3 Pentecost

June 21, 2020

Matthew 10.24-39

+ Even during a pandemic, pastoral care still goes on.

And probably the biggest pastoral duty I have had during these last few months has just been listening.

Listening to people who have called me or reached out to me.

And I would say that the majority of people who are reaching are dealing with issues of deep and abiding fear.

Let’s face it, it’s a frightening time right now.

Covid is still raging through our country.

The political differences between people are leaving us divided and frustrated and angry

And the protests against police violence toward black people, the fact that black people are being killed in disproportionate numbers, is definitely frightening.

Add to that a HUGE spike in homophobic and anti-Semitic attacks in these last  two or so years has been sobering.

It is a truly strange and uncertain time we are living in.

This year of 2020 has been a particularly hard one.

And it’s only June!

And there’s still an election coming!

Sigh.

All of this reminds me very much of some of the petitions we find in a service in our Prayer Book we use only two time a year.

In our Prayer Book, beginning on page 148, we have something called “The Great Litany.”

I love the Great Litany!

The Great Litany, and especially the Supplication, which can be found on page 152 is a special prayer service which is often used “in times of war, or of national anxiety, or of disaster.”

It’s not a liturgy we, thankfully, use very often.

We use on the first Sunday of Advent and the First Sunday of Lent here at St. Stephen’s.

And although some people find it ponderous or even theologically uncomfortable, it is meaningful, and let me tell you, it speaks volumes to us in these current times.   

In this time of national anxiety, I have occasionally prayed the Great Litany privately here in church on an occasion or two in the past.

I actually have prayed it a couple of times here in church during the pandemic.

Fear like that can be very crippling.

And, as you’ve heard me say many times, fear in this sense is not from God.

Fear is a reality and there’s no way around at it times, but it is not something we should allow to dominate our lives.

In a sense, that fear is possibly what Jesus is hinting at in our Gospel reading.

Well, there’s actually a lot going on in our Gospel reading for today.

There are layers and layers in our Gospel reading.

And some really fairly unpleasant things.

But essentially it is about our fear of doing the work of God—doing the ministry of Christ—and…about taking up our cross.

Certainly it seems all this is bound together.

Essentially, probably our greatest cross to bear is our fear.

A fear like I referred to at the beginning of my sermon.

A strange, overpowering fear that is hard to pinpoint.

A fear of the unknown.

A fear of the future.

A fear of all those things we can’t control in our lives.

Let’s take a moment this morning to actually think about the symbol of our fears—this thing to which Jesus refers today—the Cross.

And I say that because the Cross is a symbol of fear.

It certainly was to people of Jesus’ day.

It was an instrument of torture and pain and death.

It was the equivalent of a noose or a guillotine

There was nothing hopeful or life-affirming in it to them.

And yet, look at how deceptively simple it is.

It’s simply two pieces, bound together.

Or, as the our crucifix in the corner shows, it is a cross on which a  man actually died.

I love the symbol of the crucifix, especially.

In it, gazing on the figure of Jesus who hangs there, we cannot deny what the cross is or what it represents to us.

For someone who knows nothing about Christianity, for someone who knows nothing about the story, it’s a symbol they might not think much about.

And yet, for us, on this side of Jesus’ crucifixion, the Cross is more than just another symbol in our lives.

It is a perfect example of how something that is a true symbol of death, destruction and fear can be transformed.

The story of the Cross is amazing in the sense that is as symbol of absolute terror and darkness transformed into a symbol of unending life, of victory of fear and death and despair. 

Jesus knew full well what the cross was all about, even before he was even nailed to it.

In our Gospel reading, he says,  “anyone who does not take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me.”

He knew it was a terrible dark thing.

He knew what is represented.

And by saying those words, he knew the people of his day did not want to hear those words either.

Taking up a cross? Are you serious? Why would anyone do that?

Taking up the Cross is frightening after all.

To take up a cross means to take up a burden—that thing we maybe fear the most in our lives.

To take it up—to face our greatest fear—is absolutely torturous.

It hurts.

When we think of that last journey Jesus took to the place of his crucifixion, carrying that heavy tree on which he is going to be murdered, it must’ve been more horrible than we can even begin to imagine.

 But the fact is, what Jesus is saying to us is: carry your cross now.

Carry it with dignity and inner strength.

But carry it without fear.

And this is the most important aspect of today’s Gospel reading.

Jesus commands us not once, but twice,

 “Do not be afraid.”

“Do not be afraid.”

He isn’t saying that in some nonchalant way.

He isn’t just saying it flippantly.

He is being blunt.

Do not be afraid.

Do not be afraid of what the world can throw at you.

Do not be afraid of what can be done to the body and the flesh.

Do not be afraid of pandemics or racism or violence

Taking our cross and bearing it bravely is a sure and certain way of not fearing.

It is a defiant act.

If we take the crosses we’ve been given to bear and embrace them, rather than running away from them, we find that fear has no control over us.

The Cross destroys fear.

The Cross shatters fear into a million pieces.

And when we do fear, because we will experience fear in our lives, we know we have a place to go to for shelter in moments of real fear.

When fear encroaches on our lives—when fear comes riding roughshod through our lives—all we have to do is face it head-on. 

And there, we will find our fears destroyed.

Because of the Cross, we are taken care of.

There is no reason to fear.

I know that sounds complacent.

But there is no reason to fear.

Yes, there will be moments of collective, spiritual fear we are going through right now.

Yes, there will be a palpable fear we can almost touch.

Yes, we will be confronted at times with real and horrible fear.

But, there is no reason to despair over it  because we are not in control.

God is in control.

“Even the hairs of your head are counted” by the God who loves us and cares for us.

This God knows us intimately.

So intimately than this God even knows how many hairs are on our head.

Why should we be afraid then?

Because each of us is so valuable to God.

We are valuable to God, who loves us.

When we stop fearing whatever crosses we must bear in our lives, the cross will stop being something terrible.

Like that cross on which Jesus died, it will be an ugly thing of death and pain and fear  turned into a symbol of strength and joy and unending eternal life.

Through it, we know, we must pass to find true and unending life.

Through the Cross, we must pass to find ourselves, once and for all time, face-to-face with our God.

So, I invite you: take notice of the crosses around you.

As you drive along, notice the crosses on the churches you pass.

Notice the crosses that surround you.

When you see the Cross, remember what it means to you.

Look to it for what it is: a triumph over every single fear in our lives.

When we see the crosses in our lives, we can look at it and realize it is destroying fear in our own lives.

Let us truly look at those crucifixes and see the One who hangs nailed to the cross.

Let us bear those crosses of our lives patiently and, most importantly, without fear.

We are loved by our God.

Each of us is precious to our God.

Knowing that, rejoicing in that, how can we ever fear again?

Let us pray.

Holy God, we do live in fear. We do avoid taking up the cross Jesus tells us we must bear in our following of him. Dispel from our lives these crippling fears, these fears that prevents us from living into our own full potential, from the fears that separate us from you, and help us to live fully into this world without fear. We ask this in Jesus’ holy Name. Amen.

2 Pentecost

June 14, 2020

Exodus 19.2-8a; Matthew 9.35-38

+ Well, I don’t need to tell anyone what a very special day today is.

This afternoon, when John Anderson is ordained a deacon at All Saints Church in Valley City, St. Stephen’s will have its first vocational deacon (hopefully not its last).

I am going to say to John what was said to me at my ordination to the Diaconate 17 years ago next month.

Today is not about John. It really isn’t

It is not even about St. Stephen’s.

It about the Church—about all of us.

John is being ordained not for St. Stephen’s, but for all of us—for the whole Church.

And what we celebrate today is that ministry.

But, we also get to celebrate John too today.

And we also get to celebrate what this ordination means to us here at St. Stephen’s.

As I mention in the notice I wrote for today’s bulletin (which I posted on Facebook and our blog this morning), John first asked me about being a Deacon way back in 2014.

I remember that evening at Mezzaluna and that conversation we had that night well.

John, after years of ministry in the United Methodist Church, truly felt that God was calling him toward this change in ministry.

I don’t think we knew on that night in 2014 that the road ahead would be a long, circuitous, often frustrating one.

Actually, I think we find of knew it wouldn’t be easy.

Certainly there have been great joys and very deep disappointments as he sought to heed his calling.

And, if he hadn’t seen the ugly side of Church politics before that, he certainly did during his process as well as blatant discrimination.

But, as I reminded him and all of you many times over those years, our path in following Jesus is so often filled with great joys and deep disappointments.

But, we’re not going to talk about the disappointments today.

And today is one of those days of great joy.  

After today, there will be some noticeable changes.

John will now be vested as a deacon, wearing a stole and, at times, a dalmatic, at our liturgies.

He will now be wearing a clerical collar.

He will be proclaiming the Gospel at mass.

He will be assisting at the altar.

We will be referring to him from now on as “Deacon John.”

But outside those visible changes, all remains as it has been.

The fact of that matter is that John has already been serving faithfully in a diaconal ministry for several years., as we all know and have seen.

We at St. Stephen’s are not only blessed today, we are very grateful as well.

We have longed for diaconal ministry for many years.

He have been in need of a deacon for at least 10 years.

It is especially appropriate that our congregation, named after the first deacon of the Church, finally has a deacon to serve our growing and expanding  needs.

It’s also appropriate on this wonderful day that we get this reading from the Gospel.

This was the same Gospel that was read at my ordination to the Priesthood 16 years ago last Thursday.

Now, I didn’t pick to for this morning.

But the words of that Gospel, which we just heard, were words that have been very prophetic in my own life as an ordained minister.

In that Gospel reading, we hear Jesus say, “I am sending you as sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.”

Well, John.

I don’t think I need to tell you this this morning, but, as you very well know after all your years of ministry, that’s often what it feels like being a minister of God, whether as an ordained person or not.

Actually, that’s what it’s like just to be a Christian at times.

Most of us, in whatever ministries we might be doing in our lives, know this to be very true.

We’ve all been there, in the midst of those wolves.

We have known those wolves very well.

And yes, some of them really are wolves in sheep’s clothing, let me tell you!

I could name a few…

I won’t.

But I could.

It’s important in all the ministries we do to be as wise as a serpents and innocent as a doves.

Well, I don’t know how “innocent” I personally have been.

Or, for that matter,  “wise” either.

But I’ve tried really hard to be both wise and innocent, as a priest, as a deacon, as a follower of Jesus, a lover of God and a lover of others.

And I know John has too.

And I know that we all, who are doing ministry together here at St. Stephen’s are striving for that as well.

There is something so profoundly true in this Gospel reading for today.

Of course, there’s a lot here.

But, it’s all good.

And it is a message to all of us.

All of us who are called to ministry.

All of us who serve.

All of us who strive to follow Jesus and love God and love one another.

For those of who do those things, who follow Jesus, who love God and one another, in any way in our lives, we are, as we heard in our reading form Exodus today, “a priestly kingdom and a holy nation.”

Doing any one of these things—following Jesus, loving God, loving others—is not easy.

Because doing these things isn’t some insular thing we do.

It isn’t just about “me and Jesus,” so to speak.

It’s about all of us.

Together.

It is not easy being wise as serpents and innocent as doves.

Ministry is hard.

Following Jesus is hard.

Loving God is hard.

Loving one another—let me tell you, that’s very hard sometimes.

Being a laborer when the harvest plentiful and the laborers are few is hard.

All of us who do it know that we all have to be wise as serpents and innocent as doves at times in our lives and in the work we do.

Each of us has been called, by our very baptism, to be those laborers of the harvest.  

We have been called to serve.

We have been called to shed our egos to a large extent.

And that might be the hardest thing of all.

I know that it is for me.

Ministry is certainly not some ego trip.

If one goes into ordained ministry for an ego trip, let me tell you, there will be a rude awakening.

I hate to break this news to you, John, but it’s not always going to blue skies and flowers every day after today.

Because, ministry, any kind of ministry, is not about any one of us as an individual.

It is not about us as individuals.

It is not about the cult of personality.

When we make it such, it is doomed to fail

Trust me.

I have seen it.

Ministry is, in fact, humbling.

Or, sometimes, downright humiliating.

And, sometimes, it can be a burden.

Partly it can be burden because, none of us, not one of us, is perfect.

And realizing our limitations can be sobering.

It can be frightening.

And it can be humbling.

Of course, we must remember that no one is expecting any of us to be perfect.

But the message I think we all—ordained or not—can take away from this is that God uses our imperfections.

God uses us as we are.

God loves us for who are.

And this is our model in turn.

We must love each other, as we are, for who we are.

And when we realize that we don’t have to be perfect, that we don’t all have to ordained priests or deacons to do what God calls us to do, it can be a relief.

Because, the fact is, imperfect as we are, we are all a priestly kingdom

God calls each of us in our own ways—in our own fractured ways—to serve as we need to serve—to do as much good as we can here and now.

That is all we can do sometimes.

We must strive hard just to do good, even in some small way, every day, in whatever way we can.

In so many ways, our lives and ministries are very much like those Israelites, who we encounter today in our reading from Exodus wandering about in the desert.

It does feel like that on occasion.

That we are wandering about in the desert.

That we are uncertain of what we are doing or where we are going.

But, once we start trusting, once we stop relying only ourselves and our egos, once we stop trying to be perfect all the time, and just trust God, and love others, and just follow Jesus where he is going, we do find our way.

So, let us not try to hide our imperfections.

Instead, let us live out our ministry as we are, striving to have compassion on the harassed and the helpless, on those who are sick and those who might not even know they’re sick, on the marginalized and on those who have little or no voice.

Even if we fail, making the effort helps us to live out our ministry and, if nothing else, it just makes the world a little better place than it was before.

Let us truly be a priestly nation, loving God, loving each other.

And in all that may come upon—good or bad—let us be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.

By doing so, we live in integrity.

By doing so, we will make a difference in this world, even in some small way.

By doing so, we will bringing the Kingdom of God even closer.

“The Kingdom of God is near,” we hear Jesus say to us today in our Gospel reading.

It is near because we are working and striving to make it near.

We are making it present when we do what we do in love.

Let us pray.

Lord of the Harvest, send us out. Help as we bring your Kingdom nearer. Let us strive, in our love of you and of one another, to do the work you have called us to do. There is much work to do. Let us do what we must do. We ask this in the holy Name of Jesus. Amen.

Holy Trinity Sunday

June 7, 2020

Matthew 28.16-20

+ I saw this cartoon the other day on Facebook.

It shows a coffee place.

There is a sign at the check out that says

Now, if you get that cartoon, you sort of get the Trinity.

And if you don’t get it, that’s alright.

Because the Trinity is a difficult thing to wrap our minds around.

Now, I don’t quote Martin Luther very often from this pulpit.

And I really wish Thom Marubbio were here in church to hear me do this, because it would make him very happy.

But I am going to quote Luther because this is by far the best way to establish how to talk about the Trinity on this Trinity Sunday.

Luther wrote,

“To deny the Trinity is to risk our salvation; to try to explain the Trinity is to risk our sanity.”

I love that quote!

And it speaks very loudly to me today.

Because, let’s face it, it’s true.

There are, no doubt, a few anxious preachers out there in the world.

There is probably more than one who is going into the pulpits of churches quaking a bit over the sermon they have to preach today.

For some reason—a reason I never understood—there are a lot of preachers who just don’t even want to wrestle with the subject of the Trinity.

Not me.

I LOVE to preach about the Trinity.

Now, I don’t claim to know anything more about the Trinity than any other preacher.

I am no more profound than anyone else on trying to describe what the Trinity is or how it works.

For me, as for everyone here this morning, it is a mystery.

In fact, God as Trinity is the ultimate mystery of mysteries.  

Of course, I see it as the paramount belief we Christians have.

The Trinity.

God as Three-in-One—God as Father or Parent or Creator, God as Son or  Redeemer and God as Spirit or Sanctifier.

When we really think about it, it is difficult to wrap our minds around this concept of God.

The questions I regularly get is: how can God be three and yet one?

How can we, in all honesty, say that we believe in one God when we worship God as three?

Aren’t we simply talking about three gods? (No, we are not talking about three Gods)

Whole Church councils have debated the issue of the Trinity throughout history.

The Church actually has split at times over its interpretation of what exactly this Trinity is.

For me, none of these are deal breakers.

The Trinity is not a stumbling block.

Yes, I know the word “Trinity” never appears in scripture.

But I do enjoy exploring the different aspects of how God as Trinity is made known to us.

And…I very unashamedly believe that God does manifest God’s self in Trinitarian terms.

But that doesn’t mean I am not confused by this mystery some times.

And it doesn’t mean that I don’t occasionally doubt it all sometimes.

In our Gospel reading for today, we find that some worshipped Jesus when they saw him resurrected.

And we find that “some doubted.”

I think that was a normal reaction for those people, who were still struggling to understand who Jesus was, especially this resurrected Jesus—this second person of the Trinity

And the fact that we too doubt things like the Trinity is normal as well.

It IS difficult to wrap our minds around such a thing.

It’s complicated and it’s complex.

And, speaking for myself, and to echo Luther,  sometimes the more I think about it, the more complicated it seems to get.

Especially when we try to think in the so-called correct (or orthodox) way about it all.

But the doubts, the complications and intricacies of the concept of the Trinity are all part of belief.

Belief is not meant to be easy.

It is meant to be something we struggle with and carry around with us.

And doubt isn’t always a bad thing.

We all doubt at times.

Without doubt we would be nothing but mindless robots of God.

There are moments when the Trinity does confuse me and I am filled with doubts.

Sometimes my most common prayer is, “Seriously, Lord? Really?”

I am one of those people who occasionally just wants something simple in my faith life.

I just want to believe in God—the mystery of God, the fact that God is God and any complexity about God is more than I can fathom.

I sometimes don’t want to solve the mystery of God.

I don’t want God defined for me.

I sometimes don’t want theology.

I sometimes just want spirituality.

I sometimes just want God.

But, as a Christian, I can’t get around the Trinity.

And none of us can either.

And so I struggle on, just like the rest of us.

Yes, I have my doubts.

Yes, my rational, intellectual mind prevents me from fully understanding what this Trinity could possibly be and, as a result, doubts creep in.

Every year, on Holy Trinity Sunday, I place the Andrei Rubelev’s famous icon of the Trinity in the Narthex.

I will post this icon on Facebook and on my blog.

Be sure to take a  look at it and see how truly beautiful it is.

In it you’ll find three angels seated at a table.

According to some theological interpretations, these three Angels represent the three Persons of the Trinity.

In the icon we can see that all three Angels are shown as equals to each other.

In a sense, this icon is able to show in a very clear and straightforward way what all our weighty, intellectual theologies do not.

What I especially love about the image is that, in showing the three angels seated around the table, you’ll notice that there is one space at the table left open.

That is the space for you.

In a sense, we are, in this icon, being invited to the table to join with the Trinity.

We are being invited to join into the work of the Trinity.

And I think that icon speaks very loudly to all of us on this Sunday in which out country is so divided—divided by racism, divided by civil unrest, divided by one side versus the other side.

This icon is saying to us: no matter who you,  now what your divisions, come, sit with here.

Sit here in the present of the One in whom there are no divisions.

Sit here in the presence fo the One in whom those dark and terrible things that divide us have no place.

Sit here at this table and become one with the One who invites us there.

And I think that is why this icon is so important to me.

It simply allows me to come to the table and BE with God as Trinity.

It allows me to sit there with them and be one with them.

No need to wrestle with them, or debate them, or doubt them.

And we realize, certainly in our own life here at St. Stephen’s, that God as Trinity is still calling to us to be at the table with God.

Here, at this altar, we find the Trinity, inviting us forward.

And from this table, at which we feast with God as Trinity, we go out to do the ministries we are all called to do.

We go out to do the work of God as Trinity.

We don’t need to rationalize everything out about our faith in God.

We don’t need to sit around and despair over it.

We don’t need to risk our sanity.

Or our salvation.  

No matter how much we might doubt the Trinity, the fact is: the Trinity exists.

God as Trinity goes on, in that eternal, wonderful relationship.

 And no matter how much we might doubt in our rational minds, we are still being called to the table to sit and to serve with the Trinity.

So, let us do just that.

Let us sit down at that table.

Let us bring our doubts and uncertainties with us.

And let us leave them there at the table.

Let us let God be God.

And let us go out from this table to do the work each of us has been called by God to do.

Jesus today, in our Gospel reading, commands us to go and make disciples of all the nations.

By doing so, we are joining in that communion of the Trinity.

And by doing so, we know, despite our doubts, despite our uncertainties, that the Trinity will be with us always.

Always.

Even to the end of the age.

Let us pray.

Holy God, you are a mystery even to those of who long to know you; help us to live within the bonds of the mysteries of our faith that in seeking you, we may truly find you; we ask this in Jesus’ holy Name. amen.