28 posts from 2007

A sermon on the Eve of Christmas, Year A
Luke 2:1-14

Christmas has come.  No need to wait any longer.  Christmas is here.

For those of you old enough to reflect back, I would dare say that if you thought back there would be at least one or two Christmases that are most memorable.  Perhaps it was the last one you celebrated with someone you loved.  Perhaps it just seemed to that the Ghost of Christmas Present visited your home with brighter candles and your hearts were lighter.

Down through the centuries there have been particularly memorable Christmases as well.  Indeed 93 years ago this very night, one of the most peculiar occurrences connected with Christmas took place, and people are still talking about it.

It was in the early days of the First World War.  It was in the region of Ypres in Belgium.  British and German troops were dug in.  In these early days of the war how could they have known how long the war would last or how many thousands of their comrades would die.

No one is quite sure how it began, but British soldiers noticed on Christmas Eve that the German soldiers were lighting candles and decorating trees and even their trenches with them.  Then the sounds of “Stille Nacht” crossed the no man’s land between them.  The British soldiers returned with “Christians Awake.”

Soon with no thought to their safety, British and German soldiers were crossing the cratered ground between their trenches to exchange gifts: jam, cigars, chocolate, and, of course, whiskey.  The atmosphere of good will lasted the entirety of Christmas Day.  There were even reports of a football match between the sides, with Germany winning 3-2.

The good will spread down the line, in some places it was reported that hostilities were ended until after New Years.

What is it about Christmas?  Why does it affect people so?  Is it the memories of childhood?  Or is there something more profound at work on this night?

There is one aspect of the celebration of Christmas that captures my imagination more than any other.  That is the seeming struggle of light against darkness.

During the season of Advent, we have been lighting one extra candle each Sunday, our growing light chasing away the darkness.

Can there be any greater symbol than light, especially as we have just passed the Winter Solstice.  This is indeed the darkest time of the year.  The days are at their shortest – the nights at their longest.  Is it any wonder then that the three major holidays taking place concurrently, Christmas, Hanukkah and Kwanzaa use light as major symbols?  In all three, candles play a central role.

But we don’t stop there, especially we Christians.  We festoon our homes and yards and neighborhoods with artificial lights.  Whether they are multicolored or just clear, the lights of Christmas some capture the wonder and joy of the season.  In this season of darkness, we kindle fire, we light lights.

This is an action born in hope.  The prophet Isaiah told of a time when a people who walked in darkness would see a great light.  The light he is speaking of is not the Rockefeller Christmas tree but the true light that has come into the world.  It enlightens everyone and the darkness has not overcome it.

The light that the Christ Child represents on Christmas morning is the promise of God’s love for us.  God has not abandoned us.  God’s intention is that we have light and not be left wandering in the darkness.

This promise of light, fulfilled in the Christ Child is a promise that is meant to bring us hope.  We live in a world that continues to be plagued with darkness, whether it be from other people, or institutions, or even countries.  There is still plenty of darkness around.  And yet the message of Christmas morning is light, driving away the darkness that does not understand it, and this light brings us hope.

But it wasn’t a candle lying in a manger that brings us hope.  It was a child.  The miracle of Christmas morning is the Incarnation.  The Incarnation, God made flesh, is one of the boldest and most revolutionary statements that we as Christians claim every time we recite the creeds.

By his Incarnation, Jesus the Messiah, the Christ, not only embodied the light that has shined in the darkness, but he has also restored a relationship that had been lost.  As you will hear in the blessing at the end of the service, in his birth, Jesus has reunited Heaven to Earth and Earth to Heaven.

When God became a human being, it was as if to draw attention to those things that the world and its people just don’t seem to get right.  There are those whose attention and passions are focused mostly on earthly things.  They give very little attention to the divine, to the spiritual aspects of life.  Their appetites and pleasures rule their lives, allowing their mortal bodies the greatest control over their behavior.

Then there are those focused on heavenly things at the loss of an earthly connection.  There are very real needs in our world that cannot wait for Jesus’ promised second coming.  The earth needs us to protect her, to care for her.  There are people in our midst that don’t need to hear a sermon as much as they need a warm meal and a safe place to live.

Jesus’ life represents a reunion of these two aspects of our existence as human beings.  We are physical beings with physical needs, but we are also spiritual beings who experience spiritual hunger, not just physical.  Jesus’ life and teachings draws some people’s eyes toward heaven, but it also should bring other people’s eyes back down to earth.

Jesus, then, represents this bridge figure, reuniting seeming opposites, but his life serves to remind us that in order to be fully human, we must embrace our divinity, and in order to reach the heights of spiritual bliss, we must live lives fully as humans.

In the New Year, some may embark on a new spiritual quest, doing meditation, reading all sorts of books.  Others will obsess about losing some weight or building muscle.  How about a balance of the two – spiritual and physical makeovers for us all.

So let us linger at the manger during this Christmas season.

That’s right, this Christmas season.  Tomorrow is just the first day of Christmas.  Everyone knows how many days of Christmas there are – we sing about them every year.  And yet come the day after tomorrow, stores will begin dismantling their displays, and some homeowners will even begin to take down decorations.

The world gives up just when the party is starting.  We have 12 days to celebrate the birth of the Messiah.  We have almost two full weeks to linger at the manger and consider the incarnation.

It’s not that merchants are anxious to put up their Epiphany decorations.  I’ve already seen hearts and cupids where the stockings and wrapping paper used to be.  Many people have grown bored with Christmas, and they are ready to move on.  We, at Christ Church, however, will not.  We will be singing “Christmas Carols” well into the New Year.

There are still others in a rush.  There are those who rush to Calvary much too quickly.  Some of the living nativities in the area actually end with a tableau of the crucifixion.  There are Christian retailers who sell ornamental nails with which we might festoon our Christmas trees.

Certainly we do not deny the reality of the cross and the resurrection and their importance to our faith, but might we take a little time to enjoy the life of Jesus and not rush to the death of Jesus?  Might we linger at the manger, consider the mystery of the incarnation, and like Mary, ponder these things in our hearts?

As the light has come to its brightest in the child who is born this night, let us celebrate that light in what is often a dark world.  Let us kindle the light of Christmas in our hearts this night and let us carry it forth into the world that the light may continue to grow and spread.  The light has come.  Our light has come.  May it truly banish the darkness and bring us hope.  Amen.

A sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, Year A
Matthew 1:18-25

In the gospel lesson this morning we are given a rare gift – a glimpse inside the thoughts and intentions of Joseph, Mary’s husband.  From what we can tell from the text, Joseph was a law-abiding citizen, willing to follow the customs and directions of both the religious and civil authorities.  But the text tells us specifically that Joseph was a righteous man.

What would a righteous man do when he discovered that the woman to whom he was betrothed was pregnant with another man’s child?  Joseph refuses to disgrace Mary, no matter what she has done.  In this way he proves himself both a loyal husband and a worthy father before the child is even born.

If you were to open a Bible and look at the 17 verses in Matthew that precede this, you would discover a list, a list of the ancestors of Joseph, all the way back to Abraham.  Joseph bears a great lineage, not only is he a son of Abraham, he is also a son of David.  Jewish men knew their pedigree.  It was a source of pride and of connection to their tribe and to the nation as a whole.

But the writer of Matthew doesn’t let this exercise in genealogy and pedigrees get in the way of the story of the birth of the Messiah.  After all of this preparation, listing generation after generation of men, and even two women (Rahab and Ruth), the gospel writer throws in a sudden surprised.  The messiah is begotten, not by Joseph, but by the Holy Spirit.

Some of the prophecies of the Messiah suggested that he would come through the line of David – a branch will come forth from the root of Jesse.  It would be from Bethlehem, the city of David that great things would come.

And now here, a righteous man, a descendent of David, is faced with a difficult decision.  An angel appears to him to allay his fears.  Angels only ever appeared in the Hebrew Scriptures at points when God was very close to the men and women of those stories, and these were usually turning points for everyone.

Joseph is participating in God’s plan for the world, just as so many of his ancestors before him.  Is this what prepared him for this moment – the story of the lives of his ancestors?  Might he have asked himself, “What would David do?”  Joseph’s heritage was considerable.  Perhaps it served as inspiration for his decision making, indeed his destiny.

An angel appears to Joseph and not only seeks to calm his fears but also to prophesy about this child.  This is no ordinary child.  Indeed this extraordinary lineage is only the beginning of the story.

This child will be called Jesus – the same root as the name for Joshua, meaning “Yahweh is Salvation.”  Again, God has come to the need of the children of Israel, including all those names in the genealogy.  God has broken in by means of the Holy Spirit, the same spirit that brooded over the deep at creation.  It is the same spirit that breathed life into the dry bones of Ezekiel’s vision.  God’s spirit is blowing again.

Joseph, himself a man of considerable pedigree, a worthy man indeed, is called upon to protect Mary and this child – this child who is also called Emmanuel, God with us.  Not only will this child save, but this child also represents something new – God has come among us.

This is the beautiful beginning of a long story, a story that stretches out before us this morning.  We will see this child grow into a man, a man of God who does great things.  We will hear of his miracles and listen to his teachings.   The writer of Matthew is carefully connecting the Messiah to the strongest branch of the tribes of Israel.  This Jesus would not be just any child, but a child born of the best pedigree.  Don’t forget this heritage as the story of Jesus as told by Matthew unfolds before us in the weeks and months to come.

But this morning we celebrate this other righteous man, this Joseph, son of Abraham, son of David.  May the courage and the example of righteous Joseph change our hearts this morning.  May we like Joseph listen for the voice of God even in the midst of great anxiety and doubt.  May we like Joseph choose to do the right thing, no matter what the cost may be of public scandal and ridicule.  Joseph shares in a great heritage, but none greater than his heritage as a son of God who listens and obeys.  Amen.

A sermon for the Second Sunday of Advent, Year A
Isaiah 11:1-10; Matthew 3:1-12

The light is growing.  The Second candle in our advent wreath has been lit.  As the light grows brighter, so should our sense of expectation.  With Mary we are expecting.  The fullness of time is almost here.  Her days and ours are almost complete.  Soon, a child will be born to us, a son will be given to us.  But not yet…

This season of advent is filled with growing light, opened calendars, preparation.  Prepare the way, O Zion, your Christ is drawing near.  The readings for Advent are populated by an unlikely cast of characters and an unexpected set of readings.  Unlikely and unexpected, that is, if you don’t normally make it to church until Christmas Eve.  The readings in Advent aren’t sentimental, full of shepherds and angels and wisemen.  Instead, the readings in Advent are full of apocalypse and warning, at least in the Gospel readings.

On this Sunday in particular we find our stage populated by prophets, namely Isaiah and John the Baptist.  It is hard to think of two more diverse approaches to prophecy.  Isaiah’s vision is of a peaceable kingdom, wolves and lambs lying down together, and children playing over the holes of snakes.  Snakes make an appearance in John’s prophecy as well, but it isn’t good news.  Rather than peaceable, the coming kingdom John is describing seems rather violent, with axes, winnowing forks and fires.

This is the two-fold nature of prophecy in scripture – good news and bad news.  Walter Brueggemann makes this distinction a bit more clearly when he points to examples of “prophetic criticizing” and “prophetic energizing.”  It’s not hard to affix labels this morning to which prophecy energizes and which one criticizes.

Prophets were seen as mouthpieces for God.  Hence we are familiar with the line, “Thus saith the Lord.”  Prophets arose in the midst of the people of Israel much like the Judges did.  Prophets typically arose in times of trouble, whether it be under a wicked king or while the children of Israel were in exile.  They spoke out about injustice and infidelity, calling the people to repent and remember God.   They pointed to how things should be, but also how the people had fallen short of God’s ideal – again this two-fold nature of prophecy – energizing and criticizing.

Marcus Borg describes them this way, “I see [the Prophets] as God-intoxicated, filled with the passion of God.  I speak of them as God-intoxicated voices of radical social criticism and God-intoxicated advocates of an alternative social vision. Their dream is God’s dream.”

The prophets were an interesting hodge-podge of characters.  Some lead relatively sheltered lives full of vision and proclamation.  Others spent their lives on the run like Elijah or on the margins of society as we see this morning with John the Baptist.

In Matthew’s Gospel, this John the Baptist, or more accurately John the Baptizer, suddenly appears on the scene.  In Luke’s Gospel we get his back story – this cousin of Jesus who is also the product of a miraculous birth, John leaping in his mother’s womb when Mary arrives.  But not in Matthew – John simply bursts onto the stage sounding very much like one of the prophets of old.

John’s tone may be a bit different that the prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures.  John seems convinced that God’s coming kingdom and God’s coming messiah are here – now!  But this coming kingdom, this kingdom that is now on their threshold is not good news for all of them.

John was in the wilderness, calling people to repentance and baptizing them as a sign of that repentance.  But not everyone who came to him was welcomed.  The Pharisees and Sadducees came too, but John turns them away, and not lightly.  He calls them, in the words of the Cottonpatch Gospel, “You sons of snakes!”

Why would John turn them away?

Perhaps because by baptizing them, John felt he would be too closely identifying with the religious parties they represented.  Perhaps it was that he wanted no religious leaders coming down into the waters of baptism until the messiah was on the scene.

The text seems to imply it had something to do with a sense of entitlement.  The religious leaders were coming to get baptized, not because they had shown signs of repentance but because they believed they were entitled because of their status.  This scene sets the tone for Matthew’s gospel, the source we will become very familiar with over the next year as our companion on the journey.   The writer of Matthew both highlights and criticizes the deep roots of Judaism that were a reality for that original audience.

The axe is lying at the root of the tree.  The messiah is coming with a winnowing fork in his hand to separate the wheat from the chaff.  These are images of change, of upsetting the status quo.  John is the premier example of prophetic criticizing.

The passage from First Isaiah, however, is markedly different.  Rather than cutting down a tree – new life is springing up.  This messiah comes with both power and righteousness.  Yes, the wicked will be judged, but that isn’t the focus of the prophecy.  Instead we hear in great detail this vision of peace.  God’s ultimate plan for the human race will be fulfilled – this is prophetic energizing at its finest.

Hearing this I think of someone like Dr. King who looked beyond the turmoil that faced his people to a day in the future when all the struggling and violence would be over – the Promised Land.  This may be Isaiah’s version of “Keep your eyes on the prize.”  Former enemies will not just live in peace, but they will prosper together.  There will be plenty to eat and no reason to lose sleep.  The messiah will judge the poor with equity and righteousness.  There will be no violence or murder.  The knowledge of the Lord will cover the earth like the waters cover the sea.  And this peaceable kingdom will draw all nations to the Lord.

Who doesn’t prefer this kind of prophecy to John’s tirade?

And yet, we have both.  Advent is a time of preparation.  We know the good news of Christmas morning, and with Mary we wait for the birth of this child, this child that shall lead us all in the peaceable kingdom.  And yet, this kingdom, this commonwealth of God is not to be had in passivity.  That, if anything, is John’s word to us.

Bear fruit worthy of repentance.  The kingdom has come near.

Prepare the way.

His rule is peace and freedom, and justice, truth and love.

We prepare not just by lighting candles or opening calendars.  We prepare for the coming kingdom by living like that kingdom was a reality already – working for justice and righteousness, treating the poor with equity.  When we live like the kingdom is a reality, something already in our midst, it has consequences for our lives and our actions.

Where do we need to repent?  How can we make a level path, a road in this wilderness?  These are questions to be pondered as we wait with Mary.

Speak ye to Jerusalem of the peace that waits for them; tell her that her sins I cover and her warfare now is over.  Amen.

A sermon for the 24th Sunday after Pentecost, Year C
Luke 20:27-38

I’m not surprised anymore.  The shock has worn off.  I dropped by one of the home center stores in Christiansburg this past week for a quick purchase.  I walked around a corner and found myself in a Christmas wonderland.

Long gone are the days of my childhood when no self-respecting retailer would have put up Christmas decorations until after Thanksgiving.  In 1937 in an effort to help the struggling economy by lengthening the Christmas shopping season, then president, Franklin Roosevelt, moved the observance of Thanksgiving up one week.  The outrage was palpable, so he moved it back.  Hard to believe.

Now, Thanksgiving is little more than a super-sized, calorie-filled excuse to gorge oneself halfway between Halloween and Christmas.  It’s a day to rest up before the shopping bonanza begins in earnest the next morning.  When was the last time you saw a real, honest –to-goodness Thanksgiving display anywhere outside a grocery store?  Halloween has been cleared away for Christmas.

Well, we here in the Episcopal Church are a little funny in comparison to the consumer culture around us.  It will be weeks before you get a hint of holiday greenery in this space and over a month before you’ll hear your first Christmas carol.  And you know what?  We like it that way.

We aren’t finished with Pentecost yet!  But this morning, we are one step closer to Advent.  Need I remind you that Advent is not a time in the church of just lighting candles and opening calendars?  When we get to the readings for Advent, people often scratch their heads, especially visitors.  The readings are full of prophecy and apocalyptic visions.  Advent prepares us not just for the first coming of Christ at Christmas, but the second coming of Christ, a belief we reaffirm each week in the Creed and the Eucharistic prayers.

In the meantime, in these last few weeks of the season after Pentecost, before Advent begins, you may notice the readings taking on a more ominous tone, especially the Gospel readings, setting the stage for what is to come in Advent.  We may yet even encounter Calvary before we can find our way back to Bethlehem.

The Gospel reading this morning is a great example of this sobering mood.  It is from the latter half of Luke’s Gospel and tension is growing between Jesus and the religious establishment in Jerusalem.  More often than any other group, Luke’s Jesus has conflicts with the Pharisees, but there are other religious sects and authorities that butt up against his ministry and teachings.  This morning we encounter the Sadducees.

This is the one and only appearance of Sadducees in Luke’s Gospel, while they play a much more visible role in both Matthew’s Gospel and Acts.  The Sadducees were a sect among the Jews of Jesus’ day that probably more resembled a political party than a religious club.  They were named after Zadok one of the high priests from the time of Solomon.  For our purposes here, we need to consider two of their core teachings: they believed that the only the Torah, the Law as laid out in the first Five books of their scriptures, held authority, and it was a literal authority.  They did not value the role of Rabbis to teach and interpret the scriptures.  Secondly, as a result of this strict adherence to the Torah, and because there is no explicit mention of the resurrection or the after-life in those first books, they rejected any belief in such teachings held by the Pharisees and Jesus’ followers.

The other piece of background information we need to is place this Gospel reading in the course of Luke.  This is the third encounter in Chapter 20 between Jesus and religious authorities trying to trap him with questions.  First the scribes and the chief priests demanded to know by what authority he was teaching – God authority or human authority.  Jesus stumped them by pointing back to John the Baptist as a prophet they revered and didn’t dare question.   Then immediately preceding today’s text, we are told that the same chief priests and scribes send spies in order to trap Jesus by asking him the question about rendering unto Caesar.  Jesus again is too smart for them, by leaving them with a question.  Just as an aside, these three encounters actually occur in the same order in Matthew, Mark and Luke and in roughly the same place in the narrative. It seems that these words were among the most retold of Jesus’ sayings.

And so into this already tense scene appear the Sadducees.  Unlike the Pharisees, these men had many profound differences with Jesus that separated them.  Indeed it is doubtful that they even respected his opinion.  They aren’t coming to him for an answer to their question – they are posing an impossible and absurd scenario in order to both embarrass and discredit Jesus.  Try hearing derisive laughter underneath this question.  They find the idea of the resurrection as both foolish and false, and they are out to ridicule anyone who believes in it.

Their attempt to stump Jesus falls flat, not because Jesus debates them based on the scenario they have presented, but because Jesus redirects both them and the crowd listening to the exchange.  Jesus points to the very nature of God and returns to first principles.  The Sadducees didn’t see the scriptures as a living document, but rather a source of ammunition for their arguments.  They quoted scripture in order to support their position.  Jesus, on the other hand, seems to value something greater in the scriptures – the life within it that brings life to those who read it and hear it.

They are asking Jesus a ridiculous and impossible question, and he, in turn, gives them a radical answer, just as he did in other similar situations when asked loaded questions.  Jesus won’t play their game of case law – who’s wife will the woman be? 

The very question should remind us of the nature of marriage at this time – women were less equal partners in a marriage than they were property to be exchanged and claimed.  To me this question is offensive in more ways than just one, but Jesus doesn’t address this view of women.  He refuses to be trapped by their question.  They want a simple answer so they can refute and embarrass Jesus and then spread the word around in order to discredit him.

Jesus instead answers with words that still shock and confuse us.  The unfortunate tendency for many Christians over the centuries is to take this teaching of Jesus out of this context, forgetting who is asking him and why.  Instead Christians will quote this passage verbatim, leading to all kinds of confused doctrine.

Indeed, Christian sects like the Shakers read this passage literally and, therefore, believed in absolute celibacy – there would be NO marriage in their communities because that’s what Jesus taught – right?

Well, as the Shakers have dwindled down to a handful of elderly practitioners and occasional converts, one must ask, is Jesus really telling us that the only worthy people are those who haven’t married?

Hardly.  Why would Jesus have gone to the wedding at Cana if he believed marriage to be only for the unworthy?

I can guarantee you this much – this passage is NOT about marriage.  It is about the nature of the children of God.

Jesus takes them back to the ground before the burning bush – a ground very familiar to the Sadducees.  How does God address Moses – as the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.  God speaks of them as if they were still alive, the Lord is still their God.  Jesus places the question not on the issue of marriage, but on how the Sadducees view God’s children.

By saying “those who are considered worthy of a place in that age,” Jesus is directly confronting their authority, implying that they were the unworthy ones.  For many in that society, marriage was an issue of status, of identity.  Jesus is yet again turning the tables – why be so focused on marriage, Jesus challenges them.  What difference will it make in the life to come – God’s children live on, they do not die.

God is not the God of the dead, but of the living.  Jesus said.  The woman they use as an example has more infinite worth to Jesus and to God, not based on who she is married to, not based on who owns her, but based on God’s nature as the God of the living.  The question for them, then, is not whose wife will this woman be, but why can you not see her value in God’s eyes.

I would be remiss this morning if I did not acknowledge Veteran’s Day – commemorating the day 89 years ago that the guns of World War I fell silent at the 11^th hour on the 11^th day of the 11^th month of 1918.  Ever since then we have used this same day to remember all those who have served their country in military service.  The God of Jesus, as we have seen this morning, is the God of the living not of the dead.  This is a fact that we celebrate every cold Easter morning when we find the tomb empty and shout out Alleluia.  This is a fact we remember at every funeral service, pointing to the hope of the resurrection.  This is a fact that we commemorate every time we share in the Lord’s Supper – God is a God of the living, to God all of those who have gone before us are alive, sharing in the life eternal.  Thanks be to God, the God of the living, that it is not death but life that awaits us.  Amen.

A sermon for the 23rd Sunday after Pentecost
Luke 19:1-10

Our days with Luke are drawing to a close.  Just a few more weeks and we will be in Advent and find ourselves once again with Matthew as our traveling guide through the Gospels.   But before we leave Luke, there are a few more stories and even a difficult saying of Jesus to be heard.

This morning we hear this familiar story of Zacchaeus, the wee little man.  This is one of the stories from the life and ministry of Jesus that seems to resonate with adults and children alike.  I recall singing the children’s song about Zacchaeus,  “Zacchaeus, You come down!”  I think children connect to the story because, like them, Zacchaeus is short and cannot always see what is going on.  Like a child might, Zacchaeus climbs a tree in order to see better.  With this reading Zacchaeus is seen as courageous, overcoming his disadvantage with cleverness and great faith.  Little did I know that there was so much about this story that a child’s reading misses.

When we place Zacchaeus in the cast list of the other memorable figures we have encountered along the way in this year of Luke, nearly past, we might see some similarities.  Like so many of the individuals that Jesus encounters in Luke’s Gospel, Zacchaeus is an outcast, but what sets Zacchaeus apart, and this is his one and only appearance in the Gospels, he doesn’t approach Jesus.  Unlike blind Bartimaeus or the lepers who Jesus healed, we find no suggestion that Zacchaeus is reaching out to Jesus.  The text only tells us that he is trying to see better and climbs up into a tree.

 Jesus calls to Zacchaeus, not the other way around.

When it says that Zacchaeus couldn’t see because of the crowd, could it be that they refused to let him through because of their disdain for him?  Was Zacchaeus more comfortable up in the tree, out of the reach and the scorn of the townspeople?  It’s almost as if they chased him up the tree.

Zacchaeus was a notorious sinner and the crowd reacts accordingly.  He was a chief tax collector, and, by extension, a chief collaborator with the occupying Roman authority.  He was not just outcast like a leper or blind man, but he was despised.  The tree clearly was his only option to see Jesus.

Note how the encounter unfolds – Zacchaeus doesn’t ask a question or even plead for mercy.  Jesus approaches him.  Could Jesus hear the crowd taunting Zacchaeus?  Did Jesus see the dirty looks people might have been giving him?  Whatever the reason, Jesus chooses Zacchaeus to put God’s indiscriminate mercy and God’s inclusive grace on display.

Of all the homes in Jericho Jesus could have visited, it is Zacchaeus’ home that receives this great honor.   We have discussed before the central role hospitality had in ancient Jewish culture, one that continues to this day in most Middle-Eastern cultures.  To be given the chance to host Jesus in his home must have been both thrilling and daunting to Zacchaeus.  But was this request of Jesus simply for Zacchaeus’ sake?  Let’s consider that in a moment.

First let’s set this story in the larger context of Luke.  In the chapter immediately preceding this one, Jesus is confronted by the rich young ruler.  When he asks Jesus what he may do to inherit eternal life, Jesus tells him simply – sell all you have and give to the poor.

There is no suggestion that the rich young ruler had earned his wealth through fraudulent means.  There is no reason to think that he has anything less than a spotless reputation among his peers.  Zacchaeus, in more ways than one, serves as a counter to the rich young ruler.  Zacchaeus, a rich, despised tax collector, models for Luke’s audience and for us what Jesus was getting at when he describes salvation.

We don’t see Zacchaeus groveling at Jesus’ feet.  He simply says, and emphatically, “I will give to the poor and make things right!”  Jesus commends him, this son of Abraham, for salvation has come to his house.  The rich young ruler left his encounter with Jesus grieving, but Zacchaeus has reason to rejoice.

Do you see how Luke’s Jesus is yet again turning the tables?  It’s as if he is saying to the crowd, “Do you want to see someone who understands what it means to give to the poor – don’t ask a rich, young ruler, ask a notorious tax collector!”  Luke’s Jesus is yet again pointing to an unlikely role-model as he has done throughout Luke’s Gospel – the notorious woman who alone paid Jesus honor at the home of Simon the Pharisee, the Samaritan traveler who alone understands what it means to be a neighbor, the Samaritan leper who alone was thankful for his healing, and now this, a notorious, despised tax collector alone seems to understand what Jesus means by finding salvation amidst great wealth.  Don’t ask the rich young ruler, ask the tax-collector.  Don’t ask the Pharisee, ask the notorious, outcast woman.  Don’t ask the priest or the Levite, ask a Samaritan.

This is not quite the story we sang about in Vacation Bible School.

In today’s parlance it might be like saying, “Do you want to understand the value of a thing?  Ask someone who is denied it.  Want to meet someone who values health care and free education?  Here’s an illegal immigrant.  Want to talk to someone who understands the value and sanctity of marriage?  Ask a gay couple who are denied the right by our government.”  Luke’s Jesus is pointing to the unlikely, the outcast, those on the margins as the ones who understand his message.  The powerless understand power better than anyone else.

But there’s another nuance to this story – the way Jesus treats Zacchaeus, just as he treated the woman who anointed his feet and the grateful leper.  He treats Zacchaeus with respect and dignity.  And note, Zacchaeus’ repentance comes not before Jesus will think about entering his home, but after.  Jesus doesn’t set repentance as a prerequisite for fellowship or inclusion.  Jesus invites himself over to the home of a notorious sinner.

What must the people of Jericho have thought!  Here again, Jesus is risking his own reputation by eating a meal with the most notorious sinner in that town.  So I ask you, could Jesus have been using this moment with Zacchaeus not just to call Zacchaeus to repentance for his sinful ways, but to call the people of Jericho to repentance as well.  Rather than isolate and despise Zacchaeus as the town people had done, Jesus treats him with dignity and respect, giving him an opportunity to show hospitality.  When was the last time any of those town’s people had shown Zacchaeus even the smallest measure of kindness?

Might Jesus be modeling for us a new way of treating the outcast?  Is Jesus through turning tables here in Luke?  By making the first move, Jesus closed the distance, looking up at this isolated and, yes, lonely man, and extending to him mercy.

Jesus invites us to his table, to receive God’s hospitality, God’s welcome.  Who understands this irresistible grace better than those whose lives are empty of grace?  Who is hungrier than those in our midst who need mercy?  May God give us eyes to see those who may live lives of such isolation, but also the hearts to reach out to them, sinful though they may be, with God’s love and God’s mercy.  And may God give us hearts full of repentance for the ways we have been complicit in chasing an outcast person up a tree so that they might too catch a glimpse of Jesus.  Amen.

A sermon for the 20th Sunday after Pentecost
Luke 17:11-19

I can’t tell you how glad I was to sit down with the lessons for today and not find myself confronted with a prophetic downer from the Hebrew scriptures, a scolding from Paul or yet another of the difficult sayings of Jesus.

Instead we read of God instructing the nation of Israel, taken into captivity, to seek the welfare of their captors, which is indeed their welfare as well.  We hear Paul encouraging Timothy in his faith, calling him to be a workman with no need to be ashamed.  And now, this story of Jesus and the ten lepers.

This is one of the many stories I recall hearing taught to me as a child growing up in Sunday School and Vacation Bible School.  And what, of course, was the point of this story when teaching it to children – be sure to say “Thank you”!  A lesson in etiquette – my, how timely!

Well I hate to disappoint you this morning, but I’m not going to preach about the loss of politeness in our society, though I certainly could.  Nor am I going to turn this into a sermon about tithing, with apologies to the wardens and Vestry, even though we are in the height of what is traditionally “stewardship season.”

Rather, I want to look at what is going on both in and behind the text of the Gospel lesson this morning.  No surprise there – it’s a bad habit of mine.

There was perhaps no more dread disease in the Biblical world than that of leprosy.  There is much debate over whether this was what we have come to call “Hansen’s Disease” today.  Many scholars suggest the term may have simply been a catchall for many different kinds of skin diseases, such as fungus and eczema.  Regardless of what is exactly being described, a skin disease was not only painful and often life threatening, it was first and foremost isolating.

Do you remember the scene in the later version of Ben Hur when he visits the leper colony and other Biblical epics with similar scenes – lepers from a distance shouting out, “Unclean!  Unclean!”  The purity codes of Jewish Law pronounced those with all kinds of skin diseases to be ritually “unclean.”  Based on Jewish and even Roman civil law, lepers were forced to leave their families and their towns and live in isolation, often without benefit of sanitation or shelter.  Even if the disease itself didn’t kill you, the treatment of the community might prove even more fatal.

Jewish Law went on to instruct that to even touch a leper would render that previously clean person “unclean” and force her to undergo the ritual libations and washings that would make her once again clean, fit for society, unless of course she were unfortunate enough to contract the disease herself.   To my mind this would have been among of the worst aspects of the disease – isolation.  Can we even begin to imagine what it would be like to live with the fact that no one could touch you?  What could be worse? 

Some of you are old enough to remember the early days of the AIDS crisis in this country.  Do you remember how back then people with AIDS were treated very much like lepers.  There was palpable fear when someone with AIDS was around.  Some churches stopped using the common cup for fear that HIV could be spread through drinking after an infected person.  And yes, sadly, people were afraid even to touch those who were HIV+. 

I can only imagine how devastating this isolation must have been for those who most needed the embrace of friends and loved ones.

Keeping their distance, they called out, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”

The ten lepers Jesus encounters in the gospel lesson seem to have formed their own group, their own community, banding together – a smart move, if you ask me.  Jesus meets them as he enters this unnamed village, the implication is that they are outside, removed from the life of the village by their status as unclean.

Isn’t it interesting that they don’t ask Jesus to heal them; they ask Jesus for mercy.  Had they asked for healing from God and others for so long they had given up?  Did they realize that before a rabbi or other religious official would approach them, he would have to be merciful?  It would be so easy to pass them by, leave them at a distance in their isolation.

I find it interesting that Jesus does not individually heal each one with dramatic, Hollywood friendly scenes with loud music and gasps from the onlookers.  No, Jesus simply says, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.”  These men have been cast out of the community.  They are looking to be restored, to be welcomed back.  And who could do that?  Who could restore these men to their families, to their homes?  Only a priest could.  A priest had to declare a leper clean before he or she could return to the community.

As they went they were made clean.  The writer of Luke doesn’t say, “they were healed,” but rather, “they were made clean.”  Now, if you’ve heard me preach more than once or twice over the last few months, especially during the difficult sayings of Jesus, you won’t be surprised the subtext I hear in this passage.  Luke’s Jesus is constantly confronting the religious establishment, challenging them to welcome back in the unclean, the outcast.

They were made clean.  I don’t to put too fine a point on the choice of words here, but it does strike me that it might be that these men needed less healing than those who had rejected them – that would certainly fit in with Luke’s Jesus.

John Dominic Crossan points out that by making these men clean, Jesus is asking for the priests to acknowledge Jesus’ power, setting himself up as equal to the power of the Temple, thus heightening the tensions between them.

Regardless, the ten lepers are made clean and rush to show themselves to the priest.  Wonderful reunions are coming – these men will be restored to their families, to their religious community, perhaps even to their professions.  An occasion of much rejoicing and rightly so!

It is at this point that the writer of Luke turns the tables yet again.  One of the lepers stops and takes time both to praise God and to thank Jesus.  And not just thank, but he prostrates himself before Jesus.

And guess it, it was a Samaritan.  Luke’s Gospel has featured Samaritans in some interesting roles.  Remember a few months ago when the disciples wanted to call down fire on a Samaritan village?  And then, of course, the parable Jesus tells of the Samaritan neighbor who alone stops to help the Jewish man who had been mugged on the road to Jericho.  And now this lone thankful leper turns out to be a Samaritan.  Can you hear the crowd murmuring in response to this unlikely turn in the story?  Did the Pharisees stop murmuring and start grumbling?

Luke’s Jesus makes the point very clear as he asks aloud, “The other nine, where are they?  Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?”

And the writer of Luke isn’t done yet – this man, this Samaritan, alone is “made well” and he is done so on account of his faith.  Where they were all made clean by Jesus mercy, this man’s faith has made him well.  Is it the fact that he is a Samaritan that makes him more thankful?  A Jewish rabbi has healed him.  Is this man hedging his bets, thanking this rabbi who has shown him mercy even when he technically didn’t deserve it?  Will the priest be as welcoming and merciful?  Jesus has changed his physical condition, but will he still be rejected by the community because he is a Samaritan?

Luke’s Gospel loves to leave some questions open ended.  It leaves us all room to ponder.

The Eucharist is a moment in the life of our community where we discover ourselves accepted.  All are welcome at the Lord’s Table.  We are declared clean, restored.  We receive grace and mercy, freely offered to us.  The word Eucharist comes from the Greek word for thanksgiving.  In the post-communion prayer, which ever rite you choose, we, like the leper in today’s Gospel give thanks to God.

The question we face is “now what”?  With hearts full of thanks for the mercy shown to us, we can either keep that mercy and kindness to ourselves, or we can extend it to others.  We can rejoice that we are forgiven, restored, a community reconciled with God and with each other.  So what?  Are we the kind of community that then makes room for more of the unclean and the outcast, or do we keep certain “unclean” people waiting on the doorstep to be shown a little mercy?

By Peter Graff
Thu Oct 11, 10:37 AM ET

More than 130 Muslim scholars from around the globe called on Thursday for peace and understanding between Islam and Christianity, saying "the very survival of the world itself is perhaps at stake."

In an unprecedented letter to Pope Benedict and other Christian leaders, 138 Muslim scholars said finding common ground between the world's biggest faiths was not simply a matter for polite dialogue between religious leaders.

"If Muslims and Christians are not at peace, the world cannot be at peace. With the terrible weaponry of the modern world; with Muslims and Christians intertwined everywhere as never before, no side can unilaterally win a conflict between more than half of the world's inhabitants," the scholars wrote.

"Our common future is at stake. The very survival of the world itself is perhaps at stake," they wrote, adding that Islam and Christianity already agreed that love of God and neighbor were the two most important commandments of their faiths.

Relations between Muslims and Christians have been strained as al Qaeda has struck around the world and as the United States and other Western countries intervened in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Such a joint letter is unprecedented in Islam, which has no central authority that speaks on behalf of all worshippers.

The list of signatories includes senior figures throughout the Middle East, Asia, Africa, Europe and North America. They represent Sunni, Shi'ite and Sufi schools of Islam.

Among them were the grand muftis of Egypt, Palestine, Oman, Jordan, Syria, Bosnia and Russia and many imams and scholars. War-torn Iraq was represented by both Shi'ites and Sunnis.

Mustafa Cagrici, the mufti who prayed with Benedict in Istanbul's Blue Mosque last year, was also on the list, as was the popular Egyptian television preacher Amr Khaled.

"MAINSTREAM VOICES DROWNED OUT"

The letter was addressed to the Pope, leaders of Orthodox Christian churches, Anglican leader Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams and the heads of the world alliances of the Lutheran, Methodist, Baptist and Reformed churches.

Williams said he welcomed it as "indicative of the kind of relationship for which we yearn in all parts of the world."

"The call to respect, peace and goodwill should now be taken up by Christians and Muslims at all levels and in all countries," he said.

A Vatican official in Rome said the Roman Catholic Church would not comment until it had time to read the letter.

Aref Ali Nayed, one of the signatories and a senior adviser to the Cambridge Interfaith Program at Cambridge University in Britain, said the signatories represented the "99.9 percent of Muslims" who follow mainstream schools and oppose extremism.

"In Islam we have had a problem for some time now where the mainstream voices are drowned out by a minority that choose violence," he said.

Nayed said organizers of the letter had set up an ad hoc network among Muslim leaders that could lead to more cooperation in future.

"These people don't take their signatures lightly," he said. "We are trying to institutionalize this so we don't lose it."

The overture to Christians could be followed by similar letters addressed to Jews or secularists, he added.

Pope Benedict sparked Muslim protests last year with a speech hinting Islam was violent and irrational. It prompted 38 Muslim scholars to write a letter challenging his view of Islam and accepting his call for serious Christian-Muslim dialogue.

Benedict repeatedly expressed regret for the reaction to the speech, but stopped short of a clear apology sought by Muslims.

The new letter argues in theological terms, giving quotes from the Koran and the Bible that show both Christianity and Islam considered love of God as their greatest commandment and love of neighbor as the second greatest.

"The basis for this peace and understanding already exists," it said. "It is part of the very foundational principles of both faiths: love of the one God and love of the neighbor."

Now that the Church has had some time to absorb and consider the recent meeting of the House of Bishops in New Orleans and its response to the Anglican Communion, I’d like to share with you what I experienced at the recent House of Bishops meeting, and where I think we are as a result.

There is NO “mind of the House” nor a “mind of the Episcopal Church.” In fact, we are a House and a Church of many different minds. We are in transition from the Church we have been called to be in the past, to the Church we are called to be now and in the future. We are not there yet.

I value highly the thoughts and needs of my brother and sister conservative bishops, who have no intention of leading their flocks out of the Episcopal Church, but come out of dioceses which, for the most part, find the Episcopal Church’s actions of the last four years troublesome and alarming. I listened to them when they voiced the fears of their people that changing our views on homosexuality is a precursor to moving on to denying important tenets of our orthodox faith, from the Trinity to the Resurrection. We worked for a statement which would reflect the diversity we recognize and value as a strength of our Episcopal communion. It was our goal to describe the Church as it currently is: NOT of one mind, but struggling to be of one heart.

My own goal – and that of many bishops – was to do NOTHING at this meeting. That is, our goal, in response to the Primates, was simply to state where we are as an Episcopal Church, not to move us forward or backward. Sometimes, “progress” is to be found in holding the ground we’ve already achieved, when “moving forward” is either untimely or not politically possible. And, doing nothing substantive respects the rightful reminder to us from many in the Senior House that the House of Bishops cannot speak for the whole Church, but rather must wait until all orders of ministry are gathered for its joint deliberations at General Convention.

While many of us worked hard to block B033 and voted against it at General Convention, it IS the most recent declaration of all orders of ministry gathered as a Church. The Bishops merely restated what is, as of the last General Convention.

Yes, we did identify gay and lesbian people as among the group included in those who ‘present a challenge” to the Communion. That comes as a surprise to no one. It is a statement of who we are at the moment. Sad, but true.

Many bishops spoke on behalf of their lgbt members and worked hard to prevent our movement backwards. We fought hard over certain words, certain language. We sidelined some things that truly would have represented a movement backwards.

I want to tell you what I said to the Archbishop of Canterbury. In the course of his comments, it seemed to me that the Archbishop was drawing a line between fidelity to our gay and lesbian members, and fidelity to the “process of common discernment,” which he had offered as a prime function of a bishop. I heard him saying that gay and lesbian members of our Church would simply have to wait until there was a consensus in the Communion. When we were invited to respond, I said something like, “Your Grace, I have always respected you as a person and your office, and I always will. But I want you to know and hear, that to me, a gay man and faithful member of this Church, this is one of the most dehumanizing things I’ve heard in a long time, and I will not be party to it. It reminds me of Jesus question ‘Is the Sabbath made for man, or man for the Sabbath?’ Choosing a process over the lives of human beings and faithful members of this Church is simply unacceptable and unscriptural.” The next morning, the Archbishop tried to assure us that he meant both/and rather than either/or. I tried to speak my truth to him.

On the issue of same sex unions, I argued that our statement be reflective of what is true right now in the Episcopal Church: that while same sex blessings are not officially permitted in most dioceses, they are going on and will continue to go on as an appropriate pastoral response to our gay and lesbian members and their relationships. Earlier versions of our response contained both sides of this truth. I argued to keep both sides of that truth in the final version, providing the clarity asked for by the Primates.

Others made the argument that to state that “a majority of Bishops do not sanction such blessings” implied that a minority do in fact sanction such blessings, and many more take no actions to prevent them. All this without coming right out and saying so. That argument won the day. I think it was a mistake.

Another issue to which I spoke was this notion of “public” versus “private” rites. I pointed out on the floor that our very theology of marriage is based on the communal nature of such a rite. Presumably, the couple has already made commitments to one another privately, or else they would not be seeking Holy Matrimony. What happens in a wedding is that the COMMUNITY is drawn into the relationship – the vows are taken in the presence of that community and the community pledges itself to support the couple in the keeping of their vows. It is, by its very nature, a “public” event – no matter how many or how few people are in attendance. The same goes for our solemn commitments to one another as lgbt couples.

I suspect that these efforts to keep such rites “private” is just another version of “don’t ask, don’t tell.” If avoidance of further conflict is the goal, then I can understand it. But if speaking the truth in love is the standard by which we engage in our relationships with the Communion, then no.

Let me also state strongly that I believe that the Joint Standing Committee of the ACC and Primates MISunderstood us when they stated that they understood that the HOB in fact “declared a ‘moratorium on all such public Rites.’” Neither in our discussions nor in our statement did we agree to or declare such a moratorium on permitting such rites to take place. That may be true in many or most dioceses, but that is certainly not the case in my own diocese and many others. The General Convention has stated that such rites are indeed to be considered within the bounds of the pastoral ministry of this Church to its gay and lesbian members, and that remains the policy of The Episcopal Church.

Lastly, let me respond to the very real pain in the knowledge that the change we long for takes time. This movement forward is going to take a long time. That doesn’t make it right. It certainly does not make it easy. Dr. King rightly said that “justice delayed is justice denied,” but that didn’t stop him from accepting and applauding incremental advances along the way.

We have every right to be impatient. We MUST keep pushing the Church to do the right thing. We must never let anyone believe that we will be satisfied with anything less than the full affirmation of us and our relationships as children of God.

BUT, I will continue to try to remain realistic in my approach. I work hard, and pray hard, to find the patience to stay at the table as long as it takes. And I hope we can refrain from attacking our ALLIES for not doing enough, soon enough. The bridges we are burning today may turn out to be the bridges we want to cross in the future. Let’s not destroy them.

We need to be in this for the long haul. For us to get overly discouraged when we don’t get all that we want, as fast as we want, seems counterproductive to me. We should never capitulate to less than all God wants for us, but to lose heart when we don’t move fast enough, and to attack the Church we are trying to help redeem, seems counterproductive.

The two days of listening to the Archbishop of Canterbury and some members of the ACC were the two hardest days I’ve had since my consecration. (It was a constant and holy reminder to me of the pain all of YOU continue to experience every day at the hands of a Church which is not yet what it is called to be. Ours is a difficult and transforming task: to continue serving a church that seems to love us less than we love it!) I was comforted by the support I DID receive from those straight bishops who spoke up for us, and especially by many of the Bishops of color, who implicitly “got” what I was trying to say and defied the majority with their support of me and of us. I was even encouraged by many conservative bishops’ willingness to work together to craft a statement we, liberal and conservative alike, could all live with.

I believe with my whole heart that the Spirit is alive and well and living in our Church – even in the House of Bishops. I believe Jesus when he told his disciples, on the night before he died for us, that they were not ready to hear and understand all that he had to teach them – and that he would send the Holy Spirit to lead them into all truth. I believe that now is such a moment, when the Church, in its plodding and all-too-slow a way, is being guided into truth about its gay and lesbian members. It took ME 39 years to acknowledge who I was as a gay man and to affirm that I too am considered precious by God. Of course, the very next day after telling my parents, I expected them immediately to catch up to what had taken me 39 years to come to. Mercifully, it has not taken them the same 39 years to do so. The Church family is no different. It is going to take TIME.

I voted “yes” to the HOB statement. I believe it was the best we could do at this time. I am far less committed to being ideologically and unrelentingly pure, and far more interested in the “art of the possible.” Am I totally pleased with our statement? Of course not. Do I wish we could have done more? Absolutely. Can I live with it? Yes, I can. For right now. Until General Convention, which is the appropriate time for us to take up these issues again as a Church, with all orders of ministry present. I am taking to heart the old 60’s slogan, “Don’t whine, organize!”

I am always caught between the vision I believe God has for God’s Church, and the call to stay at the table, in communion with those who disagree with me about that vision – or, as is the case for most bishops, who disagree about the appropriate “timing” for reaching that vision of full inclusion. In this painful meantime, please pray for me as I seek to serve the people of my diocese and you, the community of which I am so honored to be a part.

Your brother in Christ,

+Gene

Ok, the minute I looked at the photo, I was struck how other-worldly it looks, almost like an illustration. But the unfinished nature of the building made me flashback to some of the old illustrations I've seen of the Tower of Babel, when the workers threw down their tools in confusion and walked away.

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A DIFFICULT Sermon for the 15th Sunday after Pentecost
Philemon 1-21; Luke 14:25-33

When we hear Jesus’ words, we may envision an angry daughter tearing up a Mother’s Day card or a grandson walking out on the family’s Thanksgiving Dinner.  But I assure you, Jesus’ words are far heavier than that! 

“Whoever comes to me and does not hate wife and children cannot be my disciple.”

Is this Jesus talking?  The man who celebrated the wedding at Cana!

Jesus’ words strike us as harsh, no room for negotiation.  We want to say, “But wait, Jesus…”

“Whoever comes to me and does not hate even life itself cannot be my disciple.”

Wow, Jesus, I’m trying to find the “good news” here.

Have you ever wanted to change a radio station or change the TV channel when you hear an interview turn uncomfortable or a debate become nasty?  That’s the kind of feeling I get when I heard words like this come out of Jesus’ mouth.

Truth is, Jesus’ words would have been even harsher to the ears of his listeners in the day that he spoke them than we can even begin to hear.  Imagine a society where the family is the primary organizational unit, providing place, status, and power.  You identified with your family, your extended family and clan, more than any other marker in their culture. 

The men, of course, were on top – fathers and then sons in decreasing rank.  Women had no power.   People understood their place in society through their family.  This is why widows and orphans were to be pitied, and lone individuals like John the Baptist were such an anomaly.

All that you did, your career, your education, your marriage, it was all for the family.  There were very few decisions you could make without the obligations to family coming first.  The rabbi you followed was very much a matter of family choice, well, the patriarch’s choice.  The father determined whether a family was to follow the teachings of Hillel or Gamaliel, for example.

Now Jesus has appeared on the scene – another rabbi.  I love the note, “Now large crowds were traveling with Jesus.”  I wonder if he wasn’t striking a very heavy note to thin out the casual followers.  Or, could it be that in this crowd were families, fathers bringing their sons to hear the new, controversial rabbi.

Might Jesus be demanding that their attraction to him, their loyalty, be genuine, not based their family’s identity or their father’s choice?

In this crowd, Jesus saw faces of people who were in a system that left them very little freedom.  Jesus knew that their hands were tied.  So many of their decisions had already been made for them – who they were going to marry, what profession they would have, where they would live.

Jesus numbered among his disciples men who had walked away from their families.  Peter and Andrew, James and John, and perhaps others, had abandoned the family business – fishing.  Surely Jesus’ disciples heard his words with a sting of recognition.

I believe Jesus is laying down a fundamental principle of what God’s kingdom, God’s commonwealth was going to be like.  The system of patriarchy and loyalty demands of family was at an end.  It was as if Jesus was drawing a line in the sand, telling this large crowd, if you cannot leave behind the system of tribalism and conformity that you have been raised with, come no further.  With me, things are going to be different.

This is how radically counter-cultural Jesus’ message was.  We cannot hear it quite like they did, but it is important for us to try.

The first Christians learned what it meant to count the cost to follow Jesus, to stand against the family systems and loyalties that could often be unjust.  In Jesus’ new order, money and possessions would not be the priority.  People would not be cast out or made to feel that they were less or least or last.  The poor would not be overlooked.  Gentiles and women would be welcomed in.  People would begin to understand who their neighbors truly were.

Many of the first Christians lost their families.  Following Jesus had meant they had to walk away from their loyalties and the demands placed on them.  Many of them may have been counted as dead by their fathers and mothers.

This beautiful epistle reading we have this morning – Paul is writing to a leader in the church, Philemon and those who were in Philemon’s church family.  Paul writes to the church in his house.  Paul calls him “brother.”  Familial language.  The letter seems to have been brought to them by Onesimus the young man mentioned in the letter, who was once a slave, but is now free.  Paul is sending Onesimus to them, bearing this letter, pleading with them to take Onesimus back in, but not keep him forever. 

There is a context here – “formerly he was useless to you, but now he is useful…”  We don’t know the story or the context, but we do know this much.  Paul has adopted him.  “I am appealing to you for my child, Onesimus, whose father I have become during my imprisonment.”  He even refers to Onesimus as “my own heart.”

It is a remarkable piece of scripture.  It is very short.  We have it here almost in its entirety.   It’s called “Philemon” simply because that’s who it’s addressed to.  Philemon is numbered among Paul’s “pastoral” epistles – not spelling out doctrine or settling arguments but truly being a pastor.  What has become of the parents of Onesimus?  We don’t know.  Being a slave, it is quite likely they were separated early on.  They could be dead.   We don’t know.  But we do know that he now has a home, has a family.

Is this what Jesus envisioned when he warned his followers how divisive the gospel would be?  Did he or his disciples know then that they would have to become family to each other?

Jesus’ words are harsh and unsettling.  If these were the only recorded words of Jesus, we might think him a divisive figure, trying to break up the families and clans in ancient Isreal.   But we know that this is NOT Jesus’ last words on the subject of loyalties, nor is this sermon my last word.

Just like the time I dared to preach on “Wives be subject to your husbands,” I have waded into troubled waters this morning.  These words push our buttons.

For some of us, we can be thankful that our families have been loving, supportive, welcoming places of refuge in a troubled world.  For others of us, our families of origin may have been places of turmoil themselves.  But again, I don’t think we quite hear the word “family” quite like the original audience did.

When was the last time that we, American Christians, were called upon to sacrifice for our faith?  Giving money in the offering plate doesn’t count.  When was the last time we truly suffered for our faith?  I dare say very few of us in this room can say that we have.

Very few if any of us have had to leave behind everything in order to follow Jesus.  Christianity is the establishment religion in this country.  It would cost more for many in this country to renounce Christianity than to take it up.  It would alienate us from our families and our heritage.

So I don’t think we can know what Jesus means here, not really.  We can gain an inkling, but not, I believe the full meaning.  We are typically tempted to make scriptures like these about us, first.  Instead, think of the context and the crowd.  Jesus isn’t speaking to us, not primarily, he is speaking to a people in captivity, not just to the Roman Imperial presence in Israel, but in bondage to many cultural norms and systems that kept them under patriarchal authority, no questions asked.

What does it say to us about the cost of our faith?  Will we have to take up our crosses or give away all our possessions?  We can understand that truly following Jesus isn’t a casual pastime, something to do because we are bored or it’s just a habit.  Faith makes demands on us how we structure and prioritize our lives.  It affects how we vote, how we give of our time and our money.  What causes we support.  I believe behind how live our lives is something more than just whim or circumstance.  I’d like to believe we are here this morning is for something deeper, something costly.  We could be in bed, or golfing, or doing the New York Times crossword over a cup of coffee with NPR on in the background.

But we aren’t.  We are here.  Now, let’s ask ourselves, why?

Yes, Jesus’ words are difficult.  They are hard for us to hear.  Some of us may feel like changing the channel.  Still others might feel like walking away.   But we are here.  We hear these words.  If they trouble us, we must own that feeling and keep listening, keep trying to understand what they mean for us, for all of us.

I cannot let us leave this text without first acknowledging a place for further exploration.  If we had Bibles in the pews, I would say, “Please turn to the 14^th chapter of Luke.”  We don’t, so we’ll have to make do with the printed text in the bulletin.  What immediately follows this discourse in the 15^th chapter of Luke?  The Pharisees and Scribes start to ask Jesus why he eats and spends time with Tax Collectors and sinners.  Jesus tells them parables – among them, the Prodigal Son.

I literally sat back in my chair and marveled at this juxtaposition.  First we hear about hating father and mother, and almost immediately in this gospel, we hear of a father taking in his lost, rebellious son.  I haven’t fleshed out this juxtaposition yet, but I’m working on it – stay tuned.  So, is this the last sermon you’ll hear on this text – probably not.  Are these the last thoughts I will have on the subject – not even close.  Are Jesus’ teachings much more complex and challenging than just black and white proof-texting.  You bet.

Where does this leave us?  We need our family, the family of God.  God’s table is about to be set, set with bread and wine, blessed with words of welcome and forgiveness and, most of all, reconciliation.  Sometimes faith puts up boundaries between people.  Sometimes we are called to leave behind family systems and ways that aren’t God’s way, aren’t part of Jesus’ vision.  Let this place be a refuge for those who have lost family and friends, whatever the reason.  Sometimes reconciliation isn’t possible.  Sometimes it isn’t wanted.  But we are God’s people, God’s children.  Let this meal remind us of the life God promises to give us if we, with Jesus, count the cost of our faith.  Amen.