17 Pentecost

 

September 24, 2023

Jonah 3.10-4.11; Matthew 20. 1-16

 

+ I’ve been pretty open about this in my own life, but, as some of you know, I struggle with anxiety.

 

Sometimes my anxiety is a very difficult thing in my life.

 

For years, I thought I had depression.

 

But only a few years ago, I found out that it was anxiety I had.

 

Anxiety is an insidious thing!

 

For me, it often manifests itself with a real sense of dread, that settles into my chest or in my gut, and no matter how hard I try, I just cannot shake it.

 

Or it sometimes manifests as a sense that every one dislikes me.

 

Essentially, anxiety feels like a dark pall covers everything, and everything has a razor-sharp edge.

 

And I know I am not alone here at St. Stephen’s.

 

I know others also suffer from this.

 

And for any of us who have anxiety, we no doubt found ourselves relating to poor Jonah in our reading from the Hebrew scriptures today.

 

Poor Jonah!

 

One moment it seems like God is blessing him.

 

The next minute it seems like God has cursed him.

 

Jonah is mad that God changed God’s mind, that the people Jonah thought should be punished were not.

 

And then what happens, the tree that God gave him with shade was killed by the worm God sent to kill the tree.

 

The sun scalded him and the heat burned him.

 

And Jonah, stuck in this anxious, stubborn ways, is forced to live with a world in which everything seems to turn against him.

 

The gist of this story is that anxious Jonah, stuck in his anxious way, is upset over the fact that God is being unfair.

 

The people who Jonah feels should be punished are not, while Jonah is being punished.

 

And he’s so angry about it, he is so caught up in his anxiety, that he simply wants to die.

 

I hate to admit this, but I’ve been there.

 

I’ve been Jonah in my life.

 

I have raged at God many times over what I perceive to be an unfairness in this world.

 

And I know: that’s not a very adult thing to say.

 

Any of us who have made it to adulthood have learned, by now, that none of it is fair.

 

One of the biggest things we learn as adults is that life is not fair.

 

And no one promised us that it would be.

 

Still, we do still cling to that belief.

 

Things should be fair.

 

A perfect world would be a fair world.

 

And when it comes to our relationship with God, fairness takes on even more of a meaning.

 

God should be fair, we think.

 

And it seems that when God is not fair, what do we do?

 

We rage.

 

We get angry.

 

God should be on our side on this one.

 

Right?

 

But, it seems, not always is God on our side on some things.

 

The scale of fairness is not always tipped in our favor.

 

To put it in the context of our Gospel reading today, I often feel like one of the workers who has been working from the beginning of the work day.

 

The parable Jesus tells us this morning is, of course, not just a story about vineyard workers.

 

The story really, for us anyway, is all about that sense of unfairness.

 

 If you’re anything like me, when you hear today’s Gospel—and you’re honest with yourself—you probably think: “I agree with the workers who have been working all day: It just isn’t fair that these workers hired later should get the same wages.”

 

It’s not fair that the worker who only works a few hours makes the same wages as one who has worked all day.

 

Few of us, in our own jobs, would stand for it.

 

We too would whine and complain.

 

We would strike out. 

 

But the fact is: life is not fair.

 

Each of here this morning has been dealt raw deals in our lives at one point or another.

 

We have all known what it’s like to not get the fair deal.

 

We all have felt a sense of unfairness over the raw deals of this life.

 

But, as much as we complain about it, as much as make a big deal of it, we are going to find unfairness in this life.

 

The story of the parable is that everyone—no matter how long they’ve been laboring—gets an equal share.

 

And in Jesus’ ministry, that’s exactly what happens as well.

 

As one of my personal theological heroes, the great Reginald Fuller, once said of this parable: “[This] is what God is doing in Jesus’ ministry—giving the tax collectors and prostitutes an equal share with the righteous in the kingdom.”

 

The marginalized, the maligned, the social outcast—the least of these—all of them are granted an equal share.

 

To me, that sounds like the ministry we are all called to do as followers of Jesus.

 

To be a follower of Jesus is to strive to make sure that everyone gets a fair deal, even when we ourselves might not be getting the fair deal.

 

And there’s the rub.

 

There’s the key.

 

Being a follower of Jesus means striving to make sure that all of us on this side of the “veil” get an equal share of the Kingdom of God, even if we ourselves might not sometimes.

 

That is what we do as followers of Jesus and that is what we need to strive to continue to do.

 

But…it’s more than just striving for an equal share for others.

 

It also means not doing some things as well.

 

What do we feel when we are treated unfairly?

 

Jealousy?

 

Bitterness?

 

Anger?

 

Being a follower of Jesus means not letting jealousy and bitterness win out.

 

Because let me tell you: there is a LOT of anger and bitterness out there right now.

 

And that’s probably what we’re going to feel when others get a good deal and we don’t.

 

Jealousy and envy are horribly corrosive emotions.

 

They eat and eat away at us until they makes us bitter and angry.

 

And jealousy is simply not something followers of Jesus should be harboring in their hearts.

 

Because jealousy can also lead us into a place in which we are not striving for the Kingdom.

 

Those of us who are followers of Jesus are striving, always, again and again, to do the “right thing.”

 

But when we do, and when we realize that others are not and yet they are still reaping the rewards, we no doubt are going to feel a bit jealous.

 

We, although few of us would admit it, are often, let’s face it, the “righteous” ones.

 

We the ones following the rules, we are the ones striving to live our lives as “good” Christians.

 

We fast, we say our prayers faithfully, we tithe, we follow the rules, we do what we are supposed to do as good Christians.

 

Striving for the equal share for people, means not allowing ourselves to get frustrated over the fact that those people who do not do those things—especially those people whom we think don’t follow the rules at all, those people who aren’t “righteous” by our standards—also receive an equal share.

 

It means not obsessing over the fact that, “It’s not fair.”

 

Even when it is unfair.

 

Because when we do those things, we must ask ourselves a very important question (a question I ask a lot):

 

Why do we do what we do as Christians?

 

Do we do what we do so we can call ourselves “righteous?”

 

So we can feel morally superior to others?

 

Do we do what we do as Christians because we believe we’re going to get some reward in the next life?

 

Do we do what do because we think God is in heaven keeping track of all our good deeds like some celestial Santa Claus?

 

Do we do what do simply because we think we will get something in return?

 

Do we do what we do so we can feel good about ourselves at the end of the day?

 

Or do we do what we do because doing so makes this world a better place?

 

This is the real key to Jesus’ message to us.

 

Constantly, Jesus is pushing us and challenging us to be a conduit.

 

He is trying to convince us that being a Christian means being a conduit for the Kingdom of God and all the very good things that Kingdom represents.

 

In us, the Kingdom breaks through.

 

Without us, it simply will not.

 

We do what we do as Christians because whatever we do is a way in which the barriers that separate us here from God and God’s world is lifted for a brief moment when we do what Jesus tells us to do.

 

When we live out the Law of loving God and loving our neighbor as ourselves, the “veil” is lifted and when it is lifted, the Kingdom comes flooding into our lives.

 

It does not matter in the least how long we labor in allowing this divine flood to happen.

 

The amount of time we put into it doesn’t matter in the least to God, because God’s time is not our time.

 

Rather, we simply must do what we are called to do when we are called to do it.

 

Jesus came to bring an equal share to a world that is often a horribly unfair place.

 

And his command to us is that we also must strive to bring an equal share to this unequal world.

 

And that is what we’re doing as followers of Jesus.

 

As we follow Jesus, we do so knowing that we are striving to bring about an equal share in a world that is often unfair.

 

We do so, knowing that we are sometimes swimming against the tide.

 

We do so, feeling at times, as though we’re set up to fail.

 

We do so feeling, at times, overwhelmed with the unfairness of it all.

 

And just when we think the unfairness of this world has won out—in that moment—that holy moment—the Kingdom of God always breaks through to us.

 

And in that moment, we are the ones who are able to be the conduit through which the God comes.

 

So, let us continue to do what we are doing as followers of Jesus.

 

Let us strive to do even better.

 

In everything we do, let us attempt to lift that veil in our lives and by doing so, let us be the conduit through which the Kingdom of God will flood into this unfair world.

 

And let us do together what Jesus is calling us to do in this world

 

Let us love—fully and completely.

 

Let us love our God, let us love our selves and let us neighbors as ourselves.

 

As we all know, it’s important to “come” here and share the Word and the Eucharist on Sundays.

 

But we also know that what we share here motivates us to go out into the world and actually “do” our faith.

 

As followers of Jesus, we are full of hope—a hope given to us by a God who knows our future and who wants only good for us—God who really is a fair God!

 

Let us go forth with that hope and with a true sense of joy that we are doing what we can to make that future glorious.

 

Let us pray.

 

Holy God, you call us in our following of your son to do the right thing and strive for fairness and equality in this world; help us to do just that, so that by doing so, we may be the conduits through which your love comes forth into this world; we ask this in Jesus’ Name. Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

16 Pentecost

 

September 17, 2023

 

Matthew 18.21-35

 + I am going to ask you a question this morning.

 Do you have any “frienemies?”

 I’m not saying murderers or criminals or Nazis.

 I mean, do you have people who aren't quite friends but also not quite enemies?

 I think we all do.

 I know I do.

 And, I have to admit, sometimes they drive me crazy.

  I want to like them.

 But sometimes, it’s really hard.

 And sometimes—sometimes!—I just don’t want to have anything to do with them.

 I want to distance myself from them and be done with them.

 Those people who claim to be friends, but who hurt us, sometimes do so unintentionally.

 Sometimes I seem to have an inordinate amount of them in my life at times.

 So, of course, those are the people who come to mind when I read our Gospel reading for today.

 It is not my “enemies” I think of when I hear the Gospel.

 It’s my “bad” friends or “frienemies.”

 In our Gospel reading, we find Jesus challenging us on this issue.

 He is telling us, once again, maybe something we don’t want to hear.

 Today we find Jesus laying it very clearly on the line.

Peter has asked how many times he should forgive. “Seven times?” he wonders.

But Jesus says,

“Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.”

In other words, we must forgive those who wrong us, again and again.

Oh, yeah, he also says that if we don’t forgive the sins of others, our own sins won’t be forgiven.

I’ll get into that in a minute.

But back to this whole forgiving seventy-seven times:

It has taken me a long time to learn the power of this radical kind of forgiveness.

 And it has not been easy for me!

 But, the problem here is that, as hard it is for me with my bad friends and with this radical forgiveness, I have to remember something very important.

 I have been, at times, a bad friend to someone.

 I have been a “frienemy.”

 Probably to too many people.

 I am the person who sometimes has caused issues.

 I am the person that has caused those people distance themselves from me in turn.

 And I have to own that.

 I have to face the fact that what I do matters to others and to God.

 Being a jerk to people has consequences.

 And, I realize, on top of all that, I still retain the wrongs that I felt had been done to me and I cannot  sometimes get around what had been done to me.

 I harbor sometimes real anger at people—and not righteous anger, you know, like toward Nazis.

 Petty, selfish anger.

 And all this causes me to be in a state of almost constant war and conflict with those people, whether they are aware of it or not (most of them are not).

 I am not proud to admit any of this—to myself or to anyone else.

 But, I am a fallible human being, like everyone else here this morning.

All this led me to another sobering thought.

A few weeks ago I preached about being a life-long pacifist.

Being a pacifist is something I am very proud of in my life. 

My pacifism, at least at this point in my life, is anchored squarely in our Baptismal Covenant in which we promise, with God’s help, to “strive for justice and peace among all people.”

I have tried very hard to live that out in my life—all my life.

I have been very quick to speak out and protest wars and invasions.

I have no problem standing up and saying “no” to wars that happen “over there.”

But to be a true pacifist, to be a true seeker after peace, we all must cultivate peace in our midst.

When we say that we will “strive for justice and peace among all people,” that means us individually as well.

We must be peaceful in what we do and say.

And peace begins with respect for others.

Peace begins with responding to God’s commandment to love others as we love ourselves.

Which bring sus to that whole thing Jesus about our own sins not being forgiven if we don’t forgive others “from the heart.”

What’s going on with that?

Is Jesus telling us that God doesn’t forgive us?

I thought God loved us.

Well, what I think Jesus is really getting at is that our relationship with God is hindered if we have barriers in that relationship.

And one of the barriers in our relationship with God is us carrying around anger and frustration and a refusal to forgive others.

 And when we do that, when we carry around our anger, our refusal to forgive, we are at war.

Now, you might say “war” is a strong word here.

But let me tell you, it sure ain’t peace!

I hate to admit it, but I am often at war with myself.

And that war often either stems from or overflows into my relationships and the world around me.

If we are truly going to be seekers after peace, we must start by making peace with ourselves.

We must actually forgive—in some way—those who have wronged us.

If not, we lose.

Not the person we’re mad at.

More often than not, they could care less that we’re mad at them.

They’re not losing sleep over the wrongs they’ve done to us.

They’re not feeling guilt over it.

And that drives us crazier than anything!

So, we are the ones in turmoil over what they have done to us.

We can’t make anyone feel anything.

And we can’t make anyone apologize to us or make right the wrongs they have doen to us.

We can’t control others.

But we can control ourselves and how we respond to what others do to us.

I use a phrase often: when someone wrongs us and we refuse to forgive, we are just letting them live rent-free in our heads.

We are allowing them to live there.

And trust me they do.

And when someone wrongs us and we carry around all that pain and suffering, we are the ones who suffer.

Deeply.

How are we going to have any meaningful, loving relationship with God or others, or ourselves, when we are carrying all of these terrible, negative things within us?

We can’t.

We must forgive.

Even when it hurts.

Even when we really don’t want to.

Even when doing so is an admission of defeat.

But, it isn’t defeat.

It’s ultimate victory.

I forgive, and by doing so, I evict those people from residing in my mind.

It doesn’t undo the wrongs.

It doesn’t even make everything right all the time.

But it does allow me to say I have no hindrance between them and God and myself.

So, you might be saying, I get it, Father Jamie.

I can do that.

But. . .

That’s not all.

It’s not only about forgiving others.

It’s also about forgiving one very important person in our lives—probably the most important in our lives—outside of God of course.

Our selves.

We must also learn to forgive ourselves seventy times seven.

We must learn to forgive ourselves too.

Because let me tell you, not forgiving ourselves also is a hindrance in our relationship with God and others.

Seeing ourselves as God’s own beloved in this world is often the hardest thing of all.

We tend to hate ourselves, or despise ourselves more than we hate or despise others.

So, we must strive for justice and peace among all people, even ourselves.

We must respect the dignity of every human being, even our own being.

How do we do that?

Well, as followers of Jesus we must actually grant forgiveness to those who have wronged us in whatever way.

That is what all of us, as baptized Christians, are called to do.

In a practical way, we can just simply their name and say, “So and so, child of God, beloved of God, I forgive you.”

And mean it.

Deeply.

And when we do, we are truly freed.

Sometimes, if we are fortunate, we may be able to forgive some of these people to their face.

More often than not, we never get that chance.

On very rare occasions, those people will come to us in repentance asking for forgiveness.

But more often than not, they will never ask for our forgiveness.

And they probably will not change their behavior.

Which brings me to one side note:

Forgiveness does not equal taking abuse from others.

We can forgive what people have done, but we are not called to just go back to old ways of abuse.

If someone has abused us physically or emotionally or psychologically, we must protect ourselves and not allow that behavior to continue.

But we can still forgive even those people.

Forgiving does not mean forgetting.

But forgiving does mean that when we forgive them—they are forgiven.

It is just that powerful!

When we forgive, those wrongs done against us are forgiven.

What we loose on earth—what we let go of, what we forgive on earth—is truly loosed in heaven.

And when we realize that, we then must move on.

We must allow true peace—that peace that we, as baptized Christians, strive for—we must allow that peace to settle into our hearts and uproot any lingering anger or frustration that still exists there.

We must allow that peace to finish the job of forgiveness.

This is what it means to forgive.

This is what it means to forgive again and again—even seventy-seven times, or a hundred and seventy-seven times, or seven hundred and seventy-seven times.

And, I stress, we must forgive ourselves too!

We sometimes have to forgive ourselves of the wrongs we have committed against ourselves and others.

When I talked earlier about allowing the anger and the pettiness in my life to control my life, in those moments, I was wronging my own self.

I failed myself in those moments.

And often, when we fail ourselves, we wallow in that failure.

We beat ourselves up.

We torture ourselves unduly.

Let me tell you, I have done it on many occasions.

But in those moments, there is no peace in my heart either.

I am allowing the war against myself to rage unabated within me.

Only when we are able to finally forgive ourselves, will we be able to allow true peace to come into our lives.

And while I have forgiven others many times, the only one I have ever had to forgive seventy times and much, much more is myself.

And again, it is as easy as saying to myself, “Jamie, child of God, loved by God, I forgive you” and to allow that absolution to do its job of absolving—of taking away the wrongs I have done.

So, let us forgive.

Let us forgive others.

Let us forgive ourselves.

And in doing so, let us let God’s peace settle into our hearts and our lives.

And let that peace transform us—once and always—into the person God truly desires us to be.

Dedication Sunday

September 10, 2023

 

Genesis 28.10-17; 1 Peter 2.1-5,9-11

 

+ I love our Dedication Sundays.

 

I really do!!

 

It is this one Sunday each year when we really get to celebrate St. Stephen’s and all it is and does.

 

We get to celebrate what it has been, what it is and what it will be.

 

And we get to celebrate all that God does for us here.

 

On our website, we are described as a

 

“growing, inclusive community of artists, poets, musicians, professionals, writers, students and searchers for God.”

 

I love that description of us.

 

Because that is who we are.

 

If you have not looked at our website, or any of our many social media, please do!

 

But St. Stephen’s is, to say the very least, a unique place. 

There are not many congregations quite like it—this weird and wonderful blend of progressive, peace and social justice-based ministry blended with Anglo-Catholic worship and spirituality.

This is not some nonsensical mish-mash, however.

This is a place wherein somehow it all comes together and forms a good solid base.

 

It is for this reason so many people are drawn to this out-of-the-way church in the far reaches of Northeast Fargo.

I had one parishioner say to me that St. Stephen’s is a really a kind of spiritual powerhouse.

This wonderful, eclectic place which has become home to so many people.

 Some people—especially those of who attend here week-in and week-out, might not see this as all that unique of place.

Sometimes we don’t see the treasures right under our noses, because they’re just that close.  

But let me tell you, others definitely think we’re unique.

 

Andrew Uruho, who has been attending here for the last several months, definitely think we’re unique.

 

He’s attended over 200 Episcopal churches all over the country.

 

And he definitely came here expecting one thing and found something completely different.

 

He came here expecting to find 1979 BCP and Hymnal 1982 hymns (all of which he loves).

 

He found liturgies adapted from Enriching Our Worship inclusive language Eucharists, Celtic Masses and New Zealand Prayer Book.

 

This past week, Jane Gaffrey sent me a note about how important St. Stephen’s has been not only to her but to her son Jason, who is trans:

 

Jane wrote me this this week:

 

 

“I hear from Jason how much he is awed and happy because of you and others at St Stephens --how much he feels accepted and loved as he is.  And everyday I hear how awed he is that you share your own humanity and struggles publically.  He loves how REAL people are and how you and the church love others well no matter who they are.”

 

Andrea Olsen, who was featured in an article on Episcopal News Service which has garnered A LOT  of attention, shares how she never felt welcome anywhere like she was welcomed here, and she had attended quite a few churches in her search.

 

Even Mother Mary Johnson, a retired priest in this Diocese, who has filled in for me a few times over the years when I’ve been on vacation, this past week was accidentally contacted when we were updating our directory.

 

Her number got mixed up with our parishioner Mary Johnson’s phone number.

She sent me a text message afterward saying,

 

“I would GALDLY be claimed as part of the St. Stephen’s community!”

 

Mother Mary, by the way, was one of the few people in this diocese how actually reached out and commended us for our standing on DEPO back in 2015

 

We have parishioners who did not feel welcome in any other church either here in Fargo or in any of the other places they have lived.

 

But they felt welcomed—and more than that—included—here.

 

I hate to break this news to you, but this kind of radical hospitality is NOT common in the Church—even among so very many Episcopal churches.

 

If you look at our social media you will see what people are saying there about us.

 

And the renovations we have made here have been a symbol in many ways of what we are truly doing here.

 

These renovations are important for us to reflect the vitality and the beauty of our parish.

 

Remember what it looked like in our nave back in 2007, for those of you who were here?

 

It was plain.

 

As in Quaker Meeting House plain.

 

Steve Bolduc shares the joke that one time there was a Diocesan gathering here at St. Stephen’s about 20 years ago.

 

Two people in line for food in the Undercroft were overheard by Steve saying, “Ah, St. Stephen’s! So low church it should be called Mr. Stephens.”

 

I love that story!

 

I love it, because that aint us now!

 

As we slowly brought more beauty into our physical building, not everyone was happy about those changes.

 

And that’s normal.

 

Some people felt it too “busy” in the church.

 

Some people feared stained glass windows for fear that it was would darken the church.

 

People feared a memorial garden because they didn’t want to see a cemetery on the church property.

 

People feared a bell because it might irritate the neighbors.

 

But a few weeks ago, Greta Taylor, who has been attending St. Stephen’s since the late 1950s pulled me aside and told me how she loved the fact the door to sacristy was moved.

 

It looked like how it was when she first started attending here.

 

And that all the attention when one enters is directed to exactly where it should be—on the altar, and on the beautiful cross above the altar, that has come to truly symbolize our community here.

 

This renovation has been a much-needed boost.

 

And I know our Altar Guild rejoices in it.

 

But we are more than our windows, our altar, our cross, our bell, our tower, our organ, our labyrinth, our memorial garden, our renovated sacristy.

 

We are so much more than these four walls and this roof.

 

This building symbolizes and reflects who and what we are—a solidly progressive parish based on Peace and Social Justice in our following of Jesus in this world.

 

But even that doesn’t fully represent who we are.

 

This past Wednesday night I preached about Paul Jones, who is commemorated in our Peace and Social Justice window,  and, more specifically, about the book Outlaw Christian by my friend Jacqueline Bussie.

 

If you have not read this book, READ THIS BOOK!

 

Jacqueline Bussie and her late husband Matt Myer attended briefly this church.

 

She saw in us an outlaw Christian community.

 

Outlaw Christians are people are not afraid to rant, and speak out, and rail at the realities we are faced with.

 

Outlaw Christians don’t sugarcoat it.

 

Holy, righteous ranting and speaking out and not conforming to the status quo is very much a part of our progressive, peace and social justice tradition.

 

You don’t believe me?

 

Look at these windows!

 

These windows are rants!

 

These windows are our sermons.

 

Our whole, 67 year ministry here at St. Stephen’s is a rant—a long, impassioned, often angry speech.

 

And yes, I did say angry.

 

Anger isn’t always a bad thing.

 

We need to be angry about some things.

 

And I am angry.

 

I am angry when we are told to put our flames under bushels.

 

I am angry when I am told that we should be comply, that we should simply go with the flow.

 

Holy, righteous anger is not a bad thing.

 

And many of us are here because we are angry at the way the Church has treated us in the past.

 

On this Dedication Sunday, I very proudly boast of all that God has done here.

 

And if my boasting may at times sound like a rant at times, I make no apologies for that.

 

I have no qualms about boasting about what all of us are doing here at St. Stephen’s.

 

In our wonderful reading this morning from St. Peter, we find him saying,

 

“Once you were not a people,

but now you are God’s people;

once you had not received mercy,

but now you have received mercy.”

 

When we look around us this morning, as we celebrate 67 years of this unique, spiritual powerhouse of a congregation, we realize that truly we are on the receiving end of a good amount of mercy.

 

We realize that mercy from God has descended upon us in this moment.

 

And it is a glorious thing.

 

So, what do we do in the face of glorious things?

 

We sing!

 

We rejoice!

We give thanks!

 

And, as unbelievable as it might seem at times, we cannot take it for granted.

 

We must use this opportunity we have been given.

 

We realize that it is not enough to receive mercy.

 

We must, in turn, give mercy.

 

We, this morning, are being called to echo what St. Peter said to us in our reading this morning.

 

We, God’s own people, are being called to “proclaim

the mighty acts of [God] who called [us] out of

darkness into [that] marvelous light.”

 

We proclaim these mighty acts by our own acts.

 

We proclaim God’s acts through mercy, through ministry, through service to others, through the worship we give here and the outreach we do from here.

 

I love being the cheerleader for St. Stephen’s.

 

God is doing wonderful things here through each of us.

 

Each of us is the conduit through which God’s mercy and love is being manifested.

 

In our collect for this morning, we prayed to God that “all who seek you here [may] find you, and be filled with your joy and peace…”

 

That prayer is being answered in our very midst today.

 

That joy is being proclaimed in song today.

 

And although it may seem unbelievable at times, this is truly how God works in our midst.

 

God works in our midst by allowing us to be that place in which God is found, a place in which joy and peace and mercy dwell.

 

So, let us continue to receive God’s mercy and, in turn, give God’s mercy to others.

 

Let us rant.

 

Let us continue to be the outlaw Christians we have been throughout our history.

 

But at the same time, let us be a place in which mercy dwells.

 

Because when we do we will find ourselves, along with those who come to us, echoing the words of Jacob from our reading in the Hebrew Bible this morning,

 

“How awesome is this place! This is none

other than the house of God, and this is the gate of

heaven.”