16th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 20A

16th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 20A September 20, 2020 When I was a baby priest, just a few years into my ordained ministry, when I would get in a bind, I would call my mentor, the now retired Canon to the Ordinary, and ask him for advice. This man, who has known me since I was three years old, would never tell me what to do, but he would give me helpful insight or perspective into my situation that allowed me to develop more as a priest and a person and to figure out a solution to the problem myself. I remember vividly one such conversation, about conflict in my parish of the time, when my mentor told me a lesson he learned from Bowen Family Systems Theory. He talked about how a leader needs to think of the church or system like a big ball in a hotel ballroom. The leader is called to be on the dance floor dancing with all the people and also, at the same time, standing on the balcony looking down from above to see a bigger picture. Since that phone call, I’ve done a little more investigating into family systems theory (and plan to pursue it as my continuing ed for this year in a virtual format), and I’ve learned that some of the teachings that come out of this analogy also illustrate key teachings about self-differentiation. This includes the ability to observe one’s self, recognizing that the only way we can improve relationships is to begin reflecting on our own behavior and to work to change that. It means understanding that the only thing we have power to change is ourselves. And it also helps us remember, when we get caught up in the dance on the dance floor, that there is always a bigger perspective, a bigger pattern to the dance, that we may need to climb up to the balcony out of the fray to observe. Our readings for today show us ways in which participants in the story have become myopic, nearsighted, aware only of their own needs, and the readings show us how God is inviting them to join with God in seeing the bigger perspective and participating in it. The book of Jonah is one of my favorite books of the bible. If you haven’t ever sat down and read it or haven’t encountered it since you were a child in Sunday School, you should really sit down and read it. It’s really short, only 4 few chapters, and it’s really funny. The story is this. God tells Jonah he needs to go to Ninevah to tell the people there to repent. But Jonah doesn’t want to go to Ninevah, so he gets on a boat and makes a run for it in the opposite direction of Ninevah. The Lord hurls a great storm upon the sea where Jonah’s ship is, and the sailors are afraid and tell Jonah to pray to his God. The sailors cast lots, and the lot falls on Jonah, so they demand to know from him why this is happening. Jonah tells the sailors that they should pick him up and throw him overboard and the storm will stop, so they do, and it does. And then God sends a giant fish to come and swallow Jonah up. Jonah prays to God for deliverance for three days and nights from the belly of the fish, and God makes the fish spit Jonah out on dry land. Then God tells Jonah again to go to Ninevah and call them to repent, and this time, Jonah does it. Jonah’s call to repentance is so effective that word gets to the king, and he decrees that all Ninevites are to put on sackcloth and ashes and to repent, and that even the animals are to wear the sackcloth to show how repentant all the Ninevites are so that God may change God’s mind and not smite them all. That’s when our reading for today picks up. Jonah has done exactly what God has told him to do, but get this. This repentance on the part of Ninevah makes Jonah really, really angry. Jonah prays to God and says, “O Lord! Is not this what I said while I was still in my own country? That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing. And now, O Lord, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live.” When God relents from smiting Ninevah because they have repented, Jonah has a temper tantrum. But God does not leave Jonah alone in his near-sightedness and anger. God invites Jonah to join God in seeing the bigger picture. God asks Jonah, “Is it right for you to be angry?” and then God grows a bush to shade Jonah in his temper tantrum as he sits on a hilltop waiting and watching and hoping against hope that God is still going to smite Ninevah. And God sends a worm to eat the bush so it dies, and Jonah gets even angrier. And God asks him again, “Is it right for you to be angry?” God says, As much as you care for this one bush, can’t you understand the bigger picture-how much more I care for the whole city of Ninevah, “that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from their left, and also many animals?” And that’s the end of the book. We don’t know what happens to Jonah, what he chooses to do in the face of God’s invitation to join God in seeing a bigger picture, in the face of God’s invitation to examine “is it really right for you to be angry?” Our gospel reading for today also gives us a glimpse, through Jesus’s parable, into some of these questions. “Is it right for you to be angry” at how I pay other workers in my vineyard when I am paying you what we agreed upon? The workers of the vineyard are invited to join the landowner in the bigger picture of what justice, equity, generosity and economy look like in the kingdom of God, and Jesus invites us to do the same. Your invitation this week is to ponder some questions. What ways might you be called to come off the dance-floor of your life and go up to the balcony to see the bigger picture-of your life, your family, this church, your school, our country, the world? Or, if you are like me, finding yourself getting angry about all sorts of different things, perhaps we can use God’s question to Jonah—"Is it right for you to be angry?” to help us gain more self-awareness, self-control, and to participate in life on a bigger picture.

15th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 19A

15th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 19A September 13, 2020 This week, a friend of mine asked a question. She said she had been thinking about forgiveness, especially in light of this week’s gospel reading, and she couldn’t help but wonder what to do with anger? Is it possible to forgive someone and still be angry? Or do you have to give up the one to do the other? And if we do have to give up anger to forgive, how on earth do we do that? Let’s look for a minute at the context for today’s gospel reading. Our reading for today is nestled within some other passages in Matthew that might inform how we read this difficult parable. This chapter of Matthew’s gospel starts with the disciples arguing about greatness. Jesus teaches them that greatness can be found only through humility, and then he warns them about causing “a little one” to sin. Next he tells them the parable of the shepherd who has 99 sheep and leaves them to go find the one lost sheep. Immediately following that, we have last week’s reading which is Jesus’s teaching about how to deal with conflict in the church, which is immediately followed by this week’s passage-where Peter asks Jesus how often he must forgive someone who offends him, Jesus answers with a ridiculously large number and then tells the parable for today. In this parable, a slave begs the king to forgive his very large debt, and when the king does forgive this debt, the slave leaves and goes and demands payment for a much smaller debt from a fellow slave. The debt-forgiven slave has the other slave thrown into prison, and the parable tells us that the other slaves are greatly distressed when they see this, so they go report it to the king. The king calls up the forgiven slave and says to him, “You wicked slave! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow-slave, as I had mercy on you?” Jesus concludes the parable by saying, “And in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured until he should pay his entire debt. So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.’” Here are my takeaways from this parable. First, we cannot maintain both anger and forgiveness. They are mutually exclusive. At first, it looked like the king had forgiven the first slave, but then at the end of the parable, we see the king’s anger, which must have been so close under the surface, as he revokes his forgiveness and hands the slave over to be tortured until he can pay his full debt that the king had just forgiven. Second, this parable holds up an unflattering mirror before us in that it shows that we are much quicker to beg forgiveness for ourselves than to offer it to our fellows. And finally, the key to forgiveness in this parable, the antidote to our anger when we have been wronged, is named in one simple, and almost archaic word: mercy. One of my colleagues told me about a previous boss she had in the church who would not let her use the word mercy as a response when she would write the Prayers of the People; he would never let her use the response, “Lord, have mercy.” When she finally asked him why, he responded, “Because people don’t understand mercy.” And in some ways, it’s true. We don’t understand mercy. And isn’t that really the point of Jesus’s whole parable today? Mercy is such a foreign concept to us, especially these days. What does it even mean to act mercifully, to ask for mercy from one another? How can we live more mercifully 6 months into a global pandemic, when we are all tired and just want things to “go back to normal”? What would it look like to employ mercy in our common life, in our public life? How might we even begin to go about demanding it? I think the first step in this is that we as people of faith have to recognize the mercy that has already been shown to us by God. That is the first step in discharging our own anger about perceived wrongs or injustices that have been done to us. We must confess our own faults and failings and then wholeheartedly receive the assurance of God’s pardon, God’s forgiveness, God’s mercy. There is a quote from Bryan Stephenson’s book Just Mercy that we read a couple of years ago that speaks to this. Stephenson writes, “There is a strength, a power even, in understanding brokenness, because embracing our brokenness creates a need and desire for mercy, and perhaps a corresponding need to show mercy. When you experience mercy, you learn things that are hard to learn otherwise. You see things you can't otherwise see; you hear things you can't otherwise hear.”i

Today, before we take communion, we are going to pray a litany of forgiveness, where we name our own brokenness, commending to God those ways that we have failed God and each other and also commending to God those who have hurt us. We will receive the assurance of God’s pardon, and then we will taste God’s mercy as we share communion, receiving the mercy of God that is incarnate and embodied in our Lord Jesus Christ into our very bodies, hearts, and souls. As we do this, Bernadette is going to play one of my favorite hymns “There’s a wideness in God’s mercy” and I’ll invite you to reflect on the ways you have tasted God’s mercy in your own life. The words for the hymn are set to a tune that rolls like the gentle waves of the ocean, and they are “There’s a wideness in God’s mercy like the wideness of the sea; there’s a kindness in his justice, which is more than liberty. There is welcome for the sinner, and more graces for the good; there is mercy with the Savior; there is healing in his blood. There is no place where earth’s sorrows are more felt than up in heaven; there is no place where earth’s failings have such kindly judgement given. There is plentiful redemption in the blood that has been shed; there is joy for all the members in the sorrows of the Head. For the love of God is broader than the measure of the mind; and the heart of the Eternal is most wonderfully kind. If our love were but more faithful, we should take him at his word; and our life would be thanksgiving for the goodness of the Lord.”ii This week, your invitation is to spend some time floating in the wide sea of God’s mercy for yourself and for those around you. Begin to look for ways that you might be called to act mercifully to others. Begin to think about what it would look like to employ mercy in our common life, in our public life, and how might we begin to go about demanding it? i. Stephenson. Bryan. Just Mercy. 2014. ii. Hymnal 1982. 469. Words: Frederick William Faber. Music: St. Helena, Calvin Hampton.

14th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 18A

14th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 18A September 6, 2020 Last summer, you might recall that I took a one-week intensive course on conflict meditation training at the Lombard Mennonite Peace Center near Chicago. Our trainer, a man named Richard Blackburn, started the training with us by talking about conflict in the bible. If you think about it, the bible is full of diversity and conflict. And I remember Richard saying that conflict (in the bible and elsewhere) is often an opportunity to learn something new about God. Richard Blackburn also spent a fair amount of time with us on our gospel passage for today—Jesus’s own prescription for conflict mediation and resolution in the church. Richard told us that this particular passage of scripture reminds us that “1. God intends for us to live in peace…[and] Peacemaking starts with our sisters and brothers. 2. Conflict is inevitable and normal. 3. [Jesus makes it clear that] the question is not if we have conflict but how we respond to it. 4. Direct communication is better than triangling. 5. [It is important during times of conflict] to draw on the gifts of others. 6. Conflict between individuals concerns the whole church. And 7. God is present for the purpose of helping people resolve their differences.” Healing and reconciliation are gifts that come from God. i At one point in the course, Richard also recommended that every church should create a covenant based on Matthew 18:15-20 that all church members would agree to be in relationship and handle conflict in these specific ways that Jesus outlines. While all this is a very positive, life-giving way to look at conflict in community, I read a commentary this week that invites us to look at what Jesus is saying not to do in this passage in how to deal with conflict that I also found enlightening, because much of what Jesus is telling us not to do in this passage is how we normally try to handle conflict in our lives, our families, the church. This commentary writes, “As we enter the doorway of this passage, it’s helpful to bear in mind the classic, counterproductive, even death-dealing ways we’re often tempted to engage in conflict. First, we’re tempted to avoid it. Second, we’re tempted to gossip: to tell other people about the person or behavior that’s offended us, rather than to address our concerns directly to the person or people involved. Third, we’re tempted to gang up on each other, to recruit like-minded people to our side and create echo chambers of grievance. Fourth, we’re tempted to air our grievance only in such echo-chambers, or in front of overwhelmingly friendly audiences where accountability is minimal. And fifth, we’re tempted to regard our opponents as if they are unwelcome or better off elsewhere, outside our community entirely. In this week’s reading, Jesus takes on these five temptations, one at a time.”ii Let’s look at these wrong ways to deal with conflict in light of what Jesus is saying in the gospel passage. 1. “Against avoidance: Right out of the gates, Jesus is clear that in cases of significant offense, avoidance and evasion aren’t good options; go directly to source of the issue, he says, and share your concerns.” 2. “Against gossip: If you feel offended or critical, Jesus insists, begin not by telling someone else, but rather by directly communicating with the person (or people) by whom you’ve been offended - and do so, if possible, one-on-one, “when the two of you are alone” (Matthew 18:15). This respectfully allows the person to clear up any misunderstanding, or to apologize and make amends - and all the while, to save face. This approach implicitly says: I respect you enough to give you space to rectify this, without embarrassing you in front of others; and I’m humble enough to recognize that I may have misunderstood something, or may have something to learn. And it wisely avoids the ‘triangulation’ so corrosive to human communities.” 3. “Against ganging up in an echo chamber of grievance: only after this first step has proven impossible or ineffective, Jesus says, should a second step be taken - though here again, direct communication is the strategy, not echo-chamber-meetings held in secret, apart from the alleged offender. Go directly to him or her, not with a gang of five or ten, but with ‘one or two’ as witnesses (Matthew 18:16). This communicates the same respect and humility of the “one-on-one” approach, while at the same time adding the wisdom and experience one or two others might provide. In some situations, a third-party perspective can help two parties in conflict find common ground and a way forward.” 4. “Against airing grievances only with friendly audiences: If steps one and two don’t prove fruitful and the issue persists, Jesus says, step three is to share your grievance with the whole community (Matthew 18:17). Not the part of the community that will likely agree with you, or the part that will likely agree with the person who’s offended you; but the whole community (or, by the same principle, a cross-section thereof, like a church council)--including the person who’s offended you! This keeps you accountable, since with diverse listeners, you’ll be less likely to exaggerate, omit key details, or deny either how you’ve contributed to the problem or how you can help rectify it. And likewise… the alleged offender will be similarly accountable. This step…can act as a kind of “sunlight” strategy: things can fester and multiply in the dark, and in certain cases, letting sunlight in can help - and keep all of us on our best behavior.” 5) Against excommunication: Wait a minute - doesn’t Jesus actually agree with excluding an unrepentant offender from the community, saying, “let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector” (Matthew 18:17)? On the one hand, yes: unabashed offenders who insist on destructive or dysfunctional behavior should, in the end, be given a clear message: “stop this behavior, or step away from the community.” The church is a mission, after all, and the mission needs to be carried out. But on the other hand, Jesus qualifies this recommendation: by preceding and following this teaching with two parables of mercy and inclusion (the latter of which, on forgiveness, we’ll read next week); by clearly positioning exclusion as a last resort, to be taken only after three other intentional, constructive steps; and [by the way that Jesus, himself, treats Gentiles and tax collectors]. In surprising, graceful ways, these supposed outsiders are ultimately included in both Jesus’ mission and the beloved community.”iii This week, I offer us all the invitation to think about a time when you learned something new about God during conflict. Think about and look for ways you might be called to put these ideas from Matthew 18 into practice—in the life of your family, in the life of this church, or in the life of our greater society/community. i.Mediation Skills Training Institute Manual. Sponsored by Lombard Mennonite Peace Center . 2016. p A-9 Some of this was also reconstructed from personal notes that I took in the class. ii.https://www.saltproject.org/progressive-christian-blog/2020/8/30/life-together-salts-lectionary-commentary-for-fourteenth-week-after-pentecost iii.Ibid.

13th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 17A

13th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 17A August 30, 2020 This week, our gospel reading invites us to sit for a moment with paradox. Just last week, Matthew tells us, Jesus and his disciples have traveled to the district of Caesarea Phillipi, a Mecca of Roman wealth and civilization built by King Herod on the Mediterranean Sea and nestled in the heart of Israel. In this lavish, overly-Romanized area, Jesus asks his disciples who people say he is and who they say he is. It is Peter, impulsive, impetuous Peter, who wears his heart on his sleeve, who gets it unexpectedly right: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” And Jesus commends Peter saying, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church...” Then there is this week, which follows immediately on the heels of last week’s gospel, when Jesus offers the first prediction of his death and how it will happen in Matthew’s gospel, and Peter just cannot hear it. He takes Jesus aside and begins to rebuke him, but Jesus in turn rebukes Peter saying, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” In a short span of time, Peter goes from being the rock upon which Jesus will build his church to a stumbling block for Jesus. In this instance, both Peter’s strength and his weakness are coming from the same source and are on full display in this gospel pair. It is Peter’s courage, his boldness, than allows him to proclaim Jesus as the Messiah, and it is that same boldness which causes him to speak injudiciously and threaten to become an impediment to Jesus’s mission. And that’s a paradox—how something that is strong enough to serve as foundation can also be something that causes another to trip or stumble; that our very strengths are also, at times, the source of our greatest weaknesses. I did a little research on the word paradox. It’s from the Greek word paradoxos. “Para can mean both ‘next to’ and ‘in relation to.’” And we know doxos, right? We use the word Doxology weekly. “Doxos…literally means ‘praise’ [or glory] but also ‘awe’ or ‘celebration.’ A near-literal translation of paradoxos would be ‘things that, placed in relationship to each other, inspire awe and praise.’” i What if, instead of thinking of our strengths and weaknesses as opposites, we see them as shadows of each other, qualities that, “placed in relationship to each other inspire awe and praise”? What would that look like for ourselves and for others we come into contact with? Last week, a colleague spoke about wrestling with herself to create space in her heart for the weaknesses of others, to know them in that weakness and to love them in that as opposed to being frustrated or angry with them? What would that look like for us to do this for ourselves and for others, to recognize that strengths and weakness are from the same source and that they dwell side by side in each of us? So many folks that I talk to speak about the chaos of our lives and this current moment in time. As I contemplated that, I found this blessing in the chaos, by artist and clergyperson Jan Richardson that is its own paradox. May you find blessing in your strengths and weaknesses this week; may you find love in your heart for both the strengths and the weaknesses of others. May you find the love of God and its blessing, even in the midst of chaos. Blessing in the Chaos by Jan Richardson To all that is chaotic in you, let there come silence. Let there be a calming of the clamoring, a stilling of the voices that have laid their claim on you, that have made their home in you, that go with you even to the holy places but will not let you rest, will not let you hear your life with wholeness or feel the grace that fashioned you. Let what distracts you cease. Let what divides you cease. Let there come an end to what diminishes and demeans, and let depart all that keeps you in its cage. Let there be an opening into the quiet that lies beneath the chaos, where you find the peace you did not think possible and see what shimmers within the storm. ii i. Howard, Ken. Paradoxy: Creating Christian Community Beyond Us and Them. Paraclete Press: Brewster, MA, 2010. P 141. ii. http://paintedprayerbook.com/2012/01/24/epiphany-4-blessing-in-the-chaos/#:~:text=Thanks%20for%20noting%20that%20while%20%E2%80%9CBlessing%20in%20the,A%20Book%20of%20Blessings%20for%20Times%20of%20Grief.

12th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 16A

12th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 16A August 23, 2020 This past week, Facebook shared one of my memories with me. It was a post that I had shared five years ago from the brothers of SSJE (the Society of St. John the Evangelist is a Episcopal community of monks in Cambridge, Massachusetts). The post read: “For what am I most thankful today? When was I most fully alive? How did I receive love? How did I give love? Often in these moments, God was catching me: appearing in a surprising form. Stopping to reflect, I now see and say ‘thank you.’”i I shared this quote with my group of seminary friends that meets weekly on Zoom, and I was so touched by their responses. “For what am I most thankful today or this week? When was I most fully alive? How did I receive love? How did I give love?” This has not been a season where I have been closely in touch with my gratitude, and this question from my past served as an important reminder for me of the spiritual practice, the spiritual discipline of gratitude. Also this past week, I read a reflection on our gospel reading for today by the Lutheran pastor David Lose. The gospel reading for this week is the portion of Matthew’s gospel where Peter makes his confession of Jesus as the Messiah, and Jesus recognizes Peter as the rock upon which Jesus will build his church. Neither of them has acted in an obvious way to live into either of those titles in any way that the other could have expected. Peter, in all his fumbling bravado, hasn’t acted like the stalwart rock that Jesus names him; and Jesus hasn’t acted like Peter would have expected a typical Messiah to act. In some ways, I think that they see each other bathed in the light of gratitude, of hopefulness, of possibility. And it is this light that enables them each to have a clarity of vision for each other in this particular moment. David Lose writes that we can celebrate this reading this week, even be grateful for the way that Matthew lifts up Peter’s success, his clarity of vision because we all know what’s going to happen in next week’s gospel reading. Peter is going to fail miserably, immediately after his proclamation of Jesus as Messiah. Jesus will quickly turn from proclaiming Peter as the rock upon which he will build his church to calling Peter a stumbling block between Jesus and his mission of self-giving love. Lose suggests that we should “pause to give thanks” this week; to celebrate with Peter that he gets it right.ii I would include that we also need to celebrate the way that God reveals this truth of each of these men to each other; to celebrate the way that Peter is “not conformed but… transformed to seek the will of God” (as Paul puts it in our Romans passage for today). We are invited to remember that our practice of gratitude can be a way that God reveals God’s very self to us. Through our gratitude we can sometimes see the way God is surprising us, showing up in our lives through the way we have given or received love or when we have felt most fully alive. I truly believe that gratitude is the rock upon which this church is founded. We are most fully ourselves when we express our gratitude for each other, and God continues to show up and be revealed in and through that practice, that gift, even in this season of diaspora. There was an article that was circulating among clergy circles this week about how difficult it is to be a pastor during the pandemic, and the article cited a recent Zoom call that the author was on where no less than 4 clergy out of 10 expressed that they’d had suicidal thoughts recently. These clergy talked about the burden of the complaints from their congregation, how no matter what they did, a portion of the congregation was going to be unhappy. I read that article, and while my initial feeling was the sadness that I have for my colleagues who feel this way, my most profound feeling is a one of deep gratitude, because this has not been my experience. My experience has been that even in the deep loneliness that I feel as your priest who cannot be regularly with you in person, your gratitude, that you freely give and express, continues to nurture me in its light in ways that continue to reveal God to me. Your consistent generosity of spirit for me, for us, and for the work we continue to try to do has been a profound gift. And I am so deeply grateful for you. So this week, I invite you to ponder the question that I posed to my group of seminary classmates. If you feel so inclined, you can even post your responses in the Facebook comments as the service continues to share your gratitude with others. And reflect on the questions as the week goes on. “For what am I most thankful today? When was I most fully alive? How did I receive love? How did I give love? Often in these moments, God was catching me: appearing in a surprising form. Stopping to reflect, I now see and say ‘thank you.’” i. From SSJE’s Facebook page. Originally posted and shared by me on August 17, 2015. Ssje.org/word ii. http://www.davidlose.net/2017/08/pentecost-12-a-pausing-to-give-thanks/

11th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 15A

11th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 15A August 16, 2020 This past week, my friend and colleague here sent me a meme. She didn’t include any words to it-just the picture. It’s a picture of Michael Jordan and Dennis Rodman on the basketball court in their Chicago Bulls uniforms. In the pic, the equanimous Jordan has gripped the back of the jersey of the notoriously hotheaded Rodman and is calmly walking him back as Rodman looks like he’s headed off to start a fight. The caption on the meme labels Jordan as “The Holy Spirit” and Rodman as “my response to people on social media.” Below the picture it reads: me: “first of all…”; Holy Spirit: “Delete it.” My friend knows me well, especially of my deep wrestling with not debating people on social media. This meme was especially true for me this week, as I walked away from a potential fight on Facebook. The younger sister of one of my high school friends posted a link to an article about the church Godspeak Calvary Chapel in Newbury, California who has refused to stop in person services indoors despite a county order mandated by the state in mid-July requiring that services be moved outdoors. She posted her own commentary about justice, about our rights as Americans and how they are being jeopardized as if we were in a Communist country, and she wrote that if her brother and sister in law, who live in California, were to attend that church they could be arrested for their faith. Well, of course, I had to read the actual article which states that the city council in this community has voted to pursue legal action against individuals or entities not complying with public health orders and that the board of supervisors of the county is asking for a temporary restraining order to stop the church’s plans to continue indoor services. A number of folks weighed in on the post, all touting freedom of religion for the individuals and sharing their fears that our liberties are being taken away under the banner of public health. “Justice! Where is the justice?” they clamored. I was already formulating my response when, like Michael Jordan for Dennis Rodman, the Holy Spirit intervened and told me to put down my iPad and walk away. But the whole thing got me to thinking. Why is it that some Christians have returned to in person worship indoors at this time and others have not? And what does our understanding of justice have to do with that decision? Our readings for today both give a nod to the theological concept of justice. In our Old Testament reading, we hear God telling the people, “Maintain justice, and do what is right, for soon my salvation will come, and my deliverance will be revealed…” Isaiah is talking about how God will do a new thing and that the former things are passing away. But this promise of a new thing, which will include gathering up all the people and even those who have been considered outsiders, requires a response from the people of consent and obedience. God’s expectations for their response include keeping Sabbath, refraining from evil, and holding fast to the covenant. In the gospel reading for today, Jesus encounters a Canaanite woman right after he’s been involved in a controversy with some scribes and Pharisees. The woman begs Jesus to heal her daughter, and Jesus’s response is less than complementary. But the woman is persistent, and she kneels before Jesus and says, “Lord, help me.” (Note that this is virtually the same thing Peter says to Jesus in last week’s gospel when he attempts to walk on water and begins floundering.) She and Jesus exchange more words, and Jesus, impressed by her faith, heals her daughter and sends her on her way. I’m struck by the fact that in this instance, when the woman says to Jesus, “have mercy,” even though our translation has mercy as a noun, in the original Greek, mercy is a verb. “Do something merciful” she is saying to Jesus. In both of these readings, people are invited to expand their understanding of justice. Now, keep in mind that the Hebrew notion of justice is very different from our current American understanding of justice. When we say justice now, I believe we think at best, of protecting individual rights, and at worst, a systematized way to enact vengeance for perceived harm or wrong-doing. The Hebrew notion of justice is to do right, to make right, to make things right for everyone. So in the Isaiah reading, God is showing God’s people that God is expanding the notion of justice, of making things right for everyone, to include not just God’s people who are a part of the covenant but to include people who have typically been considered outside God’s consideration. And in this gospel reading, Jesus is being challenged by the demand of the Canaanite woman to do something merciful on behalf of her daughter, to expand his understanding of his mission and his notion of justice. Perhaps in that moment, he realizes that his mission is no longer only about saving the lost sheep of Israel but it has now become about saving everyone, about making things right for everyone, about doing something of mercy for everyone. This week, I learned that we have lost one of our newer couples to the Catholic Church because they have resumed in person gatherings in church and the weekly distribution of the sacrament. In my sadness and my disheartened state, I had to remind myself why we are doing this. It is because your vestry and I believe that in order to do our part in making things right for everyone (in this church, in the greater community, and even beyond), the best way we can make things right is to not gather for in person worship. That for us, rather than infringing on our individual rights to worship together, rather than focusing on our individual wants and desires, we are choosing what we believe to be the path of justice and mercy that expands beyond individuals to what we hope to be the greater good. This week, your invitation is to be mindful in different situations that you encounter about how we might be called to expand our notion of justice. Look for ways to think beyond the rights that you want as an individual to how we might be invited to all together make things right for all. Look for ways in your life this week where you are called to do mercy, to think of mercy as a verb and not just a noun.

10th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 14A

10th Sunday after Pentecost-Proper 14A August 9, 2020 I have a joke for all you golfers out there. Jesus and Moses were out playing golf one day. They pull up to a hole in their cart, and they see that this hole has a water element. So Jesus pulls out his 5 iron and prepares to hit. Moses says, ‘I don’t know about that, Jesus. I think you should use your 4 iron here. Jesus replies, “No, I don’t think so, Moses. I’ve been watching a lot of Jack Nicklaus, and I think he’d use the 5 iron here.” Moses says, “Ok, Jesus, whatever you say.” So Jesus hits his ball with the 5 iron and it goes right into the water. Moses takes out his 4 iron and his ball sails over the water. So the two get into their cart and drive down to the water where Jesus is looking around for his ball. Not seeing it on the edge of the water, Jesus proceeds to walk out across the water looking for his ball. Moses sits in the cart waiting when two other golfers drive up to him, and say, “Who does that guy think he is? Jesus?” Moses replies, “No, he thinks he’s Jack Nicklaus.” This past Thursday on our church calendar, we had one of our major feasts: The Feast of the Transfiguration. I’m a part of a weekly Zoom gathering with some seminary classmates every Thursday, and our question for reflection for this week was based on the collect for the Transfiguration. The first part goes “O God, who on the holy mount revealed to chosen witnesses your well-beloved Son, wonderfully transfigured, in raiment white and glistening: Mercifully grant that we, being delivered from the disquietude of this world, may by faith behold the King in his beauty…” Our moderator for the day invited us to reflect on the question “What is the disquietude in your life right now that you need God to save you from?” (repeat) It was an interesting question to ponder, and as my friends were speaking, I realized that our disquietude is as unique as each one of us, so I jotted down all the different forms of disquietude I heard in our conversation (and then threw in a few more for good measure). The list of our disquietude included anxiety, loneliness, anger, despair, alienation, fear, noise of others’ opinions, being overwhelmed, unworthiness, sadness, resentment, frustration, loss of control, caring too much about what others think. We see people wrestling with their own disquietude in our lessons for today. Elijah has just come off of an enormous victory against the priests of Baal; he has showed them up with a display of fire from heaven, and he has hunted them all down and killed them. As a result the queen is after him and he is on the run. He is weary (and perhaps, as a result, a little overly dramatic); he is alone, as all the other prophets of Yahweh have been hunted down and killed; and he is beginning to despair. So he goes away to a deserted, holy place; he calls upon God, and God shows up, not in all the noise of the elements but in silence. As an antidote to Elijah’s disquiet, God offers him quiet and the peace of God’s presence. In the gospel reading, we have just seen Jesus feed the 5,000 with a few fish and loaves of bread. He has drawn away to a deserted place, and his disciples have continued on in the boat when a storm blows up. These seasoned fishermen become terrified of the storm, and then they are even more terrified to see Jesus walking to them across the water. Jesus offers them reassurance saying, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” And then Peter inexplicably says, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” Jesus is like, “Sure. Come on.” So Peter gets out of the boat and actually starts walking to Jesus on the water, and he is rocking along, but when he notices the strong wind he becomes disquieted and afraid, and beginning to sink, he cries out to Jesus. Jesus offers his hand and says, “Faint-heart, what got into you?” And together they climb into the boat and the wind ceases. One of the reasons it was so helpful for me to talk about disquietude with some trusted friends is that by speaking it, naming it, it helped to refrain from acting out of place of disquietude. Peter steps out of the boat in a spirit of courage and faith to meet Jesus but then his disquietude gets the better of him. But even then, Jesus is there, offering him a hand and walking with him back to the boat. When we act out of our disquietude, it causes problems for us and for those around us. Our family has watched Hamilton since it came out on Disney plus in July, and I actually got to see it in the theater in Chicago this time last year. This week, I’ve been thinking about one of the turning points in the play, which is a number called “Hurricane.” Hamilton has made some bad decisions which he has kept secret, but then his political rivals learn of his indiscretions. And this song Hurricane is all about him wrestling with his own disquietude, worrying about his legacy, and trying to find a way out of the predicament that he is in. He even says that God has abandoned him, so it is up to him. And so Hamilton acts out of this place of disquietude, and it is devastating for his marriage and for his whole family, leading to even worse problems for all of them. It’s a cautionary tale for us when we are tempted to act out of our disquietude rather than seeking out God who promises to always be present with us and who offers what we need whether it is safety and quiet in the face of our enemies or whether it is an invitation to get out of our comfort zone and a helping hand when we begin to flounder. This week, I invite you to ponder the question “What is the disquietude in your life right now that you need God to save you from?” And in your prayers name that before God and ask for God’s saving grace to offer you the quiet your soul needs. In closing, I’ll share a prayer that I have seen posted several places this week that asks God to save us from the way that acting out of our disquietude hurts us and others. It’s attributed to Laura Jean Truman. God, Keep my anger from becoming meanness. Keep my sorrow from collapsing into self-pity. Keep my heart soft enough to keep breaking. Keep my anger turned towards justice, not cruelty. Remind me that all of this, every bit of it, is for love. Keep me fiercely kind. Amen.