(Editor's note: Sermon by Tamara Yates for our Patronal Feast)
Today we celebrate the lives and the witness of the patron saints of this community – Peter and Paul. But when we look at the lectionary texts for today that speak of these men, we find ourselves invited to celebrate their deaths. I wasn’t here last Sunday, but I read Phil’s sermon on our sermon blog, and I was momentarily shocked to realize that I was planning to say much the same thing as he did last week. Only momentarily, because then I remembered that the scriptures are really saying the same thing in 16,000 different ways. This is the heart of the gospel, folks. It is the essential message in the cross and the central truth that emerges from the lives and deaths of Jesus and his followers. You have to lose your life in order to save it.
The resurrected Christ tells Peter: “Very truly I tell you when you were young you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.” Paul writes to Timothy, and he has already written the same words to the church in Phillipi, “I am being poured out as a libation.” Both these texts associate these images with the deaths of these two men, and yes, they did in fact each die a martyr’s death. But neither of them would have been capable of accepting those physical deaths if they hadn’t already died many times over.
I think Peter grew old in the days leading up to this encounter with Jesus on the beach. It started with the utter humiliation of the cock crowing just after his third denial. Then there was the dawning realization that Jesus has meant what he said about dying and returning. And moving swiftly from youth to old age, Peter died to his false self, to his egoic ideas of what a Savior could mean, of what he was so sure it should mean for the oppressed people of Israel. He let go of the justice he had imagined for the poor, like himself—a fisherman. And from this point on, he will stretch out his hands. He will reach toward what is his most deeply felt call and let himself be led to it, even while his ego screams in protest. I like the image of stretching out the hands, because it will feel like you are blind—and in truth you are. You have for so long bought into the images of yourself that your ego and the complicit society have fed you, that you cannot see the truth of who you are. The deepest, truest you, that longs to be born, to emerge into the world. So you have to be led by others, and I hate to tell you, but they’ll probably be others you wouldn’t necessarily choose to hang out with, much less be guided by! But these others and their needs will pull you through your resistance, through your pain, through your rage, through your irritation and probably through some amount of humiliation into your very self. The self you only glimpse in dreams, the self you are meant to be.
It happened to Peter –and it also happened to Paul. Paul’s younger self looks more overtly problematic to us, since he persecuted Christians. He seems to have participated, if indirectly in the execution of Stephen. But his zeal was still for his understanding of God and faith. He was a Jew and saw himself as fighting the good fight. We all think we’re fighting the good fight. We’ve got kids for goodness sake. And those kids need to be fed, and they need to be clothed and they need to be educated and how could we not be called to provide for our families? We go to church after all, we might even tithe. What more do they want? What more does he want, this Jesus? Everything. He wants everything and in return, he’ll give you the pearl worth everything – he’ll give you yourself. Paul got struck blind on the road to Damascus and he stretched out his hands and let himself be led, for the rest of his life. He let himself be poured out like a libation. These two men, our patron saints, model for us the very human way of Christ. They weren’t perfect from then on – no way. But they had a singleness of vision to which they could return again and again and it was on surrender. Peter and Paul were both intensely willful men, they had to be to do the work that was theirs to do. And yet they turned that intensity toward surrender –they lost their lives in order to save them. And in doing so they saved many more besides.
They were also very different men. This surrender to Christ does not mean that you lose yourself and become more like Jesus or even like Peter or Paul. Not at all. Peter became more like Peter and Paul became more like Paul and the truth that lay at the heart of each of these men was revealed to the world and changed it. Not because they were saints, but because they said yes and they were willing to die every day. They let go of their own grandiose images of their lives, to let go of their fear, to let go of their resentment, and their need to be right, to be superior. When we hold onto these things, we cheat ourselves and the entire world. We refuse the unique expression of the image of god in us. Only once are we here as we are in this flesh. And each person has Christ burning inside, yearning to find expression through your body, through your mind, through your life.
But how do we get to those true selves? How do we die? This is a paradox that cannot be said. How can you exercise your will toward the losing of your will? How do we live into this mystery of intending toward surrender? Well, for one, we take it day by day, little by little. We stretch out our arms and we ask to be led. I guarantee you that if you do this, if you pray with as much sincerity as you can muster (and it doesn’t take a lot), asking to be led to your truest self, you will be shown little ways to die each day and you will be given the courage to accept them. And the best part of dying is the resurrection that comes after. It’ll blow our hair back—and not just ours, but the whole world’s.
One of my favorite essays by Annie Dillard says much more beautifully what I’ve been trying to say this morning. In it Dillard reflects on an encounter she had with a weasel. She talks about the singleminded focus of this creature, and illustrates with a story she heard about a man who found an eagle with the skull of a weasel socketed to its throat. She imagines the fight that must have raged between bird and mammal, and the relentless grip of the weasel. Did the eagle fly off with its dead opponent attached at the neck like a fur pendant? Or did it clean its bones on the ground?
Dillard wonders whether we, as humans, could ever live with the same singleness of purpose as the weasel, and (as I would add) we see in the lives of Sts. Peter and Paul. She concludes the essay with these words, which I think get at what we can take from our patrons Peter and Paul on this their Sunday: We could [do it] you know. We can live any way we want. People take vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience--even of silence--by choice. The thing is to stalk your calling in a certain skilled and supple way, to locate the most tender and live spot and plug into that pulse. This is yielding, not fighting. A weasel doesn't "attack" anything; a weasel lives as he's meant to, yielding at every moment to the perfect freedom of single necessity. I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure, to grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you. Then even death, where you're going no matter how you live, cannot you part. Seize it and let it seize you up aloft even, till your eyes burn out and drop; let your musky flesh fall off in shreds, and let your very bones unhinge and scatter, loosened over fields, over fields and woods, lightly, thoughtless, from any height at all, from as high as eagles.
archived musings and preachments
Monday, June 30, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Patronal Feast - June 29th - One Service and Picnic
This Sunday, June 29th, is the Patronal Feast for Sts. Peter and Paul, and so we will be having only one service, at 9am.
After the service, we'll go to Montavilla Park for a potluck picnic!
Come one and all and bring something yummy!
After the service, we'll go to Montavilla Park for a potluck picnic!
Come one and all and bring something yummy!
Sixth Sunday after Pentecost
SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST
(Proper 7, Year A)
June 22, 2008
Ss. Peter & Paul – Fr. Phillip Ayers
+++++
In a “Peanuts” cartoon, Charlie Brown is asking Lucy why life is so hard and full of adversity. She replies that adversity is good for you because it builds character. Charlie Brown then wants to know what we need character for, to which Lucy answers: to cope with adversity.
In today’s Gospel Jesus talks tough with his disciples about what lies ahead for them as they prepare to take over his work in the world. They are informed that they cannot expect special treatment—a bullet-proof vest that will deflect the evil around them—since “a disciple is not above his teacher,” and Jesus himself was continually under attack as he went about doing the Father’s will.
Yet there are assurances here that such a life of service is possible, and that the fruits of faithfulness will be more than worth the inevitable losses and suffering that are required along Jesus’ way.
Finding our true life really does mean losing the superficial trappings of what we originally thought was our treasure. It is only by the way of sacrifice for what truly maters that we discover the Kingdom—and our own true worth.
A seasoned monk expressed this, concerning the “easy way” some try to take: “If you see a young man climbing up to the heavens by his own will, catch him by the foot and throw him down to the earth; it is not good for him.”
These apostles were not going to have it easy. According to a variety of traditional sources:
James, the son of Zebedee, was beheaded in Jerusalem, the first of the Apostles to die, during the Easter season in about A.D. 44.
Matthew was slain by the sword in a city in Ethiopia.
Mark was dragged through the streets of Alexandria until he expired.
Luke was hanged on an olive tree in Greece.
James the Less was thrown from a pinnacle or wing of the temple.
Philip was hanged up against a pillar in Phrygia.
Bartholomew was flayed alive.
Andrew was scourged, then tied to a cross in the shape of an “X” where he preached to the people for two days before dying.
Jude was shot to death with arrows.
Thomas was run through the body with a lance.
Simon Zelotes was crucified.
Peter was crucified upside down.
Matthias was stoned and beheaded.
John was exiled to the penal island of Patmos and later became the only Apostle to die a natural death.
“Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth” was a wake-up call to any who thought that respect and success were handily won in a world that would also kill their Master.
So then—how to live, when all of our days are numbered. How can we survive assaults of paralyzing fear and doubt that assail us in our perilous journey?
Jesus reminds his disciples that their true value is inestimable—because we all belong to the Father, and no one can destroy our souls, which are held in love by God.
Yet we are called to testify to the divisive truth of Gospel fire. The sword of Jesus’’ revelation cuts our lives into past and future. Now we are his. We are challenged, while we live, to overcome fear and adversity and envision ourselves as present members of his Dominion.
It may not seem to be true, as we struggle with divisions in families, communities, churches, nations of the world. The sword raises its ugly spectre, even as we seek to live as people of the Word, as people of peace—sheep among wolves. But Jesus’ teaching calls us to a logic that exceeds that of the world. It is an understanding that dwells at the heart of infinite paradox: we are God’s people, even in death. And our true life lies beyond the darkness that so many prefer to live in in this increasingly fractious world.
Cynthia Bourgeault writes in her book Mystical Hope (Cowley Press, 2001): “We have to get beyond linear, discursive thinking in order to access the realm of inspired visionary knowing where Christianity finally becomes fully congruent with its own highest truth, and its mystical treasures can be received into an awakened heart.” And it requires a soul-deep acceptance of Jesus’ assurances in this Gospel passage, even when they don’t seem to “compute” in our traditional ways of thinking.
If we lose our life, what is left? Jesus seems to be saying: the glowing kernel from which it was originally generated; the essence of what you have received from me, as a gift from the Father; the beginning of the New Life you were created for, which we will share eternally.
That’s something well worth dying for.
Mark Nepo in The Book of Awakening (Conari Press, 2000) tells this story: An aging Hindu master grew tired of his apprentice complaining, and so, one morning, sent him for some salt. When the apprentice returned, the master instructed the unhappy young man to put a handful of salt in a glass of water and then to drink it.
“How does it taste?” the master asked.
“Bitter,” spit out the apprentice.
The master chuckled and then asked the young man to take the same handful of salt and put it in the lake. The two walked in silence to the nearby shore, and once the apprentice swirled his handful of salt into the water, the old man said, “Now drink from the lake.”
As the water dripped down the young man’s chin, the master asked, “Now how does it taste?”
“Fresh,” remarked the apprentice.
“Do you taste the salt?” asked the master.
“No,” said the young man.
At this, the master sat beside this serious young man who so reminded him of himself, and took his hands, offering, “The pain of life is pure salt; no more, no less. The amount of pain in life remains the same, exactly the same. But the amount of bitterness we taste depends on the container we put the pain in. So when you are in pain, the only thing you can do is to enlarge your sense of things. Stop being a glass. Become a lake.”
As Bishop Michael Ramsey reminds us: “Live near to God, rejoicing in God’s providential care and you will be every hour and every minute in the presence of God who cares for the lilies and clothes the grass, and cares infinitely for you.”
[Consulted Isabel Anders via Synthesis]
+++++
This is the blessing used at the conclusion of the Mass:
Let us go forth,
In the wisdom of our all-seeing Father,
In the patience of our all-loving brother,
In the truth of the all-knowing Spirit,
In the learning of the Apostles,
In the gracious guidance of the angels,
In the patience of the saints,
In the self-control of the martyrs.
Such is the path of all servants of Christ,
The path from death to eternal life.
(Celtic prayer in Synthesis, June 16, 2002)
(Proper 7, Year A)
June 22, 2008
Ss. Peter & Paul – Fr. Phillip Ayers
+++++
In a “Peanuts” cartoon, Charlie Brown is asking Lucy why life is so hard and full of adversity. She replies that adversity is good for you because it builds character. Charlie Brown then wants to know what we need character for, to which Lucy answers: to cope with adversity.
In today’s Gospel Jesus talks tough with his disciples about what lies ahead for them as they prepare to take over his work in the world. They are informed that they cannot expect special treatment—a bullet-proof vest that will deflect the evil around them—since “a disciple is not above his teacher,” and Jesus himself was continually under attack as he went about doing the Father’s will.
Yet there are assurances here that such a life of service is possible, and that the fruits of faithfulness will be more than worth the inevitable losses and suffering that are required along Jesus’ way.
Finding our true life really does mean losing the superficial trappings of what we originally thought was our treasure. It is only by the way of sacrifice for what truly maters that we discover the Kingdom—and our own true worth.
A seasoned monk expressed this, concerning the “easy way” some try to take: “If you see a young man climbing up to the heavens by his own will, catch him by the foot and throw him down to the earth; it is not good for him.”
These apostles were not going to have it easy. According to a variety of traditional sources:
James, the son of Zebedee, was beheaded in Jerusalem, the first of the Apostles to die, during the Easter season in about A.D. 44.
Matthew was slain by the sword in a city in Ethiopia.
Mark was dragged through the streets of Alexandria until he expired.
Luke was hanged on an olive tree in Greece.
James the Less was thrown from a pinnacle or wing of the temple.
Philip was hanged up against a pillar in Phrygia.
Bartholomew was flayed alive.
Andrew was scourged, then tied to a cross in the shape of an “X” where he preached to the people for two days before dying.
Jude was shot to death with arrows.
Thomas was run through the body with a lance.
Simon Zelotes was crucified.
Peter was crucified upside down.
Matthias was stoned and beheaded.
John was exiled to the penal island of Patmos and later became the only Apostle to die a natural death.
“Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth” was a wake-up call to any who thought that respect and success were handily won in a world that would also kill their Master.
So then—how to live, when all of our days are numbered. How can we survive assaults of paralyzing fear and doubt that assail us in our perilous journey?
Jesus reminds his disciples that their true value is inestimable—because we all belong to the Father, and no one can destroy our souls, which are held in love by God.
Yet we are called to testify to the divisive truth of Gospel fire. The sword of Jesus’’ revelation cuts our lives into past and future. Now we are his. We are challenged, while we live, to overcome fear and adversity and envision ourselves as present members of his Dominion.
It may not seem to be true, as we struggle with divisions in families, communities, churches, nations of the world. The sword raises its ugly spectre, even as we seek to live as people of the Word, as people of peace—sheep among wolves. But Jesus’ teaching calls us to a logic that exceeds that of the world. It is an understanding that dwells at the heart of infinite paradox: we are God’s people, even in death. And our true life lies beyond the darkness that so many prefer to live in in this increasingly fractious world.
Cynthia Bourgeault writes in her book Mystical Hope (Cowley Press, 2001): “We have to get beyond linear, discursive thinking in order to access the realm of inspired visionary knowing where Christianity finally becomes fully congruent with its own highest truth, and its mystical treasures can be received into an awakened heart.” And it requires a soul-deep acceptance of Jesus’ assurances in this Gospel passage, even when they don’t seem to “compute” in our traditional ways of thinking.
If we lose our life, what is left? Jesus seems to be saying: the glowing kernel from which it was originally generated; the essence of what you have received from me, as a gift from the Father; the beginning of the New Life you were created for, which we will share eternally.
That’s something well worth dying for.
Mark Nepo in The Book of Awakening (Conari Press, 2000) tells this story: An aging Hindu master grew tired of his apprentice complaining, and so, one morning, sent him for some salt. When the apprentice returned, the master instructed the unhappy young man to put a handful of salt in a glass of water and then to drink it.
“How does it taste?” the master asked.
“Bitter,” spit out the apprentice.
The master chuckled and then asked the young man to take the same handful of salt and put it in the lake. The two walked in silence to the nearby shore, and once the apprentice swirled his handful of salt into the water, the old man said, “Now drink from the lake.”
As the water dripped down the young man’s chin, the master asked, “Now how does it taste?”
“Fresh,” remarked the apprentice.
“Do you taste the salt?” asked the master.
“No,” said the young man.
At this, the master sat beside this serious young man who so reminded him of himself, and took his hands, offering, “The pain of life is pure salt; no more, no less. The amount of pain in life remains the same, exactly the same. But the amount of bitterness we taste depends on the container we put the pain in. So when you are in pain, the only thing you can do is to enlarge your sense of things. Stop being a glass. Become a lake.”
As Bishop Michael Ramsey reminds us: “Live near to God, rejoicing in God’s providential care and you will be every hour and every minute in the presence of God who cares for the lilies and clothes the grass, and cares infinitely for you.”
[Consulted Isabel Anders via Synthesis]
+++++
This is the blessing used at the conclusion of the Mass:
Let us go forth,
In the wisdom of our all-seeing Father,
In the patience of our all-loving brother,
In the truth of the all-knowing Spirit,
In the learning of the Apostles,
In the gracious guidance of the angels,
In the patience of the saints,
In the self-control of the martyrs.
Such is the path of all servants of Christ,
The path from death to eternal life.
(Celtic prayer in Synthesis, June 16, 2002)
Monday, June 16, 2008
Fifth Sunday After Pentecost - Father Lindsay
Planet earth began about four and a half billion years ago. Since then, God has made two implants, which changed earth forever. The first implant was life. The second implant was spirit. I will introduce each implant with a limerick.
First: There was a young lady name Bright
Who traveled much faster than light.
She took off one day
In a relative way
And returned the previous night.
What delights me about this limerick is that it suggests that there is something much faster than light, and that is God’s precious gift to us, our imagination.
In your imagination, come with me back to planet earth four and a half billion years ago. As we swing into orbit, we will see a most unfamiliar sight – a molten ball of red hot lava – absolutely uninhabitable. So let’s fast forward two billion years when our planet has cooled down, somewhat. It’s still too hot for us to handle, with steam belching out all over, and the atmosphere is primarily a deadly methane gas. As we survey our planet, we see no trees, no mountains, no animals, not even any cell phones. We might wonder, “is it possible that there could ever be life in this God-forsaken place?”
Well, here’s the first news flash: in all of its four and a half billion years, planet earth has never been forsaken by God – for whom a thousand years in his sight is but as a moment past.
Then, one day, God reached down to planet earth, took a tiny pinch of soil, rubbed it, and put a microscopic Saran wrap around it. Thus, God created the first living cell, and that life was so vital, that in an hour it cloned into two identically same cells. An hour later, those two cells split into four. And so it went for twenty-four hours, and there were: sixteen million, seven hundred seventy-seven thousand, two hundred and sixteen cloned, identical cells. This cloning went on for one billion years. The little rascals gobbled up carbon dioxide, and spat out oxygen, which helped to fill the atmosphere with oxygen, until it became breathable.
After the billion years were up, one little guy cell said to one little gal cell, “Let’s get it together.” They did, and a third cell was born. That was the beginning of sex, and it went on for another billion years. And in that time, an incredible variety of cells formed. Just six hundred million years ago those cells gathered into shells, bones, hair, flesh, trees, leaves, and a multitude of life forms. In these past six hundred million years, all that is familiar to us evolved, including human beings. Genesis 2;7: “then the Lord God formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life.” In Hebrew and Greek, “breath” is a synonym for “spirit”.
God’s second injection into planet earth was Spirit, as I propose in this second limerick:
An ancient ambitious amoeba
By the innocent called little Oeba,
Was enthused by the juice
That the heavens set loose,
So she finally became Queen of Shoeba.
I wrote this limerick in 1949 when I was in college – fifty-nine years ago. But it was not until day before yesterday – Friday – that I realized what is the most significant word: ENTHUSED. “Enthusiasm” comes from the Greek which means “inspired by God” – “possessed by God”. My Heritage Dictionary says, “a rapturous interest or excitement”.
At this point, I would like to make a bet. I will bet that every person here has something that turns you on. It could be stamps, garden plants, ball games, cars, or even chocolate. Whatever it is you really like, it is possible for you to like it because you have a little bit of God’s spirit implanted in you. Without spirit, there could be no enthusiasm whatever.
Now, I will see you, and raise you ten. God is enthusiastic. God has a rapturous love and excitement about something. Can you guess what it is? Well, it’s you. God loves you so enthusiastically that he gave his only begotten Son that you might believe in him and have everlasting life. Jesus loves you so enthusiastically, that he took the nails on the cross for you, and came through the tunnel of resurrection so you might share eternal life with Him and with the Father.
Now, here is God’s message for you: [pause] “Open your heart,
and let God’s enthusiastic love pour into your life. That’s an order.”
First: There was a young lady name Bright
Who traveled much faster than light.
She took off one day
In a relative way
And returned the previous night.
What delights me about this limerick is that it suggests that there is something much faster than light, and that is God’s precious gift to us, our imagination.
In your imagination, come with me back to planet earth four and a half billion years ago. As we swing into orbit, we will see a most unfamiliar sight – a molten ball of red hot lava – absolutely uninhabitable. So let’s fast forward two billion years when our planet has cooled down, somewhat. It’s still too hot for us to handle, with steam belching out all over, and the atmosphere is primarily a deadly methane gas. As we survey our planet, we see no trees, no mountains, no animals, not even any cell phones. We might wonder, “is it possible that there could ever be life in this God-forsaken place?”
Well, here’s the first news flash: in all of its four and a half billion years, planet earth has never been forsaken by God – for whom a thousand years in his sight is but as a moment past.
Then, one day, God reached down to planet earth, took a tiny pinch of soil, rubbed it, and put a microscopic Saran wrap around it. Thus, God created the first living cell, and that life was so vital, that in an hour it cloned into two identically same cells. An hour later, those two cells split into four. And so it went for twenty-four hours, and there were: sixteen million, seven hundred seventy-seven thousand, two hundred and sixteen cloned, identical cells. This cloning went on for one billion years. The little rascals gobbled up carbon dioxide, and spat out oxygen, which helped to fill the atmosphere with oxygen, until it became breathable.
After the billion years were up, one little guy cell said to one little gal cell, “Let’s get it together.” They did, and a third cell was born. That was the beginning of sex, and it went on for another billion years. And in that time, an incredible variety of cells formed. Just six hundred million years ago those cells gathered into shells, bones, hair, flesh, trees, leaves, and a multitude of life forms. In these past six hundred million years, all that is familiar to us evolved, including human beings. Genesis 2;7: “then the Lord God formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life.” In Hebrew and Greek, “breath” is a synonym for “spirit”.
God’s second injection into planet earth was Spirit, as I propose in this second limerick:
An ancient ambitious amoeba
By the innocent called little Oeba,
Was enthused by the juice
That the heavens set loose,
So she finally became Queen of Shoeba.
I wrote this limerick in 1949 when I was in college – fifty-nine years ago. But it was not until day before yesterday – Friday – that I realized what is the most significant word: ENTHUSED. “Enthusiasm” comes from the Greek which means “inspired by God” – “possessed by God”. My Heritage Dictionary says, “a rapturous interest or excitement”.
At this point, I would like to make a bet. I will bet that every person here has something that turns you on. It could be stamps, garden plants, ball games, cars, or even chocolate. Whatever it is you really like, it is possible for you to like it because you have a little bit of God’s spirit implanted in you. Without spirit, there could be no enthusiasm whatever.
Now, I will see you, and raise you ten. God is enthusiastic. God has a rapturous love and excitement about something. Can you guess what it is? Well, it’s you. God loves you so enthusiastically that he gave his only begotten Son that you might believe in him and have everlasting life. Jesus loves you so enthusiastically, that he took the nails on the cross for you, and came through the tunnel of resurrection so you might share eternal life with Him and with the Father.
Now, here is God’s message for you: [pause] “Open your heart,
and let God’s enthusiastic love pour into your life. That’s an order.”
Fourth Sunday after Pentecost - Father Phil
FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST
(Proper 5, Year A)
June 8, 2008
Ss. Peter & Paul – Fr. Phillip Ayers
+++++
Nobody loves the taxman.
Two thousand years after Jesus called Matthew to follow him, the tax collector’s status hasn’t changed much. The average American taxpayers’ experiences with federal and income taxes, withholding, estimated taxes, accountants, the threat of audits and the bewildering maze of tax legislation are likely to engender anxiety, suspicion and resentment. Taxpayers tend to have an adversarial relationship with tax collectors not conducive to closer, friendlier contact.
Imagine Jesus in 2008, walking into the local IRS office with his four fisherman friends and saying to the head honcho, “Follow me.” Imagine the reaction of Peter, Andrew, James and John: “Ecch! Are you serious?”
Some things don’t change in 2000 years. Nobody loves the taxman.
Except, obviously, Jesus. He loved everybody, extravagantly and indiscriminately. Tax collectors, children, straying housewives, sweaty manual workers, bad women, thieves, artists, people with horrible and contagious diseases, people who were homeless or hungry or smelled bad—good, bad, worthy, unworthy, and everybody in between. Even people who didn’t love themselves.
For Jesus, love wasn’t about respectability.
It’s embarrassing to admit any identification with people who don’t love themselves, but let’s be honest—believers place a high value on respectability.
We want to be good; we want to be presentable, worthy of respect. We pick up our liter because it’s the right thing to do—and we wouldn’t want to risk a fine. We mow our lawn because it makes the house look nice—and we don’t want the neighbors complaining. We wear the right clothes to the right parties. We worry, “What will people think?” At the root of it, we’re only comfortable with those who are just like us: respectable. But respectability is only a civic virtue. It’s not a religious value.
When Jesus challenges us, “I have come to call, not the self-righteous, but sinners” (Matthew 9:13), how do we respond? “Ecch! Are you serious?”
Over and over God keeps telling us what we don’t want to hear.
If I forget God, if I just slide along, self-righteous and full of civic virtue, who could rescue me from God’s anger? Who would have the daring to go against God on my behalf, or who would have the power to withstand God?
Only God’s Son, who came to call sinners. Sinners like us—if we admit how shallow our faith is and how skimpy our knowledge of God. Sinners like the tax collector and the publican. Sinners like the woman taken in adultery. Sinners like little Zacchaeus, and the fishermen. Sinners whose bodies bore what society considered the mark of God’s disfavor: possessed by demons, mentally or physically ill, sightless, crippled, poor.
Even after 2000 years of the good news of Jesus, we still harbor in our deepest hearts a sense that such afflictions are punishments from God. We pity such people; we want to help in some way . . . if it doesn’t cost too much. We pray that nothing so awful happens to us; we want our lives to be normal, respectable and filled with good fortune.
Yet Jesus said, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, the sorrowful, those who are persecuted.” Blessed are the “not-respectable.”
Consider one more thing: when Jesus said, “Follow me,” Matthew just did it. Without protest, without questions, without hesitation: he just got up and went with Jesus, leaving behind everything in his old life—job security, position in the community, everything. What incredible presence called forth such faith? What simplicity of spirit spoke directly to Matthew’s heart? What unimaginable depth and breadth of love rocked Matthew’s world?
Jesus still calls us, these days, through other people—yes, including all those sinners. Is our faith deep enough to recognize Jesus in whomever he chooses to speak to us?
It might even be the taxman.
[Ideas from M.D. Ridge in Homily Service, June, 2002]
(Proper 5, Year A)
June 8, 2008
Ss. Peter & Paul – Fr. Phillip Ayers
+++++
Nobody loves the taxman.
Two thousand years after Jesus called Matthew to follow him, the tax collector’s status hasn’t changed much. The average American taxpayers’ experiences with federal and income taxes, withholding, estimated taxes, accountants, the threat of audits and the bewildering maze of tax legislation are likely to engender anxiety, suspicion and resentment. Taxpayers tend to have an adversarial relationship with tax collectors not conducive to closer, friendlier contact.
Imagine Jesus in 2008, walking into the local IRS office with his four fisherman friends and saying to the head honcho, “Follow me.” Imagine the reaction of Peter, Andrew, James and John: “Ecch! Are you serious?”
Some things don’t change in 2000 years. Nobody loves the taxman.
Except, obviously, Jesus. He loved everybody, extravagantly and indiscriminately. Tax collectors, children, straying housewives, sweaty manual workers, bad women, thieves, artists, people with horrible and contagious diseases, people who were homeless or hungry or smelled bad—good, bad, worthy, unworthy, and everybody in between. Even people who didn’t love themselves.
For Jesus, love wasn’t about respectability.
It’s embarrassing to admit any identification with people who don’t love themselves, but let’s be honest—believers place a high value on respectability.
We want to be good; we want to be presentable, worthy of respect. We pick up our liter because it’s the right thing to do—and we wouldn’t want to risk a fine. We mow our lawn because it makes the house look nice—and we don’t want the neighbors complaining. We wear the right clothes to the right parties. We worry, “What will people think?” At the root of it, we’re only comfortable with those who are just like us: respectable. But respectability is only a civic virtue. It’s not a religious value.
When Jesus challenges us, “I have come to call, not the self-righteous, but sinners” (Matthew 9:13), how do we respond? “Ecch! Are you serious?”
Over and over God keeps telling us what we don’t want to hear.
If I forget God, if I just slide along, self-righteous and full of civic virtue, who could rescue me from God’s anger? Who would have the daring to go against God on my behalf, or who would have the power to withstand God?
Only God’s Son, who came to call sinners. Sinners like us—if we admit how shallow our faith is and how skimpy our knowledge of God. Sinners like the tax collector and the publican. Sinners like the woman taken in adultery. Sinners like little Zacchaeus, and the fishermen. Sinners whose bodies bore what society considered the mark of God’s disfavor: possessed by demons, mentally or physically ill, sightless, crippled, poor.
Even after 2000 years of the good news of Jesus, we still harbor in our deepest hearts a sense that such afflictions are punishments from God. We pity such people; we want to help in some way . . . if it doesn’t cost too much. We pray that nothing so awful happens to us; we want our lives to be normal, respectable and filled with good fortune.
Yet Jesus said, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, the sorrowful, those who are persecuted.” Blessed are the “not-respectable.”
Consider one more thing: when Jesus said, “Follow me,” Matthew just did it. Without protest, without questions, without hesitation: he just got up and went with Jesus, leaving behind everything in his old life—job security, position in the community, everything. What incredible presence called forth such faith? What simplicity of spirit spoke directly to Matthew’s heart? What unimaginable depth and breadth of love rocked Matthew’s world?
Jesus still calls us, these days, through other people—yes, including all those sinners. Is our faith deep enough to recognize Jesus in whomever he chooses to speak to us?
It might even be the taxman.
[Ideas from M.D. Ridge in Homily Service, June, 2002]
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Special message from Danielle Purdy
(Ed note: Danielle is a parishioner at Sts. Peter and Paul, if you haven't met her, and is soon to be going on a trip to the Sudan to work with refugees there. I decided that her most recent message regarding this trip would be a good thing for the whole parish to see. - Malcolm)
GLOBAL NEIGHBOR INITIATIVE UPDATE
Dear Friends and Family,
Greetings once again. Our group is now a little less than a month from take-off. We are furiously preparing last minute plans such as braving vaccinations of all kinds and securing packing details. We are mentally, spiritually, and emotionally preparing as much as we can as well. Currently all of us are reading They Come Back Singing by Gary Smith, who, along with working with the poor and disabled right here in Portland, lived in Sudanese refugee camps in Adjumani for six years. His words, more than anything else in the past year, have began to piece together for me the truth of what we are about to encounter.
These people we are going to form community with are raw with such a rich and pure humanity that we rarely see in this superficial culture. I know I will be broken deeper than I could ever prepare for, but I have no fear of this sort of vulnerability, for it is these moments of purity that we most truly see the love of God.
I have been more encouraged than ever about using my passions for performance during this month. In his book, Gary mentions frequently the Sudanese people’s love of drama. They use it on a regular basis to tell stories, explain difficult points, and simply for entertainment. My heart leapt at seeing theater used purely as it was meant to: to speak truth. When contemplating my contribution to this trip, I often was met with nothing more than discouragement at my lack of skills. However, in the past week, my passions for the arts and the disadvantaged are slowly beginning to melt together in a glorious new color I had not yet imagined.
I am continuously thankful for your support and prayers. Thank you to everyone who has supported financially. If you would still like to, I am still in need of about $1500 by June 15 in order to purchase my plane ticket. Please make a check out to Global Neighbor Initiative if you would like to give in this manner. Send the check to:
2212 SE 96th Avenue
Apt 6
Portland, OR 97216
Please continue to pray for myself and the other group members as we finish up preparations for this journey. Pray also for the community we are joining as well as Jeff and Michelle Theisan, our missionary contacts in Adjumani. Do not hesistate to contact me with questions, comments or thoughts for our trip.
Thank you again for your love and support.
Danielle Purdy
GLOBAL NEIGHBOR INITIATIVE UPDATE
Dear Friends and Family,
Greetings once again. Our group is now a little less than a month from take-off. We are furiously preparing last minute plans such as braving vaccinations of all kinds and securing packing details. We are mentally, spiritually, and emotionally preparing as much as we can as well. Currently all of us are reading They Come Back Singing by Gary Smith, who, along with working with the poor and disabled right here in Portland, lived in Sudanese refugee camps in Adjumani for six years. His words, more than anything else in the past year, have began to piece together for me the truth of what we are about to encounter.
These people we are going to form community with are raw with such a rich and pure humanity that we rarely see in this superficial culture. I know I will be broken deeper than I could ever prepare for, but I have no fear of this sort of vulnerability, for it is these moments of purity that we most truly see the love of God.
I have been more encouraged than ever about using my passions for performance during this month. In his book, Gary mentions frequently the Sudanese people’s love of drama. They use it on a regular basis to tell stories, explain difficult points, and simply for entertainment. My heart leapt at seeing theater used purely as it was meant to: to speak truth. When contemplating my contribution to this trip, I often was met with nothing more than discouragement at my lack of skills. However, in the past week, my passions for the arts and the disadvantaged are slowly beginning to melt together in a glorious new color I had not yet imagined.
I am continuously thankful for your support and prayers. Thank you to everyone who has supported financially. If you would still like to, I am still in need of about $1500 by June 15 in order to purchase my plane ticket. Please make a check out to Global Neighbor Initiative if you would like to give in this manner. Send the check to:
2212 SE 96th Avenue
Apt 6
Portland, OR 97216
Please continue to pray for myself and the other group members as we finish up preparations for this journey. Pray also for the community we are joining as well as Jeff and Michelle Theisan, our missionary contacts in Adjumani. Do not hesistate to contact me with questions, comments or thoughts for our trip.
Thank you again for your love and support.
Danielle Purdy
Monday, June 2, 2008
Proper 4 sermon - Tracy LeBlanc
June 1, 2008
Proper 4, Year A
Matthew 7:21-29, Deuteronomy 11:18-21, 26-28, Psalm 46, Romans 1:16-17, 3:22b-28
The words in this Gospel can feel very uncomfortable to a lot of us. The idea that some people are “in” and some are “out” offends the inclusive nature in many of us. Let’s take a few minutes to talk about the nature of this kingdom that Jesus refers to, perhaps that will help us to understand the meaning and reasoning of Jesus’ words here.
First we must remember that Jesus proclaims that the Kingdom of Heaven is “at hand”. Certainly we believe that it refers to life hereafter, but it is clear that it is also something here and now – a present reality, though our awareness of that may waver. These words in today’s Gospel conclude the Sermon on the Mount – a collection of Jesus’ teachings that in many ways, I think define the (for the lack of a better word) culture of the Kingdom of Heaven. It is a place where the poor and meek are blessed, a place where being merciful, a peacemaker or yearning for justice doesn’t get you labeled a bleeding heart, but is championed. A place where people’s lives are about loving their enemy, humility and generosity. It is a place where pursuit of money, self-righteous judgment, grudges and seeking approval of the crowds cannot exist. If one lives with a set of values contradictory to the Kingdom it will be very difficult to be aware of it’s presence in our midst. Entrance into the kingdom isn’t a one time deal. we approach it and seek entrance on a daily, hourly, minutely basis as we interact with the world. When the place of our hearts is so contradictory to the culture of the kingdom I think we have put ourselves in a place where we are then unable to perceive it – we have put ourselves “out”. The purpose of the warning here then, isn’t to scare us into thinking “oh no, Uncle Bob just didn’t make it to heaven!” or so that we can pass judgment on our annoying pew neighbor. They are offered, I think, as a personal warning, a personal encouragement to live more fully into a life that fits the values of the Kingdom so that we can be ever more aware of its presence in our midst.
With that perspective on the purpose of these words, let us look more closely at what they mean – what warning or encouragement do they offer? I find the contemporary translation offered by the Message helpful with these verses. It reads:
"Knowing the correct password—saying 'Master, Master,' for instance— isn't going to get you anywhere with me. What is required is serious obedience—doing what my Father wills. I can see it now—at the Final Judgment thousands strutting up to me and saying, 'Master, we preached the Message, we bashed the demons, our God-sponsored projects had everyone talking.' And do you know what I am going to say? 'You missed the boat. All you did was use me to make yourselves important. You don't impress me one bit. You're out of here.'
"These words I speak to you are not incidental additions to your life, homeowner improvements to your standard of living. They are foundational words, words to build a life on. If you work these words into your life, you are like a smart carpenter who built his house on solid rock. Rain poured down, the river flooded, a tornado hit—but nothing moved that house. It was fixed to the rock.
"But if you just use my words in Bible studies and don't work them into your life, you are like a stupid carpenter who built his house on the sandy beach. When a storm rolled in and the waves came up, it collapsed like a house of cards."
This version makes clear the intent of the words and actions of the offending parties is to find an easy way to look good, to make religion saying some magic words, but not really doing the hard stuff Jesus calls people to do. The words this version implies but doesn’t explicitly include are Jesus’ assertion “I never knew you” I think this is the crux of Jesus’ complaint. The people were never connected to the person of Jesus only to the outer religious trappings around them, the nature and culture of the kingdom, so very wrapped up in who Jesus is, is still foreign to their hearts. So they are rejected not because Jesus wants to be exclusive but because they just don’t fit in the culture of the Kingdom…the kingdom is about love of others, not building up the self – there will need to be some soul searching before the kingdom is a place where they can exist. To us Jesus says the crucial thing is being known by Jesus and knowing the heart of the Father in order to live out God’s call. The message said “what is required is serious obedience”, This requires a solid connection to the one offering the call.
Jesus moves from this statement into a parable about house building. I don’t know about you but every time I read this I think of the three little pigs (maybe that is a function of the amount of my life I spend reading children’s stories) It’s not the building materials here, just the building site, but the storm is as mean and greedy as that big bad wolf! My gripe with the three little pigs is, how were the first two supposed to know what to build with? Yeah, one was foolish and the other lazy, but had anyone ever really revealed to them that straw and sticks could not withstand the breath of a hungry wolf? I mean, I’ve had a lot of education, and I never would have guessed that a measly wolf could blow down my hut! So with our parable, how do we know what this foundation looks like? I mean, let’s face it – all of us would really like the house of our life to be built on something solid. But how do we discover what that is? Jesus says “everyone who hears these words of mine and acts on them is like a wise man who built his house upon the rock”. So, there it is, the key to a solid foundation…hear the word, act on the word. First, hear these words of mine.
Here our Old Testament text offers wise advise. 18You shall put these words of mine in your heart and soul, and you shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and fix them as an emblem on your forehead. 19Teach them to your children, talking about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise. 20Write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.
Put these words in your heart and soul. Sit with scripture and let it etch itself into your heart, let it affect all of who you are. Don’t let it be a peripheral thing that you hear on Sundays, but make it’s words seep into your soul. Fix it on your hands and tie it on your foreheads! Talk about it all the time, everywhere you are, especially with your children! Even write it on your doors so every time you come and go you are reminded. What a great image! Can you imagine your door painted with bold colors saying “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness”. Or imagine your bathroom mirror plastered with sticky notes filled with scripture so the moments of angst we experience when we are looking ourselves in the eye is impacted by messages like “Where you are weak God is strong” and “I have called you by name and you are mine”. Imagine the impact on road rage if our horns had some sort of reverse honk and as we got angry in traffic it beeped out “blessed are the merciful, or “judge not lest you be judged”. And plastered to your forehead, inescapable every time you look up – boy that could change your perspective on the world – you’ve heard of rose colored glasses, well here we have “The love of God, hope filled glasses”.
The point of the author is clear, clutter up your lives with God – in whatever way you can, make yourself continually aware of the presence of the Holy around you and in you. Remind yourself of the promises and call of God before every step that you take. Hear the words…hear the words again and again until they permeate who you are. The idea, presence, promise, love of God etched in our hearts, shaping our very souls – making up every aspect of our lives in a way that the Holy becomes our hearts, becomes our lives.
The number of active verbs in this Old Testament lesson is impressive. Put, fix, bind, teach, speak, write. There is nothing passive about this. It doesn’t say “the words will be put in your heart or you will be reminded of God’s presence everywhere you go.” No, it is clearly something that involves choice, action and energy.
The second part of Jesus’ encouragement is to act - hear these words and act upon them. Surprisingly short and simple sounding suggestion, but hard in fact to bear out, especially when the words include the sermon on the mount with phrases like “be angry but don’t sin” or my favorite, “be perfect, therefore as my father in heaven is perfect.” To this, however, I have very good news. The sermon that these verses conclude begins with “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.” The kingdom of heaven belongs to those who know they can’t do it on their own, who know their need. And the more we try to live out the values of the kingdom, the more, I think, we find ourselves in a place of poverty of spirit.
So as we hear the word and are permeated with it, of course we must stumble forward and attempt to act, knowing we will mess up but trying anyway. We will try to be peacemakers. We will want to want to want to be pure in heart. We will be angry and really wish we didn’t sin. And then we will get it right once in awhile. We will doggedly move forward in trying to make this culture of the kingdom part of our ordinary lives, not just our Sunday best. And as we fail we will remember that we have a God who loves it when we are able to say we just can’t do it, that we really need a Holy hand up out of the hole we have dug for ourselves. A God who proclaims through Paul’s letter today “for all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God but are now justified by his grace as a gift”.
So, if we can remember those two things. One: to clutter up our lives with God. Two: to yearn and long and doggedly try to act like members of the kingdom, falling back into the hands of Grace as we fail – well, then we are living with the Third little pig. Our house maybe stucco or adobe, or logs or brick…but it is built on an unshakable foundation where the presence of the kingdom is alive and vibrant and accessible to our hearts. Then, when the storms come, and they will come, we can proclaim with the psalmist: 2Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; 3though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult. God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved.”
Thanks be to God.
Proper 4, Year A
Matthew 7:21-29, Deuteronomy 11:18-21, 26-28, Psalm 46, Romans 1:16-17, 3:22b-28
The words in this Gospel can feel very uncomfortable to a lot of us. The idea that some people are “in” and some are “out” offends the inclusive nature in many of us. Let’s take a few minutes to talk about the nature of this kingdom that Jesus refers to, perhaps that will help us to understand the meaning and reasoning of Jesus’ words here.
First we must remember that Jesus proclaims that the Kingdom of Heaven is “at hand”. Certainly we believe that it refers to life hereafter, but it is clear that it is also something here and now – a present reality, though our awareness of that may waver. These words in today’s Gospel conclude the Sermon on the Mount – a collection of Jesus’ teachings that in many ways, I think define the (for the lack of a better word) culture of the Kingdom of Heaven. It is a place where the poor and meek are blessed, a place where being merciful, a peacemaker or yearning for justice doesn’t get you labeled a bleeding heart, but is championed. A place where people’s lives are about loving their enemy, humility and generosity. It is a place where pursuit of money, self-righteous judgment, grudges and seeking approval of the crowds cannot exist. If one lives with a set of values contradictory to the Kingdom it will be very difficult to be aware of it’s presence in our midst. Entrance into the kingdom isn’t a one time deal. we approach it and seek entrance on a daily, hourly, minutely basis as we interact with the world. When the place of our hearts is so contradictory to the culture of the kingdom I think we have put ourselves in a place where we are then unable to perceive it – we have put ourselves “out”. The purpose of the warning here then, isn’t to scare us into thinking “oh no, Uncle Bob just didn’t make it to heaven!” or so that we can pass judgment on our annoying pew neighbor. They are offered, I think, as a personal warning, a personal encouragement to live more fully into a life that fits the values of the Kingdom so that we can be ever more aware of its presence in our midst.
With that perspective on the purpose of these words, let us look more closely at what they mean – what warning or encouragement do they offer? I find the contemporary translation offered by the Message helpful with these verses. It reads:
"Knowing the correct password—saying 'Master, Master,' for instance— isn't going to get you anywhere with me. What is required is serious obedience—doing what my Father wills. I can see it now—at the Final Judgment thousands strutting up to me and saying, 'Master, we preached the Message, we bashed the demons, our God-sponsored projects had everyone talking.' And do you know what I am going to say? 'You missed the boat. All you did was use me to make yourselves important. You don't impress me one bit. You're out of here.'
"These words I speak to you are not incidental additions to your life, homeowner improvements to your standard of living. They are foundational words, words to build a life on. If you work these words into your life, you are like a smart carpenter who built his house on solid rock. Rain poured down, the river flooded, a tornado hit—but nothing moved that house. It was fixed to the rock.
"But if you just use my words in Bible studies and don't work them into your life, you are like a stupid carpenter who built his house on the sandy beach. When a storm rolled in and the waves came up, it collapsed like a house of cards."
This version makes clear the intent of the words and actions of the offending parties is to find an easy way to look good, to make religion saying some magic words, but not really doing the hard stuff Jesus calls people to do. The words this version implies but doesn’t explicitly include are Jesus’ assertion “I never knew you” I think this is the crux of Jesus’ complaint. The people were never connected to the person of Jesus only to the outer religious trappings around them, the nature and culture of the kingdom, so very wrapped up in who Jesus is, is still foreign to their hearts. So they are rejected not because Jesus wants to be exclusive but because they just don’t fit in the culture of the Kingdom…the kingdom is about love of others, not building up the self – there will need to be some soul searching before the kingdom is a place where they can exist. To us Jesus says the crucial thing is being known by Jesus and knowing the heart of the Father in order to live out God’s call. The message said “what is required is serious obedience”, This requires a solid connection to the one offering the call.
Jesus moves from this statement into a parable about house building. I don’t know about you but every time I read this I think of the three little pigs (maybe that is a function of the amount of my life I spend reading children’s stories) It’s not the building materials here, just the building site, but the storm is as mean and greedy as that big bad wolf! My gripe with the three little pigs is, how were the first two supposed to know what to build with? Yeah, one was foolish and the other lazy, but had anyone ever really revealed to them that straw and sticks could not withstand the breath of a hungry wolf? I mean, I’ve had a lot of education, and I never would have guessed that a measly wolf could blow down my hut! So with our parable, how do we know what this foundation looks like? I mean, let’s face it – all of us would really like the house of our life to be built on something solid. But how do we discover what that is? Jesus says “everyone who hears these words of mine and acts on them is like a wise man who built his house upon the rock”. So, there it is, the key to a solid foundation…hear the word, act on the word. First, hear these words of mine.
Here our Old Testament text offers wise advise. 18You shall put these words of mine in your heart and soul, and you shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and fix them as an emblem on your forehead. 19Teach them to your children, talking about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise. 20Write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.
Put these words in your heart and soul. Sit with scripture and let it etch itself into your heart, let it affect all of who you are. Don’t let it be a peripheral thing that you hear on Sundays, but make it’s words seep into your soul. Fix it on your hands and tie it on your foreheads! Talk about it all the time, everywhere you are, especially with your children! Even write it on your doors so every time you come and go you are reminded. What a great image! Can you imagine your door painted with bold colors saying “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness”. Or imagine your bathroom mirror plastered with sticky notes filled with scripture so the moments of angst we experience when we are looking ourselves in the eye is impacted by messages like “Where you are weak God is strong” and “I have called you by name and you are mine”. Imagine the impact on road rage if our horns had some sort of reverse honk and as we got angry in traffic it beeped out “blessed are the merciful, or “judge not lest you be judged”. And plastered to your forehead, inescapable every time you look up – boy that could change your perspective on the world – you’ve heard of rose colored glasses, well here we have “The love of God, hope filled glasses”.
The point of the author is clear, clutter up your lives with God – in whatever way you can, make yourself continually aware of the presence of the Holy around you and in you. Remind yourself of the promises and call of God before every step that you take. Hear the words…hear the words again and again until they permeate who you are. The idea, presence, promise, love of God etched in our hearts, shaping our very souls – making up every aspect of our lives in a way that the Holy becomes our hearts, becomes our lives.
The number of active verbs in this Old Testament lesson is impressive. Put, fix, bind, teach, speak, write. There is nothing passive about this. It doesn’t say “the words will be put in your heart or you will be reminded of God’s presence everywhere you go.” No, it is clearly something that involves choice, action and energy.
The second part of Jesus’ encouragement is to act - hear these words and act upon them. Surprisingly short and simple sounding suggestion, but hard in fact to bear out, especially when the words include the sermon on the mount with phrases like “be angry but don’t sin” or my favorite, “be perfect, therefore as my father in heaven is perfect.” To this, however, I have very good news. The sermon that these verses conclude begins with “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.” The kingdom of heaven belongs to those who know they can’t do it on their own, who know their need. And the more we try to live out the values of the kingdom, the more, I think, we find ourselves in a place of poverty of spirit.
So as we hear the word and are permeated with it, of course we must stumble forward and attempt to act, knowing we will mess up but trying anyway. We will try to be peacemakers. We will want to want to want to be pure in heart. We will be angry and really wish we didn’t sin. And then we will get it right once in awhile. We will doggedly move forward in trying to make this culture of the kingdom part of our ordinary lives, not just our Sunday best. And as we fail we will remember that we have a God who loves it when we are able to say we just can’t do it, that we really need a Holy hand up out of the hole we have dug for ourselves. A God who proclaims through Paul’s letter today “for all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God but are now justified by his grace as a gift”.
So, if we can remember those two things. One: to clutter up our lives with God. Two: to yearn and long and doggedly try to act like members of the kingdom, falling back into the hands of Grace as we fail – well, then we are living with the Third little pig. Our house maybe stucco or adobe, or logs or brick…but it is built on an unshakable foundation where the presence of the kingdom is alive and vibrant and accessible to our hearts. Then, when the storms come, and they will come, we can proclaim with the psalmist: 2Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; 3though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult. God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved.”
Thanks be to God.
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