Draw Near

Transfiguration 2014
http://www.lectionarypage.net/YearABC/HolyDays/Transfig.html


In winter, we long for the summer sun. In the winter of our lives, we long for the dazzling light of Transfiguration.

This feast is a sign of hope amidst any struggle or doubt. This feast is pure gift and grace. The early church thought it was a respite, a kind of break, from struggle and toil. If anyone draws back from the challenge or the struggle of following Jesus, today’s feast, re-telling today’s story, gives us heart and strength.

The text from Exodus was composed by people who were discouraged and in danger of forgetting who they were. Remember that what we call the Old Testament was largely assembled by scholars in Babylon, where Judah was in exile, having lost the Temple and their homeland. “Remember”, says the story of Moses. “Remember how Moses spoke to God, and how his face shone with divine light. Remember how the light frightened them, but how Moses called them near. The light was for them, and the light was for all who heard the story and who longed for light and glory in their exiled lives.

The early church carefully told this story in the Gospels and referred to it often in the Epistles. The texts of the New Testament were composed when the infant community of Christ-followers were in deep crisis, rejected and pressured from outside, divided and frightened within. “Remember”, says the Gospel story. “Remember how the Lord Jesus was transformed. Remember how the light and glory of God shone from him. Remember the cloud, the same cloud that covered Mt Sinai, remember how Peter and James and John were afraid when they entered the cloud. Remember the voice, the words ‘This is my chosen.’”

“We were with him on the holy mountain” says the old teacher in 1st Peter. “We saw, we heard, we tell you.”

The Scriptures tell you. Countless lives lived amidst doubt and struggle in the light of the Glory tell you. And I tell you.

I tell you that, even in the sameness of my days, even in the repetition of my tasks, even amidst the losses and sorrows that surround my ministry and the lives of so many around me, I long for the light of glory, the light of God shining forth from Jesus Christ. I tell you that, at the most surprising moments, I have glimpsed that light and glory. Mostly I have glimpsed that light in the cloud of my own confusion and misunderstanding, of my own mixed-up fears and doubts. The light of God is so bright that it dazzles the eyes of the head and of the mind and can appear as darkness, just as we are temporarily blinded by bright light.

But this feast, this radiant gift, speaks to me of the truth beneath all truth—the light, the glory, the radiance, the utter and complete hope beyond all hope that is always straining to burst through the surface of what we think are the Way Things Are. It is the light of unspeakable glory that truly is the Way Things Are. Remember, bask, drink deeply, lift up your hearts. We say that every Sunday.

Said an early preacher, “Since each of us possesses God in our hearts,” and is being transformed into the divine image, we also should cry out with joy ‘Lord, it is good for us to be here’—here where all things shine with divine radiance, where there is joy and gladness and exultation; where there is nothing in our hearts but peace, serenity, and stillness; where God is seen.”

Remember, draw near, do not fear. The light is kind. The light is for us.

Free of Charge/No Hay Cuesta

Proper 13 A 2014 (bi-lingual)
http://www.lectionarypage.net/YearA_RCL/Pentecost/AProp13_RCL.html


Today, we hear that the finest food does not cost money. Todavia escuchamos que el provecho mas sabroso no hay cuesta.

“Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.” “Consigan vino y leche sin pagar nada.”

When we gather, the richest food is free of charge. Cuando reunimos, el provecho mas sabroso no hay cuesta.

In our common life we speak much of money and grants. We speak of dreams and plans for our parish, our buildings, our programs. En nuestra vida comun aqui hablamos mucho de dinero y becas. Hablamos del suenos y visiones por nuestra parrochia, por nuestros edificios, y nuestras programas.

But what gives life and meaning to all of that is free of charge. Pero el que se da vida y significa a todo esto no hay cuesta.

The food of God is the love of God in Christ. El provecho de Dios es el amor de Dios en Cristo Jesus.

The food of God is the Word and the Sacraments, the peace of the Spirit. El provecho de Dios es la Palabra y los Sacramentos, la paz del Espiritu Santo.

The food of God is the presence of Holy Spirit in the midst of the gathered community. El provecho de Dios es la presencia del Espiritu Santo en la media de la comunidad reunido.

That food we have in abundance. Este provecho tenemos en abundancia

At times that food seems scarce. A veces este comida parece escaso.

We struggle to overcome barriers that language and culture can present. Luchamos para vencerer sobre barreras de lenguaje y cultura puede presentar.

We work hard to try and worship together, and to make decisions together. Trabajamos para orar juntos, y hacer decisiones juntos.

At times, our life together seems as small and fragile as two fish and a little bread. A veces nuestra vida comun parece pequeno y fragil como dos pecados y un poquito de pan.

But today, Jesus blesses these small, fragile gifts, and tells us to break them and give them to the community. Pero todavia el Senor Jesus les bendiga estos donos pequenos y fragiles y se mandanos a fraccionarlos y a darlos a la comunidad.

And there will be abundance. Y sera abundancia.

In this broken and fearful world, there are few examples of peoples who come together in the name of God amidst differences of language and culture. En este mundo lleno del miedo y divisiones, hay pocos exemplos del pueblo quienes reunen en el nombre de Dios en la media de diferencias del lenguage y cultura.

But we are trying. Pero tratamos esto.

The church of God is called to be a sign of hope. La iglesia de Dios esta llamada a ser un senal de esperanza.

Our life together is a sign of hope for unity in a divided world. Nuestra vida comun es un senal de esperanza por unidad en un mundo dividido.

God promises today that our life together is not just for ourselves, but for those not yet with us who hunger for that hope and that sign. Todavia el Dios nos promesa que nuestra vida no es por nosotros solamente, sino por aquellos que no estamos ya con nosotros, quien tiene hambre por esta esperanza y este senal.

“See, you shall call nations that you do not know, and nations that do not know you shall run to you, because of the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, for he has glorified you." “Tú llamarás a pueblos desconocidos;
pueblos que no te conocían irán corriendo a ti,
porque yo, tu Señor, el Dios Santo de Israel,
te he honrado.”

Under the mud

Proper 12 A 2014
http://www.lectionarypage.net/YearA_RCL/Pentecost/AProp12_RCL.html


The deepest truth is the one most hidden.

Martin Smith tells the story of how he went to search for an ancient well. He was a theology student in England, and one day he learned that in the Middle Ages there was a holy well outside of the old town where the seminary was located. Like so many of the ancient holy sites the chapel and other buildings at the well were destroyed during the Reformation. The site of the well was neglected and eventually forgotten except in local legend and some historical references.

One Sunday afternoon Martin got a bicycle and, armed with some amateur research as to where to look, set out for the rural area where he thought the holy well was sited. He found himself walking in the midst of a cow pasture, with nothing in sight except grass and weeds and cows and cow pies.

Martin kept walking, although he had no real idea where he was going.

In a low place in the pasture, Martin suddenly sank up to his ankles in mud. Using his hands, Martin dug away the mud and grass. Suddenly his fingertips scraped on stone. Over the course of a couple of hours Martin uncovered a small plaza of rough paving stones surrounding the holy well, still silently providing life-giving water underneath the mud and weeds and cow manure, still waiting to be found.

The most precious gifts lie hidden in plain sight.

Solomon’s famous wisdom is found completely in the simple prayer we heard today: “Give your servant therefore an understanding mind to govern your people, able to discern between good and evil; for who can govern this your great people?" In other words, give me wisdom. In the Hebrew Scriptures wisdom is not simply knowledge as we understand it. Wisdom is a living being, the “Hochma”, feminine and dynamic and creative, present with God at the beginning of all things.

Later, she was known as “Sophia”, “Holy Wisdom” through whom and with whom God continually redeems the chosen people.

In the New Testament she is the Holy Spirit, the breath, the life and depth of God. The Spirit raises Jesus from the dead, and is given to each of us baptized as a sign and seal and promise of glory.

Like Martin Smith’s well, Spirit is the hidden life of God. She hides in plain sight. She hides in our own depths. She is always at prayer within us.

A contemporary monk was asked how it was that he seemed to possess the gift of continuous prayer that St. Paul speaks of several times. His answer also spoke of wells: “I think that prayer was always inside of me, like a spring covered with a stone. Then Jesus came and took away the stone. Prayer has been welling up ever since.”

This is our most precious gift, God-with-us, God-within. When we hunger for prayer and wonder why we cannot pray, the answer is closer to us than our own breath. Spirit is sighing too deep for words within us. God in Christ declares us God’s own. God is for us. God’s gift is given free of charge. Any attempts we make to pray, either alone or gathered here, are simply focused moments when we ask God to take away whatever stone, or mud or weeds or cow manure, that may be obscuring the gift of prayer within us. In the end, it is disarmingly simple, it is so close we have trouble focusing our restless wandering eyes. Small as a seed, humble as yeast, but the treasure hidden in the field. I wonder if the merchant in Jesus’ parable found his treasure under mud and weeds and cow manure?

So often in church we talk about the church, we talk about our experience, we talk about the relationships, we talk about the building and the money and the tasks to be done.

How often do we talk about this: Wisdom given lavishly if we ask, Spirit praying always within us?

Perhaps if we speak about this hidden treasure, this deepest truth, all else will be given as well.

Weeding

Proper 11 A 2014
http://www.lectionarypage.net/YearA_RCL/Pentecost/AProp11_RCL.html

It’s funny what you find in your lawn.

We have some lawn around our house, a cheerful mixture of grass and clover and dandelions and some things I cannot even name. It’s green, which is all that matters to me.

But the dandelions bug me because they’re greedy. They spread out and claim big round patches of ground, killing the other stuff. And they’re greedy of air space—ignore the lawn for a couple of weeks and you’ll see them, tall and insolent, waving their high stalks in the breeze.

On the rare occasions that I have time and energy to do so, I like to take my favorite tool, a weed-ripper shaped kind of like a screwdriver with a wide pronged tip, and dig them out. It’s very satisfying—I push the tip down as far as you can and patiently pry. I love the satisfying “pop” of the root—it’s like popping a big pimple. My reward is a surprisingly large plant cradled in my palm, a “lawn cabbage” as I like to call them.

The clover flowers came in late June. A neighbor keeps bees, and honeybees need all the help we can give them. So I cut the grass around the clover and left big patches. The bees seemed to appreciate that and the clover was astir with tiny flecks of gold.

Well, the clover dried up and began looking sad, and my daughter was stung on the foot as she walked through with sandals. So last night I got out our electric mower and began to cut the whole business.

As I cut the clover, I marveled. Hidden among the clover I found several of those nasty sort of dandelion cousins, those weeds that grow really savage spikes on their leaves. Stepping on one barefooted is like stepping on a land sea-urchin. They took total advantage of my compassion for the clover and the bees and grew their ugly spines tucked away from sight.

Good timing, for today’s parable is about seeds and weeds. This is one of the parables in which Jesus’ interpretation is his way to deal with the unwillingness of the disciples to use their imaginations.

Sometimes I feel that we are the ground, open for all kinds of seeds, good and bad. The older I get the more aware I am of the array of plants growing inside of myself. The good growth, the sweet nourishing harvest of kindness and forbearance and humility and prayer, grow very quietly. The Spirit crying “Abba” is a whisper. I am more aware of the big, thorny weeds—my capacity for judgment and for resentment and for selfishness. I see the spiritual task as a process of consistent weeding. If not, the dandelions quickly rise to wave in the breeze.

But sometimes I think that God is the seed and also the ground.

On Friday I drove once again to Mt Angel/Woodburn for hospice work. The abbey at Mt Angel has a bookstore and coffee shop with good wi-fi—it is a good place to catch up on charting and e-mail while absorbing some peace by osmosis.

On the table were some copies of the Houston Catholic Worker. The issue was mostly devoted to the enormous human tragedy of unaccompanied migrant children crossing the borders. The writer spoke of the racism of those who imply that these Central American children must have neglectful parents. No, they love their children passionately. Only because of the desperation of conditions in Central America do they choose the slim chance for survival vs the nearly certain fate of keeping them at home. Keeping them at home, to face conditions that we helped create by participating actively in their civil wars, by creating the economic conditions that foment poverty and desperation.

But the article spoke of efforts not only to help the children, but also to address the root causes of Latin American poverty and desperation. To not only cut the field, but to address the roots of seeds we planted.

I felt the stir of my old commitments and activist work in the 1980’s, the old passions that had gotten lost in the business of life and family and running church programs. I thought of our work here, to birth a community that addresses inequity and racism and cultural control, to be equals all together.

I thought with gratitude of those who have passion to ask the questions and to do the work. And as I sat in the coffee shop, I thought of all the good being done every day by good people, caring for the sick and the dying, speaking up for the vulnerable, the ways in which the world remains a place where compassion still has a voice.

Wisdom says, “For you show your strength when people doubt the completeness of your power,
and you rebuke any insolence among those who know it.
Although you are sovereign in strength, you judge with mildness,
and with great forbearance you govern us;
for you have power to act whenever you choose.
Through such works you have taught your people
that the righteous must be kind,
and you have filled your children with good hope,
because you give repentance for sins.”

Repentance means another chance, another day for weeding. Another opportunity for us to make it right, to bring compassion. For the ground is good ground, and there is good seed, God-ground and God-seed.

I looked at the insolent little thorny plant, capable of ruining someone’s evening if stepped on unawares. I dug down with my favorite tool.

I do love the sound and feeling of that “pop.”

Trinity

TRINITY SUNDAY, First Sunday after Pentecost Year A
June 15, 2014
Parish of Ss. Peter & Paul
+++++

We know that nature can be vicious and violent. In the winter, in some parts of our country, a blizzard comes and encases the trees with ice, and they grow heavier and heavier until a limb as thick as a telephone pole breaks loose and crushes the spine of a 44-year-old woman; she dies instantly while her two grade-school children stand by in unbelieving shock.

But when you think about nature as you experience it year by year, the thing that stands out is the good, the dependable, the trustworthy. The bad things are real, but they are the exception. For the most part, nature is lovely, trustworthy, even lavish. Good, and not only good, but very good.
But there is still a puzzle: what does the created world have to do with the yearning for justice which is so much a part of our teaching about being Godly and Christian? What does the lying peacefully under the full moon have to do with the cry for community and liberation?

Many have travelled to Africa where they see people so malnourished that they were more like stick figures than human beings.
We love "...the easy wind and downy flake" of Robert Frost's poem. But what do they say to these cries for justice?

We love the fire crackling in the fireplace. But what does that offer to someone who is alone and alienated? We love the sunlight refracting through the ice on the window. But what does that do for the victims of poverty or racism or sexism or sexual violence?

And certainly a part of all this is what we experienced this past week, not far away from here, at Reynolds High School. Our son Christopher is a teacher at Walt Morey Middle School, just down the road from the high school, and his school served as a gathering-point for students to obtain their possessions a few days after the tragedy. Our Bishop Michael said in his weekly message to clergy on Thursday, "I would remind you that one of the responsibilities we have in our communities is to provide a sense of safety. A reminder that God is fully present in the life of Christians as represented in the Trinity might be a good addition to your preaching this week." And so I do now, and ask: What does all of our basking in this glorious (mostly) Oregon June weather have to do with Emilio Hoffman or Jered Padgett or the teacher who was injured? What does it have to do with us who have to cope with tragedy and help our children understand?

When you go back and read Genesis 1 with all these questions in mind, you begin to notice fascinating things that help answer the questions.

On each of the seven days of creation, God creates according to the same pattern. God commands, "Let there be ..." The command is executed. "... and there was ..." God assesses what happens. "And God saw that the light was good." And the text states the time, "And there was evening and there was morning ..."
This symmetry suggests that the world itself is predictable and trustworthy.

In addition to having its own integrity, each created thing is alive and responsive to God and to all the other things. We can see this clearly enough in animate things--dogs and raccoons and parakeets. But according to the Bible, it is true of all created things. To us, a rock is inert. But in the Bible, there is a sense in which it is alive. That's why the Psalmist can say, "Let the sea roar and all that fills it ... Let the floods clap their hands: let the hills sing together for joy" (Ps. 98:7-8). And in our day, the philosopher Charles Hartshorne points out that since all matter is composed of whirling atoms and subatoms, it is all truly alive. Even the bricks and blocks form which a building is built.


Do you notice this? God creates a place for each thing and frees it to be what it is to be. God places each thing so that it is related in just the right way to all the other things.

The key word is relationship. God creates all things in positive relationship with one another. As Genesis 1 comes to its majestic conclusion, everything is in a community of mutual support, mutual encouragement, mutual lifting up and building up.

We know the word does not occur in Genesis 1. But isn't this a picture of "justice"? In the Hebrew tradition, after all, justice is first and foremost a matter of right relationship, of things holding one another up as God intended from the very beginning.

The will for justice is built into the very fabric of things. The power of life itself seeks for all things to live together in community. So the Psalmist says, "The heavens proclaim [God's] righteousness" (97:6).
Now this may seem a little far-out, the frog croaking for justice. But some of us have experienced this: nature bearing its own witness, calling us to community and support in relationship. A family several years ago began a backyard vegetable garden. The father of the family says:

"At first, the garden was just a place to work. You turn the soil and water it, and things grow. But, to use Martin Buber, the famous Jewish philosopher's expression, I gradually began to sense that the garden was a kind of "Thou." I began to sense that the garden was a genuine Other. I became aware of the constant presence of the life-force and the dazzling diversity of the vegetables. And when things grow together at their best, the garden is a picture of what God intends for all.

"I got a lot of help with sermons out there, talking things over with the potatoes. Actually, I talked with the corn (since it has ears), but the potatoes did look over my notes (with their eyes)."

So, on your way home from church today, look around. Smell the fresh air. Take a look at the trees. Taste a glass of fresh, cool water. Listen to the birds. Witnesses. At their best, they are signs of God's presence and God's grace and God's will. Partners in the search for justice. And if you listen carefully, maybe you can hear them speak to you.

In the Beginning, not in time or space,
But in the quick before both space and time,
In Life, in Love, in co-inherent Grace,
In three in one and one in three, in rhyme,
In music, in the whole creation story,

In His own image, His imagination,
The Triune Poet makes us for this glory,
And makes us each the other's inspiration.
He calls us out of darkness, chaos, chance,
To improvise a music of our own,
To sing the chord that calls us to the dance,
Three notes resounding from a single tone,
To sing the End in whom we all begin;
Our God beyond, beside us, and within.
(Malcolm Guite)

Phil Ayers+, June 15, 2014

Broken church

Saints Peter and Paul/San Pedro y San Pablo 2014
http://www.lectionarypage.net/YearABC/HolyDays/PetPaul.html


("Lord of the broken church, whose chosen foundations are marked by fault lines: we thank you for the grace that took the denier and the persecutor and made them witness to your liberating gifts; through Jesus Christ, who sets the prisoners free. Amen")

“Lord of the broken church…” prays today’s Collect, not the BCP version, but from Prayers For An Inclusive Church.

We usually do not celebrate broken churches. We have anxious meetings about broken churches. We hire consultants to address broken churches. Some make money publishing books that give ideas and propose plans for broken churches.

We try to fix broken churches.

Today we celebrate broken churches .

It’s our patronal Sunday, Saints Peter and Paul. We celebrate two men of the New Testament—Peter the impulsive denier, and Paul the persecutor whose first career as a Jewish version of the Taliban was rudely interrupted by Jesus.

Our lovely traditional ikon shows them embracing. If you read between the lines in the NT, you know that this probably never happened. Peter and Paul were at best what the young people today might call “frenemies”, uneasy partners who rarely saw each other and who fought in public when they did.

They fought over inclusion. Do the Gentiles, the non-Jews, get to join the party meant for faithful Jews who believed Jesus to be the Messiah? In my opinion this is the key question of the New Testament—who gets to belong? Fully observant Jews? Or Gentiles who observe part of the Law? Peter was shocked into thinking this by his own vision where God told him to eat pig meat and vulture meat and snakes.
Or all the Gentiles, as thought Paul?

It took two personally broken people, unresolved and conflicted, to open the door for a broken church and a church of the broken.

In a community of the perfect and the put-together, there is no room for the broken. There are no cracks through which can slip the wounded, the unresolved, the doubter, the rebel, the opinionated, the painfully shy, the poor, the chronically ill, the depressed, the anxious, the excluded, the shamed.

There is no room for Jesus. Jesus is the excluded, the shamed.

A broken church is a good church. A broken church knows its Lord, the tragicomic failed Messiah whom God alone raised on high. A broken church knows its need for God and for grace.

We’re a broken church. We’re a church of many names. First Saint Peter’s, then Saints Peter and Paul, now we add San Pedro y San Pablo. How many more names shall we have? We’re in the midst of dying and rising, of a re-birth that includes smallness and vulnerability and perhaps some pain and a little blood before we’re done. (If we’re ever done.) Our questions here have been questions of inclusion. Are we a community of only the resolved and the consistent, the acceptable according to mid-20th century standards? Or are we also a community that fully affirms women in all ways, that welcomes and affirms LBGTQ members in all ways? Are we a community of classical hymn-singing English-speakers? Or are we also a community of guitar-accompanied Spanish-speakers?

Over and over, just like the early Church, the question—if we welcome, if we seek out and affirm and include the ones that are different, who speak differently, who act differently, who bring a different experience and a different culture into our midst—are we still recognizable? Far more important, are we the community of Jesus?

We have Peter and Paul, the broken patrons of a broken church, to advise us. We have Jesus, the excluded and wounded who is raised on high, to show us and to gather us.

Through the years, I have wondered at the mystery of my own call to this community. In the past few years I have wondered at the mystery of why I am still here.

I think part of the answer lies in gifts—I am comfortable with urban environments, I have a deep Catholic instinct regarding spirituality and prayer. I like a mix of cultures, I speak a useful second language, I have clinical training that helps me deal positively with deeply wounded people.

The deeper answer is—I myself am a broken man.

I left the Roman Catholic Church and incurred a sense of exclusion as a result. My parents bore a deep sense of racial and cultural and familial shame as well as anxiety as a result of poverty, and they passed that story on to me. I think that my own wounds resonated with the wounds of this community back in the mid-‘90’s and we recognized each other. We still do. We have a gift here of openness to deeply wounded people.

“Lord of the broken church…” At times we stumble over one another’s wounds here, but here there is space for grace and for light and for God.

Today’s Ezekiel reading is for us, the people of the broken church---

“I myself will search for my sheep, and will seek them out…I will rescue them from all the places to which they have been scattered on a day of clouds and thick darkness. I will bring them out from the peoples and gather them from the countries, and will bring them into their own land; and I will feed them... I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, but the fat and the strong I will destroy.”

According to the prophet, it is a good thing to be in need of healing, for we have a healer. It is a good thing to be lost, for someone will find us. The shepherd promises to gather us, to heal us, to feed us.

The prophet says it is not a good thing to be among the fat and the strong, among the self-sufficient and the complacent and the over-confident.

We are the broken church. That is our hope and our gift. We are the community that has been broken time and time again, wrestling with this question—who is welcome? We are the people of the denier and the persecutor whose argument with one another was never really resolved. But in the spaces left in the fault lines, there is room for light and for hope and for Christ and for those who have been excluded. There is room for you and for me.

We are San Pedro y San Pablo, Saints Peter and Paul.

Pick it up

Proper 7 A 2014
http://www.lectionarypage.net/YearA_RCL/Pentecost/AProp7_RCL.html


Like many new clergy, I too had a honeymoon period with the parish, now almost 20 years ago. That is a sweet if somewhat unrealistic time that a pastor and a congregation will share, similar to a honeymoon in a committed relationship. After a search process and much anticipation, the new clergy arrives, and we’re all rather enchanted with one another. Everything is new, everything is wondrous, everything seems possible, there is new energy and new hope.

During this period, a wonderful faithful member of the congregation approached me with a sense of delight. He slapped me on the back and said, “Everything is going so well! Everyone likes you so much! And there are no complaints.”

I stood there and suddenly, for me, the busy room fell silent. Something went cold inside of me. As this very kind man walked away, I thought to myself that if those words were carved on my tombstone, “Everyone liked him and had no complaints”, that I would not care to appear before God to have my ministry judged.

“Whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it."

The cost of the Gospel is shot through all our readings today.

“Take up your cross” has, through the years, been tamed and made a private sort of piety. My long-suffering Irish Catholic mother modeled this kind of spirituality and taught it to me. Whenever something came along to test my personal patience as a kid—a splinter in my knee, the ice cream man coming late to the neighborhood—mom would say “offer it up.” The message was clear—life’s little troubles gave me material that would make God happy as long as I had the right attitude.

We miss the Gospel, and for that matter the prophets and the message of Paul, if the cost of discipleship, the cost of following Jesus, becomes for us a private way of making sense of the suffering that life brings.

To listen to God and act on what we hear, to be a person baptized into the death of Jesus, to follow Jesus on his way—is a different path indeed.

It is a way that breaks the heart, says Jeremiah. Jeremiah hears the living God but almost seems to regret listening. Betrayal and violence followed him as he struggled to be faithful to the living word he heard. Jeremiah was simply obedient to the word that the God of Israel was speaking to him, the same God who was worshipped by all those around him. But Jeremiah heard the whole word, not just the word that made life comfortable and predictable. For that he was attacked, betrayed by friends, and abused. But we do not have the bland words of comfort of his friends to inspire us. We have Jeremiah the broken-hearted man who accepted no cheap comfort, who although complaining before God opened his heart and mind to the challenging Word he heard.

It is a way of death and resurrection, says Paul. To those who simply added belief in Jesus as Messiah to their array of beliefs, Paul makes clear that to follow Jesus is to enter willingly into Jesus’ death in order to be raised with him to new life. This way would lead to rejection by faithful followers of Moses as well as by Roman Gentiles. Not a popular road, but one that leads us into the heart of God.

And “take up your cross”? We now know that the cross was an execution reserved by the Romans for capital crimes, for revolution and for subversion. The Romans did not really care what you believed just so long as you paid your taxes and obeyed Roman law. If Jesus was harmless, just a gentle man teaching a gentle personal faith, he would not have been crucified. The Romans were quite practical and consistent this way. Private faith is not threatening. Faith that challenges the empire, the status quo, the way that business as usual is done—that is threatening. The Way of Jesus threatened to overturn both the business of the Jerusalem Temple as well as the rule and priorities of the Romans. In a real sense the Romans were quite correct in crucifying Jesus. He was an enemy of the state, whose Gospel meant the end of the rule of tyrants and the powerful.

When Jesus says “take up your cross”, he means embrace my radical and life-changing, world-changing way. Walk with me on a dangerous road, a road that leads from death to life.

Yesterday at the ordination I heard from the rector of St Stephen’s downtown how they transformed their church into a congregation of radical hospitality to the people of the streets. A deacon came to church dressed as a homeless man and preached, speaking from the standpoint of the poor and their experience walking into a comfortable church. The people of St. Stephen’s heard that word and began, from that day, to take up the cross that for years they had simply adored.

And we have taken up our own cross in our bi-lingual and bi-cultural journey. Yesterday we heard moving testimony from one of our leaders who had experienced several segregated congregations in Portland before coming here and plunging into life and leadership at SPP. Life is different here, he and his spouse assert. Nowhere have they experienced a church where two language-groups and cultures are simply together as one.

This is part of our Way of the cross, as we pay the price of walking a Way that is often not comfortable, that does not “feel like the old church” or does not feel like many other churches at all. But here we try in our way to break down barriers, to address and dismantle assumptions of power, to make the concerns of all members our concerns, the struggles of all members our struggles, to welcome fully.

There are many ways to find comfort in this world. Portland is full of such comfort—a lovely privileged life so long as you have enough money for coffee shops and food carts and a couple of trips up the Gorge or out to the coast. But there is another way, the way of the cross, the way of walking with and embracing those different and learning more and more about ourselves, about others, about the Gospel, about Jesus, about the Way of God. About the Cross.