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!

26th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 28B

26th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 28B November 18, 2018 Those of you who are “friends” with my husband on Facebook will recognize this story that he shared two years ago and then again this past week. “In Crown Heights, there was a Jew, Yankel, who owned a bakery. He survived the camps. He once said, ‘You know why it is that I’m alive today? I was a kid, just a teenager at the time. We were on the train, in a boxcar, being taken to Auschwitz. Night came and it was freezing, deathly cold, in that boxcar. The Germans would leave the cars on the side of the tracks overnight, sometimes for days on end without any food, and of course, no blankets to keep us warm,’ he said. ‘Sitting next to me was an older Jew – this beloved elderly Jew - from my hometown I recognized, but I had never seen him like this. He was shivering from head to toe, and looked terrible. So I wrapped my arms around him and began rubbing him, to warm him up. I rubbed his arms, his legs, his face, his neck. I begged him to hang on. All night long; I kept the man warm this way. I was tired, I was freezing cold myself, my fingers were numb, but I didn’t stop rubbing the heat on to this man’s body. Hours and hours went by this way. Finally, night passed, morning came, and the sun began to shine. There was some warmth in the cabin, and then I looked around the car to see some of the other Jews in the car. To my horror, all I could see were frozen bodies, and all I could hear was a deathly silence. Nobody else in that cabin made it through the night – they died from the frost. Only two people survived: the old man and me… The old man survived because somebody kept him warm; I survived because I was warming somebody else…’ Let me tell you the secret of Judaism. When you warm other people’s hearts, you remain warm yourself. When you seek to support, encourage and inspire others; then you discover support, encouragement and inspiration in your own life as well. That, my friends, is ‘Judaism 101.’” In the letter to the Hebrews, we see a sermon to a discouraged congregation. The preacher is addressing a congregation that is suffering from decline; he is addressing a flock who is “tired and discouraged about the way evil seems to persist in the world. As a result the congregation has begun to question the value of being followers of Christ. Attendance at worship has begun to falter, zeal for mission has waned, and the kind of congregational life that is rich with love and compassion has begun to dissipate.”i He is addressing a people who are weary and longing for the not yet to be realized and fulfilled. The preacher continues to re-iterate the sacrifice that has already been made by Christ, and in the reading for today, we finally get to the part where we get the answer to the question: “so what?” So what if Christ is the once and future priest in God’s church, offering once and for all a sacrifice for the sins of all? What does that have to do with us? He writes, “Therefore, my friends… let us approach with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful. And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching.” Two things strike me about this today. First, as followers of Jesus, we are called to “hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering” because we can trust in the never-failing goodness of God, even when it does not always seem so. Our annual giving campaign this year is titled Celebrate St. Thomas: Hope grows here. What does it look like for us as a community and for us as individuals to “hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering”? This seems to me to be an essential component to hope growing here today, tomorrow, and many years into the future. Second, as followers of Jesus, we are called to “provoke one another to love and good deeds…encouraging one another.” The word for “provoke” here is literally translated as to agitate. Now, this may seem foreign to some of us. We don’t want to come to church to be agitated. But in true Christian community, we hold each other accountable; we are called to agitate each other toward being more loving and working more good deeds. We are called to encourage one another. But in no place does it say that we have to be so nice to each other that we don’t engage one another, especially when we are going astray. This doesn’t mean that we go spoiling for fights. But it does mean that we speak the truth in love when we see individuals disrupting the body of Christ that is the church and actively working against the hope of God’s faithfulness in which we have been called to live and to which we have been called to testify. In Yankel’s story about how he survived on the train car to Auschwitz, it was through Yankel’s work to agitate the old man, keeping him warm, that kept both men alive in the freezing box car. This work kindled the fire of Yankel’s faith, helping him hold on to hope, and it warmed both him and the old man, physically and spiritually. Who might you be called to warm, to agitate a bit this week, and in doing so warm and re-ignite your own hope? i. I had cited this passage in my sermon in 2012 on these propers. At that time, I was not able to identify the source, but it is not original to this sermon, nor was it original to me in 2012.

25th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 27B

25th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 27B November 11, 2018 At first glance, our gospel reading for today seems like a preacher’s dream come true. Here we find ourselves at week three of our annual giving campaign: Celebrate St. Thomas: Hope Grows Here; and what does the lectionary give me to preach on but the story of the poor widow who gives absolutely everything she had to support her church. But unfortunately for me, there are more layers to this story that complicate its application in our annual giving campaign season. Jesus is clearly condemning “the church” or the institution of the temple and those who benefit from the ways in which it is corrupt. The Hebrew Scriptures are pretty clear that God expects God’s people to take care of those who are vulnerable, to take care of the very widow who is dropping her last two coins into the treasury. So, it is hard to tell if Jesus is using the story to commend her faith or to condemn the very institution that she supports. This past week, I listened to the Jesuit podcast Pray As You Go for today’s gospel reading. And, as usual, the Jesuits had a more thoughtful twist on this gospel. Here is what they said. “In the unremarkable action of a nobody, a poor widow without even a name, Jesus sees a great mystery: the mystery of God. Take a moment now to look back over the last month or so, to call to mind some small, unspectacular act of self-giving which you may have seen without fully registering it… in your family life, at work, in the street, or something you heard about on the news.” “Now let that person be present to you in your memory. Look at their face. Hear their voice. Allow the reality they represent into your heart – to touch you deep down, to move you, perhaps to invite you…” “When we open our hearts to the best side of human nature, strong feelings are often stirred – maybe a desire to be generous ourselves, or maybe quite the opposite, feelings of fear or doubt about ourselves. Whatever has been stirred within you in the last few minutes, take it to God now, speaking as you would to a friend about what you feel, what you desire…”i There are two different ways to think about the action of the widow in the gospel reading. One way is to see her “small unspectacular act” as an act of sacrifice—of giving away something that she would surely miss. The other is to see her “small unspectacular act” as an offering of herself, a way of giving that helps her to live out her faith within the community. When we talk about stewardship, we are talking about the latter option. We are talking about examining our lives and asking in what ways can we give offerings of ourselves to God and each other in thanksgiving and in joy and in hope that God’s future will be brought to fulfillment in this place through our small unspectacular acts of self-giving. Do y’all remember the definition of stewardship that I have talked about off and on in my year and a half here? “Stewardship is all that I do with all that I have after I say ‘I believe.’” Stewardship is small, unremarkable acts of self-giving that well up from our faith and our hope, from our gratitude and our joy. So this week, I invite you to prayerfully consider what those small, unspectacular acts of self-giving will look like in your own faith life in connection with how you give money away. I invite you to consider moving deeper into faithfulness in your giving, which will look different for every different person or family. One concrete way to do this is to consider where your pledge or giving to your faith community fits into your budget. I once had a parishioner who told me his life and his faith were changed when we looked at his bank account during the annual giving campaign one year and he realized that he gave more to his two golf club memberships than he did to his faith community. And it doesn’t have to be golf—it could be eating out, going on vacations or weekends away. I invite you as an exercise in your faith to spend some time imagining what small, unspectacular act of self-giving might you make in your giving to God through the mission and ministry of St. Thomas in the coming year. For some it may mean being more intentional in how and when you give, either through a pledge or through some sort of regularity. For some it may mean examining how you spend money and asking yourself if that truly reflects your faith priorities. For some, it may mean encountering and offering to God strong feelings that this raises in us—both the desire to be more generous and the fear and doubt about how we will do that. As you engage prayerfully in what may be challenging work, may you rest in the awareness and the assurance that the mystery of God can be found in small, unspectacular acts of self-giving; and that God loves you; God has created you good; and God blesses you. Always. i. https://www.pray-as-you-go.org/home/ November 10/11, 2018