boldly up the path, to the door. And still I believe you will come, Lord: you will, when I speak to the fox, the sparrow, the lost dog, the shivering sea-goose, know that really I am speaking to you whenever I say, as I do all morning and afternoon: Come in, Come in. This Advent, can you imagine your soul as a house that has been cleaned, but could probably, always, use more cleaning out, more purifying. What in your soul or in your life is the Uproar of mice? What are the squirrels who have gnawed their ragged entrances? What is the raccoon who limps boldly past sleeping dogs and cats? And what are the sleeping dogs and cats? How do your excitements and your apprehensions fit into these characters in your soul that is a house awaiting the Lord’s coming?

1st Sunday of Advent Year C

Today’s offering is more of a meditation, my own prayers woven with the Old Testament reading from Jeremiah as we begin this new season of Advent and new church year. If you resonate with any of these prayers, then I invite you to take them and pray them throughout the coming week. Let us pray: O Come, thou Wisdom from on High, who orderest all things mightily…to us the path of knowledge show and teach us in her ways to go. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel! The days are surely coming, says the Lord, This past week, I have felt besieged by the false urgency of Black Friday, Cyber Monday, and Giving Tuesday. Do this now! Hurry, get this deal today only! Give to your beloved charity today to help us reach our goal. Jeremiahs hope for the days that are surely coming is a helpful reminder to me that there are really only a few things that have to be done today. O come, thou Wisdom from on High, who orderest all things mightily… help me to see and dwell with the longing behind the urgency and the explosion of Christmas all around me without succumbing to it, and may it resonate sympathetically in my soul. When I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. My friend found 3 perfect little figs this week on her fig tree on her birthday, even though it is no longer the days for figs. And she thanked God for them. O come, thou Wisdom from on High, who orderest all things mightily… help me to wait and watch during these days, during this season, for small, quiet, unexpected gifts from unexpected places, for promises to be fulfilled that I do not even know to expect. In those days and at that time I typically feel so much pressure in this season leading up to Christmas; I often feel the burden of all the extra planning and decorating, baking and buying that are layered upon ordinary, everyday responsibilities. O come, thou Wisdom from on High, who orderest all things mightily… help me to create space for it all; to find joy in preparing even as I find joy in waiting and watching. I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. I have my own ideas about what constitutes justice and righteousness. Sometimes this is at odds with other people around me and their ideas of what constitutes justice and righteousness. How might I be shaped if I address God in my prayers this week as “The Lord is our righteousness”? O come, thou Wisdom from on High, who orderest all things mightily… reveal to me how your true justice and righteousness appear unclouded by my own selfish and small and wayward ideas. In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. Everywhere I look there is so much fear. In myself, in my friends, and neighbors. Even in the Church. So many of us are afraid of what we might lose—safety and security, dignity, prosperity. I long for all this for myself, for the members of my family, for all whom I love. I believe every person longs for this. O come, thou Wisdom from on High, who orderest all things mightily… help me to pray and to work as diligently to preserve safety and security, dignity and prosperity not just for myself and those I love but for all people, and for all of your creation. And this is the name by which it will be called: "The Lord is our righteousness." What is the truth of these mysterious words: The Lord is our righteousness? What would the fulfillment of that promise look like in my own life, in the life of my family, in our community, our church and our world? O come, thou Wisdom from on High, who orderest all things mightily… through the gift of your Spirit, grant me the courage to be open to this mystery, this truth. O come, thou Wisdom from on High, who orderest all things mightily…to us the path of knowledge show and teach us in her ways to go. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!