A sermon for the Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany, January 29, 2023. The lectionary readings are Micah 6:1-8, 1 Corinthians 1:18-31, Matthew 5:1-12, and Psalm 15.

This week, as we continue to read and hear and see videos and commentary about the Memphis police beating 29-year-old Tyre Nichols, it can sound like that first reading from Micah is directed especially at us– we who live in the United States and either put up with systemic problems, ignore them completely, or throw up our hands in frustration.

But God calls God’s people to account. God says, “I have a controversy with you.” Speak for yourself. Explain yourself. We hear God’s disappointment and almost heartache at having been let down by his people, God’s beloved. In words that return to us again on Good Friday, God asks, “O my people, what have I done to you? In what have I wearied you? Answer me! For I brought you up from the land of Egypt, and redeemed you from the house of slavery…”

And what are we to say?

But then God seems to make it even more difficult. Saying we’re sorry won’t be enough. Simply offering prayers of penitence or offering works of charity won’t wipe the slate clean. We might contextualize Micah to our day and notice that slogans, protests, or quick fixes aren’t the long-term answers, even though they can get things started. Was the Black Lives Matter movement simply a distraction from a boring spell in Covid? Does a plaque or a prayer around Reparations for slavery follow through in any way for change over time?

For God, anyway, the occasional prayer, vigil, or remembrance service doesn’t quite cut it. “Here is what the Lord requires:” Micah thunders. “. . . to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.”

In that we live in a world of gerrymandered voting districts and big money politics, we can sometimes wonder how such vacuous leaders end up in power. And while we vote and organize and be persistent, our current situation also means that answers become up close and personal. They will be local, even as we advocate for national and global change.

How do I do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God?

In trying to respond to the dismay and sadness this week, after more shootings, violence, and “other news,” the Most Rev. Michael Curry, the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, issued a pastoral statement. Bishop Curry noted that as Tyre Nichols was being beaten, among the police and the EMT who were present, there was not one person who offered help. Not one Good Samaritan, as Bishop Curry framed it.

In his statement, Bishop Curry goes on to remind us of the Good Samaritan story that Jesus told. How a man is beaten, and people pass him by, ignoring his situation. The priest kept walking. The Levi, the learned man of Jesus’ day, kept moving. But the Samaritan—the one with no power, no social standing, up against all kinds of prejudice himself (as an outsider, as a mixed-race person, as someone who followed another god entirely)—but that Samaritan stopped and helped.

Bishop Curry says, “The fundamental call and vocation of law enforcement officials, and indeed every one of us, is that of the Good Samaritan.” And he goes on to say, “Here is where there is hope: The Good Samaritan in the parable of Jesus was not the last one.”

Bishop Curry points out that those who have moved towards justice in the wake of Tyre Nichols’ death are stepped out, spoken out, and offered help– like Good Samaritans. Bishop Curry writes

There are Good Samaritans who are government officials in Memphis who, after assessing what happened, fired the offending officers, charged them with crimes against human life and dignity, and have committed to addressing systemic and cultural issues that created an environment in which this evil was enabled.

There are Good Samaritans doing what is necessary to radically reform the environment and culture of law enforcement—to create an atmosphere in which the dignity and worth of every human being is respected, protected, affirmed, and honored.

There are Good Samaritans in law enforcement, and other first responders, who often work while others sleep, laboring to protect and serve, at times risking their own lives for the neighbor they do not even know.

There are Good Samaritans, people of goodwill and human decency, who are peacefully protesting. There are Good Samaritans who are activists working tirelessly for the realization of communities and countries where there is truly, as the Pledge of Allegiance proclaims, “liberty and justice for all.”

He goes on to say, “While we grieve, we cannot give in or give up. Just throwing up our hands in despair is not an option lest we leave a brother, a sister, a sibling on the side of the road again. No, let more Good Samaritans arise so that Tyre Nichols’ death will not be in vain.”  Amen.

Our Gospel reading today is not from the story about the Good Samaritan, but the section of the Sermon on the Mount known as the Beatitudes. 

Some scholars suggest Jesus was laying out the basic standard for admission for any who might follow him.   But others suggest that Jesus was preaching in a time during which people really thought the end of the world was coming soon and that such preaching was meant to usher in the Kingdom of God. 

But I don’t think Jesus is giving us a formula for bringing in the Kingdom of God. I don’t think he’s laying down criteria for entering the kingdom of God. Instead, I think Jesus is describing the lives of the people he’s teaching and preaching to, and saying that no matter what you’re going through God is there with you. Jesus is reflecting the reality of those around him, blessing them so that they can be a blessing to others.

If Jesus’ words sound crazy, we can look to Paul for a little explanation. Paul tells the Corinthians that “The message about the cross is foolishness to [most of the world] . . .,  but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.”

People thought Jesus was a fool for lots of reasons. Lifting up the poor instead of the rich? Hanging out with sinners instead of the holy-rollers? Talking to women? And not to mention his socio-political theory: how foolish, naïve, inefficient, and idealistic!

Jesus gives us the Beatitudes as a kind of foolishness that has the wisdom of God hidden inside.  He offers this list of blessings as invitations, I think, invitations for us to listen and look for God EVERYWHERE, but especially when we’re in a rough spot.

Blessed are the poor in spirit . . .
Blessed are those who mourn . . .
Blessed are the meek, . . .
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness . . .
Blessed are the merciful, . . .
Blessed are the pure in heart . . .
Blessed are the peacemakers, . . .
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake . .
Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account.

As Paul says, “we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block . . .[many], but to those who are the called, . . . Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.

The Church also as a long tradition of a Holy Fool—someone who seems out of their mind, totally bonkers, but serves the role of helping the faithful see deeper truth to their practice and piety.

Early on there were those who sought the silence of the desert of fourth-century Egypt. Their sayings are strange and almost Zen-like and are filled with examples of how they would confuse the sophisticated and side with the ignorant. Later, there was St. Simeon Salos, a sixth-century monk who went into church one Sunday with a handful of nuts. At the beginning of the liturgy, he started throwing them and managed to put out all of the candles. When people tried to catch him, he went up in the pulpit and began throwing nuts at all people. He dressed up in strange clothes, ate sausages in public on Good Friday and did everything he could to question tradition, convention, and propriety.

While we might not be as extreme as some of those Holy Fools, if we follow Jesus in our day, people are probably going to see what we do and what we believe as being foolish. But the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ shows us that the life of faith will always look foolish in the face of worldly ways. 

God says we need to be about “justice, kindness, and humility.” What craziness!  But what holy wisdom and really, the only way forward for people of faith.

May we risk standing up and speaking out as Good Samaritans, may we be holy fools, and may we know the blessings of God’s indwelling presence so that we can be a blessing for others.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

A sermon for the Second Sunday after the Epiphany, January 15, 2023
The lectionary readings are Isaiah 49:1-7, Psalm 40:1-12, 1 Corinthians 1:1-9, and John 1:29-42.
Psalm 40:1-12.

As I’ve noticed the various opportunities for remembering Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. this weekend and on Monday, I have been thinking of a concert I went to a few years ago on Martin Luther King Day. It was given by the a capella singing group Sweet Honey in the Rock.

What was so refreshing (for me, anyway) about the concert was the way in which the three women who made up Sweet Honey in the Rock celebrated. They didn’t offer dramatic readings of King’s words. There was no slide-show of his life. Instead, they had done the hard work of what we Episcopalians might call “reading, marking, and inwardly digesting” his words, so that the performance managed to convey and invite the audience into the spirit of Martin Luther King. 

The group helped the audience think not only about the calling of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., but also about our own calling—what are WE doing to create a better world? What are WE doing to heal the divisions that still exist. To what extent are WE following the dreams of God? To what extent are we living into our own calling?

When I use the term, “calling,” I mean to describe one’s deepest sense of purpose, one’s sense that this is the right thing to do and the right time to do it, I mean one’s sense of being selected by God to do a specific thing. 

In our reading from Isaiah, we hear Isaiah’s own sense of God’s calling: “The LORD called me before I was born, while I was in my mother’s womb he named me.” God said, “You are my servant, in whom I will be glorified.” Isaiah wonders if he heard God right. But God says, yes, “it’s you I’m talking to.” From time to time Isaiah wonders and checks in with God, each time hearing another version of, “You are my servant, . . . in whom I will be glorified.” 

This past week, as we’ve been praying for the Draesel family and especially as Bert’s condition grew more serious, I’ve been thinking a lot about Bert’s ministry. Bert had a deep and powerful sense of calling. He said to several of his early parishes, “I feel called to minister in the city.” And with a social worker spouse like Ada next to him, it’s easy to see where some of that sense of vacation came from. Wherever he served, Bert’s love of Jesus and commitment to our common life in ministry was infectious. Bert heard God’s calling loud and clear, but his special gift was helping so many other people hear their calling.  [The Rev. Herbert (Bert) G. Draesel, Jr., died peacefully on January 14, 2023 at home, surrounded by family and loved ones.]

God needs us for the dreams of God to unfold. If you think about that for a minute, those are amazing words because they mean that God needed Isaiah in order to get things done. God needed Martin Luther King, Jr. to get things done. God needed Bert Draesel to get things done. And God needs us, to get things done in our world. 

The Gospel is about the revelation of God’s kingdom and plan, especially about the revelation that is Jesus, and recognition of Jesus. It’s about John the Baptist’s recognition of Jesus as the Christ, as God’s anointed one; and it’s also about several of the disciples as they recognize Jesus for who he is, and in so doing, recognize themselves. 

There are two sides to understanding one’s calling—the first has to do with recognizing the caller, who is God. But the second part comes in recognizing ourselves in the midst of God’s calling. 

John illustrates what it’s like to recognize the one doing the calling. He sees Jesus as the Lamb of God. We might think of a lamb as a soft, weak thing. In Judaism the lamb was an animal of sacrifice and as a symbol, the lamb represented innocence and blamelessness. But a lamb also had undeniable strength. Because of the lamb, people were forgiven. Because of the lamb, people were joined again to God. 

And so when John names Jesus as the Lamb of God, he is in part prophesying, perhaps in part hoping, and in part stating what he has already seen to be true, that through Jesus people are brought closer to God. Through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, we experience the healing of sins, and the resurrection to eternal life in God’s love. 

John recognizes Jesus. The other disciples, Andrew and another, see Jesus, but also begin to recognize themselves.

When Jesus sees the two disciples, he asks them, point blank, “What are you looking for?” The disciples don’t really answer him, but instead, they ask for more time. They aren’t sure what they want, but they know they want to know Jesus a little better. After a while, Andrew goes to his brother and says, “We have found the Messiah.” But what he’s also saying is that he has found himself; he has found his calling. 

Of course, sorting out one’s calling is more difficult than simply opening your heart to Jesus, and “poof,” an entire game plan is presented. It’s much more subtle than that. Whether you should be a fireman or a secretary, a nurse or a schoolteacher—whether you should buy a house, or take a new job, or pursue that special person… I don’t know the specific answer to those or many other questions… 

But I do know how to find the answer. It lies in doing what the disciples did—spending time with Jesus, absorbing his words, absorbing his vision of the world, hearing God’s word through Jesus, hearing the promises of scripture and watching as they’re fulfilled in everyday living. 

Frederick Buechner talks about the two sides of finding one’s calling—of recognizing the caller, but also of recognizing ourselves in the midst of that calling. He explains that to be called is to have a vocation—the Latin word, “vocare” means simply that: to call; and so a vocation is simply one’s calling—whether that be over time, or in the moment. 

Buechner points out that there are always different voices calling us to different kinds of work—the trick is sorting out which voice is from God, which from society, which from a voice of super-ego or sole self-interest. The trick for the Christian is to find 1) the work that one most needs to do, and 2) the work that most needs to be done. In other words,

Buechner says,

The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.

Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC, p. 95

The meeting of our deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger happen in prayer, in worship, in fellowship and community; in struggle, in grief, in joy… in the midst of the sacraments. We live into our vocations together. 

May we continue to be a people who dream the dreams of God. May we find the resources to follow, and may we find the risen Christ even as we find ourselves. 

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Puerto Rican painter Armig Santos reflects on photographs of a procession honoring David Sanes Rodriquez, a civilian employee of the former U.S. Navy facility on the Puerto Rican island of Vieques. Rodriquez was killed by practice bombs in 1999. Protests over his death and the military presence are thought to have served as an antecedent to wider protests in summer of 2019.

Protests of 2019 came as a result of outrage over the governor of Puerto Rico’s insensitivity to the lives of his citizens and as a result of government and systemic failure in the aftermath of Hurricane Maria (September 2017).

Procesión en Vieques III is part of a the Whitney Museum of Art’s exhibition, “No existe un mundo poshuracán.” The title comes from a poem by Raquel Salas Rivera’s book of poems, while they sleep (under the bed is another country. As explained in the exhibition,

[Translations of the title] grapple with the fact that the real disaster is the thought of its perpetuity, the belief that Puerto Ricans are– and will continue to be–caught in the wake of Maria. But there is another way to make sense of the verse, one that empowers those living through the reality of this post-hurricane moment. The phrase, “no existe un mundo poshuracán” rejects the world altogether in favor of new modes of political existence. Conceived in the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Maria, Salas Rivera’s verse stakes a claim for artists to be stewards of imagining a different future.”

from museum notes in the Exhibition

I love the painting by Armig Santos because it shows the power of a cross that is shared in community. It is not one person’s cross. It does not belong to a hero. Instead, the cross leads forward, through hope, come what may. In protest, the cross is empowered more than if were mounted on a wall or worn as jewelry. The cross in Santos’ painting holds within it a post-Resurrection sense of hope and possibility.

Since 2007, I have kept a blog of some kind and mostly posted sermons. Writing a weekly sermon text is a custom I brought with me from my Presbyterian past, and one that has served me well– whether I use the text in a sermon, or wander wildly from it.

The COVID-19 Pandemic scrambled my normal patterns, but mostly broadened my blog posts to include videos and a podcast (links to those can be found in the Media section of the dropdown menu above and to the left). Though the technology has not always matched the formatting of the blog neatly or reliably, the past few years have involved a variety of attempts to communicate wherever I’ve felt God moving, speaking, and wooing us.

My sabbatical of June and July 2022 put a halt to my busyness, and I have tried to develop new patterns of thought, prayer, and productivity. And yet, I’ve missed the creative challenge of keeping up a blog of some kind and communicating with the several people who have been kind enough to follow and comment.

For the renewed blog, I’ve changed the formatting a little and chosen a new theme that allows for a simpler, cleaner look. I’ll still post the sermons for Sunday, but will also write some shorter posts and perhaps sometimes just post a picture or a quotation.

If you’re someone who has followed my writing and preaching in the past, thank you and hello again. If you’re new, welcome, and come along on the journey.