Month: October 2013

A Sermon for the 23^rd Sunday after Pentecost

 Proper 25 – Year C – 27 October 2013

Eleanor Lee Wellford, Associate Rector

 Jesus told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, `God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.’ But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, `God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”  (Luke 18:9-14)

Who are we in this morning’s reading from Luke?  Are we the Pharisee or the tax collector?  It’s the same question that can be asked in many of Jesus’ parables.  For instance, are we Martha, who resentfully stays in the kitchen and works hard or are we her sister Mary who sits at Jesus’ feet and enjoys his company? 

Are we the son who demands and then squanders his inheritance or his dutiful brother who works hard on his father’s estate?  Are we the Samaritan who cares for the wounded man lying by the side of the road, or are we the priest who doesn’t’t want to get his hands defiled by the blood of the wounded man?

Sometimes it’s not always easy to identify who we are in Jesus’ parables because depending on the situation, we may be any or all of the characters.  During those rare times when we’re not in such a rush or so worried about getting our hands dirty, we could stop and be a Good Samaritan.  On the off chance that we have a lapse in feeling the weight of responsibility on our shoulders, we could be Mary or even the adventurous prodigal son. 

I think that the characters Jesus chose to use in his parables represent all of us – the best and the worst of us; what we currently are and what we are capable of becoming.   And I also think what Jesus cared about the most is the person we are capable of becoming. 

How many of us related to the Pharisee in this morning’s story – the one who was thanking God that he wasn’t like that awful tax collector; thanking God that he was, instead, an upstanding member of the community and a good influence on his family and friends?  I know I related to him, putting as much mental and physical distance as possible from that poor man begging so hard for forgiveness.

And I’m guessing that I’m not alone in relating to the Pharisee who thought of the tax collector as the worst kind of sinner – worse than any thief, rogue or adulterer.  What could we possibly have in common with that?  And if we truly believe that, then we have fallen for the trap that Jesus always sets for us in all of his parables. 

And we know we’ve been trapped when the point that Jesus is trying to make causes us to feel uncomfortable, even unnerved.  And I think the point in this morning’s story is that perhaps we should relate less to the Pharisee and more to the tax collector – not in terms of his profession, but in his realization that he was a sinner and in constant need of God’s mercy and forgiveness.   

And the reason we fall so easily for the trap that Jesus sets for us is our propensity to compare ourselves to others in a way that helps us feel good about ourselves – helps us feel less sinful than other people.  But is there really such a thing as degrees of sinfulness?   It seems to me that if we believe that – that we are less sinful than someone else, then we have fallen into the same sin of pride or self-righteousness as the Pharisee had done.

In Jesus’ day, tax collectors were usually Jews who worked for and reported to theRoman Empire.  They could and would tax for any reason and then get Roman soldiers to enforce their actions.  That, in itself, was a problem. 

What was also a problem is that many of them collected more in tax money than was actually owed toRomeand then kept the difference for themselves.  That’s probably the bigger problem and why tax collectors were thought of as the worst kind of sinner.

Pharisees were also Jews but they upheld the law instead of stretching or breaking it. They believed that they were the moral compass of the community which is why they could fall into that trap of feeling and acting self righteous.

I think we probably all know how annoying it is to be around self-righteous people – how easy it is to feel unworthy in their presence.  Yet do we also know how easy it is to see self-righteousness in others before we can see it in ourselves? 

Just a few weeks ago, I was heading home from a health foods store when I passed a McDonald’s. It was near enough to dinner time that the cars were lined up around the take-out window. 

My first thought was how grateful I was that I was not like those people waiting in line and making such unhealthy food choices for themselves and their families.  My next thought was how pleased I was that I had just bought such fresh food and how healthy the dinner was going to be that I was planning on making that night.  So, good for me! 

But then I got sad thinking about the time when my children were young and excited to be ordering from McDonalds.  It was usually such a special treat for me to take them there.  And sometimes I was there because I didn’t have time to put anything else on the table.     

There’s nothing wrong with that.  Those people who provided me the opportunity to feel so self-righteous may have simply been doing what I used to do before I had the luxury of time and resources to make a nice home-cooked meal.  Maybe they were even ordering some of the healthy choices McDonald’s is now offering.  Why did I feel the need to judge them so harshly and put such distance between what they were doing and what I was doing? 

Two weeks ago I was in Fairhope, Alabama for a clergy conference and had time to think about, among other things, how easy it is for me to be so judgmental.  The conference was held at a Diocesan retreat similar to Roslyn, except the facility was in the woods on a bay. 

There was some free time built into our daily schedule of work and worship.  So, one late afternoon when I was walking on one of the nature trails, I stopped to look at two trees growing right next to each other.  One was tall with needle-like leaves while the other was short with broad, shiny leaves. 

As I stared at them for a moment I started comparing them and immediately judging them both.  I thought of the tall tree as being majestic yet having leaves that were unattractive.  Then I judged the leaves of the shorter tree to be elegant but thought the overall shape of the tree was unattractive.

God had made both of those trees which should have made them equally as beautiful to me; yet I persisted in being critical of them.  When I realized just how ridiculous that was, It struck me that both trees were expressing quite simply and naturally their own unique nature without ever questioning why they looked the way that they did, and certainly without ever wishing they could look like or be something else. 

So, why can’t we do that?  Why can’t we be content to be who we truly are and let others feel free to be who they truly are?  Why can’t we stop judging ourselves and others and be the people Jesus knows we are capable of becoming? 

Probably because, for whatever reason, there are lots of things we don’t like about ourselves. But like those two trees, we are God’s creation; but better yet, we are created in God’s image.  What’s not to like about that? 

Sinfulness is part of our nature, especially the sinfulness of pride which turns us into the self-righteous Pharisee.  Yet it was the reviled tax collector to whom Jesus pointed as the character in his story who got it right.  He was the one feeling the weight of his sin and asking for mercy. 

So when we find ourselves sitting or standing next to someone and comparing ourselves in such a way that creates distance, or better yet, when we find ourselves in our cars wondering how the person who just cut in front of us was ever granted a driver’s license – we should think about that tax collector and realize just how much in need we are of God’s mercy.  And we should also think of those two trees in the woods and realize that all they know how to be is how God created them to be.  Isn’t that really all we need to know?

A Sermon for the 22nd Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 24 – Year C – 20 October 2013

John Edward Miller, Rector

 The same night Jacob got up and took his two wives, his two maids, and his eleven children, and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. He took them and sent them across the stream, and likewise everything that he had. Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, “Let me go, for the day is breaking.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” So he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” Then the man said, “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.” Then Jacob asked him, “Please tell me your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” And there he blessed him. So Jacob called the place Peniel, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved.” The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip.

                                                                                                                           – Genesis 32:22-31

The Collect

Almighty and everlasting God, in Christ you have revealed your glory among the nations: Preserve the works of your mercy, that your Church throughout the world may persevere with steadfast faith in the confession of your Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

 Jacob was a cheat. He arrived in this world by cheating, and he proceeded on the path of deceit thereafter. Everybody knew that was the way he was; he was branded with that reputation from day one. And his name fully reflected the sinister nature of his character. Jacob means the “supplanter,” one whose way of life is to manipulate others to get ahead.

You may remember that Jacob grabbed hold of Esau’s heel as his older twin brother was exiting their mother’s womb first. That act of attempted supplanting was only the beginning for Jacob. His jealousy of his ruddy, hairy older brother was based on the firstborn’s birthright – the right of inheritance of all of their father Isaac’s livestock and household. So Jacob plotted to pounce whenever he sensed his brother’s vulnerability. Jacob’s chance came finally when he made a pot of stew that attracted the attention of his brother. He took advantage of Esau’s ravenous hunger by getting him to trade his birthright for a hearty lunch.

Then it got worse. In cahoots with his mother Rebekah, Jacob next deceived his father into endorsing the stolen birthright by posing as his brother Esau. Now old Isaac was blind. So he used his senses of smell and touch to determine the identity of the one in his presence. Jacob was literally and figuratively a young smoothie. He pretended to be Esau by dressing in Esau’s clothing and by covering his hairless upper torso with a woolly sheepskin. He passed Isaac’s inspection by smell and touch, and then he took the deception further by lying in response to his father’s question, “Are you my son Esau?” Jacob’s yes did the trick, and he supplanted Esau when old Isaac gave his blessing to the impostor.

Esau was enraged at his brother’s cheating, and swore to kill him after Isaac died. Jacob took his mother’s advice and fled. His refuge was with his maternal uncle Laban in the land of Haran. Years later, after working for Laban, taking his two daughters as wives, and fathering 11 children by them and their handmaids, Jacob decided it was time to go home and reconcile with his brother Esau. Heading westward with his whole entourage, Jacob sent emissaries ahead to contact his brother. The messengers returned saying that Esau and 400 men were coming to intercept Jacob.

That news terrified the supplanter, who sensed that the jig was up. To soften the coming blow he sent a tribute of sheep and cattle to his approaching brother. Then he sent his wives, maids, servants and remaining livestock ahead of him across the river Jabbok. His last hope, he thought, was to take up the rear guard, and dream of dodging the day of reckoning.   

That is where we find him today. Jacob is alone, languishing by the river in the dead of night. He is seized by dread at the prospect of facing the fierce wrath of his brother. There is no doubt that he is guilty of deceiving his helpless father and cheating his brother Esau. In that state of fear and shame Jacob suddenly confronts a mysterious man in the dark.

The two of them wrestle throughout the night. Neither the man nor Jacob could subdue the other. But when the stranger realized that he would not prevail, he touched Jacob’s hip and threw it out of joint, and told him to release him, because the dawn was about to break. However Jacob would not hear of it. He refused to let the man go, saying that he would hold him until he had received the man’s blessing. That may mean that he was beginning to sense the presence of the divine in the shadowy figure. On the other hand, it may simply mean that Jacob wanted something for his efforts.

Meanwhile, locked in this grappling stalemate, the man asked Jacob his name, and he complied, thus revealing his deceptive character to his opponent. When the man heard this, he offered him an unqualified gift, saying, “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.”  This change of his name signified an enormous transformation – one that came through the withering experience of wrestling with the truth.

Jacob, now known as Israel, pressed the man to tell him his name, but the man refused, asking rhetorically, “Why do you want me to tell you my name?” To give him his name would be tantamount to giving the former supplanter his social security number, his debit card with pin number, and his address. It not only would have demystified the mystery man, it would have tempted Jacob to take advantage of him. Neither thing happened. Instead, Jacob got his blessing. This time though, it didn’t require him to cheat, as in the older days. It was a gift from someone who put him to the test and held him to account for himself. There was something transcendent about that man. In him God was present in that wrestling match.

By the light of sunrise Jacob was revealed as a new man. He was one who had contended with God, and had lived to tell of it. Therefore the place where they wrestled was to be known henceforth as Penuel, for it is where tradition says the patriarch met God face to face and lived.  Yes, Jacob was alive and well, but he left that place limping. That slight “hitch in his gitalong” was a reminder – not only of his mortality, but of the new lease on life that grace had given him. To face the truth, and wrestle with it, is to grapple with God. The process is painful, but the release from dread, and the transformation to a better self than before, is worth any wound sustained in the bout.

Frederick Buechner’s book, Telling the Truth, is about the art of preaching. It opens with a story about Henry Ward Beecher, the famous Protestant clergyman who was preparing to give a lectureship on preaching at the Yale Divinity School in 1872. Beecher had been struggling with what to say on the subject, but to no avail. Buechner depicts him as he stood gazing at himself in a shaving mirror. He looks into his own eyes, and perhaps even into his troubled soul, for a moment. Then he brushes lather onto his visage and picks up his razor. All at once, he has an insight, and exchanges the razor for a pencil and paper to sketch the outline of his lecture. Beecher noted later that he cut himself badly while he continued shaving, thinking out the substance of his remarks.

Buechner himself had the distinction of being asked to deliver his own thoughts in that Yale preaching series two centuries later. He chose to begin his own lectures with that historic image because he wanted to show that telling the truth is about the preacher’s honest encounter with himself and with God. In Henry Ward Beecher’s case, the truth he faced was that, despite his sacred principles, despite his gifts as a pulpiteer, and despite his vows at ordination, he was guilty of betraying all of it by having an affair with a woman in his parish. Absolute truth, which is God’s before it is ours to wrestle with, causes us to wince or to quake when we see it. Thus Buechner comments:

  So when he stood there looking into the hotel mirror with soap on his face and a razor in his hand, part of what he saw was his own shame and horror, the sight of his own folly, the judgment one can imagine he found even harder than God’s, which was his own judgment on himself, because whereas God is merciful, we are none of us very good at showing mercy on ourselves. Henry Ward Beecher cut himself with his razor and wrote out notes for that first Beecher Lecture in blood because, whatever else he was or aspired to be or was famous for being, he was a man of flesh and blood, and so were all the men who over the years traveled to New Haven after him to deliver the same lectures.[1]

 It’s fair to say that all of the major players (both protagonists and antagonists) on the biblical stage had to deal with self-doubt, anxiety, and agony over decision-making. From Moses and pharaoh, kings and prophets, to Pontius Pilate and Jesus, Peter and Paul, the drama of wrestling with circumstances and choices is a familiar part of the Bible story. Jesus spent forty days in the wilderness, fending off temptations and choosing the way of God rather than taking the demonic path to worldly power. Peter had to move past his three-fold denial of Jesus to become the shepherd of the sheep in the early church. Paul spent time in his own dark blindness as he repented of his violence against Christians and emerged as the apostle to the Gentiles. In short, the personal stories of conversion and renewal after grappling with hard facts, guilty conscience, and shame are proper parts of the biblical narrative. Many, like Jacob, emerge from darkness and move toward the light of God, even though they may have a limp, or a razor cut, to show for their struggle with the man God would have them be.

I have spent more than a few nights wrestling with myself. I am sometimes my own worst enemy, bound by self-criticism and unreasonable expectations. At times in my reverie, I am treading water in the deep end of things, grappling with grief, or with conscience, or with worry about what and how to do what I feel called to do. I am by profession a preacher as well as a pastor and priest. I have the responsibility and privilege of pronouncing the Good News of God from this pulpit. But I am also one of God’s people, one who needs stories such as Jacob’s conversion, stories that point us forward through the valley of the shadows into the homing light of God’s redemption. Buechner’s truth-telling applies to everyone who yearns to hear the Gospel, including preachers.  Regarding us all in this way, he said: 

 They [the audience that had come to hear the truth] also brought their worlds with them and when they looked in their mirrors saw, if not adulteries of the flesh, then adulteries of the spirit. Failures of faith, hope, love, failures of courage. Like Henry Ward Beecher, like all of us, each of them too had bled a little. “All have sinned” (Rom. 3:23), Saint Paul says, which is another way of saying it, or all are human, which is another. We have all cut ourselves. We all labor and are heavy laden under the burden of being human or at least of being on the way, we hope, to being human.[2]

 Jacob heard, “You have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.” That would make a nice epitaph for everyone. All of us wrestle with the truth – about God and about us. That is a good thing; it is not a life sentence. It is essential that we face ourselves in the mirror, confess that we are works in progress, and that we have feet of clay. Denial only deepens whatever darkness in which we think we are hiding. The truth is that we are not only human, but that God is good, and we are still God’s children. As flawed and fragile as we are, we are not indelibly marked by our mistakes and our misuse of freedom. God loves us and wants us to come home to the place he prepares for us. If Jacob could change after his encounter by the Jabbok, then so can we. Limping toward the light with God’s blessing is far better than lingering in the darkness cursing our wounds.

In the Name of God, who is the resurrection and the life, Amen.

A Sermon for the 21^st Sunday after Pentecost

Year C, Proper 23 – October 13, 2013

David H. Knight, Priest Associate

Send your Spirit, God, to open our hearts and our minds to your word, and strengthen us to live according to your will, in Jesus Name. Amen.

One of the ten lepers whom Jesus healed, when he saw that he was healed, turned back praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him. The other nine who also had been healed, simply went on down the road. But this one man came back to Jesus to express his gratitude.  Jesus said to him, “Get up and go on your way.  Your faith has made you well.”

 What were your thoughts this morning, if any, when you heard these words, “Your faith has made you well?” It’s been my experience that these words have brought comfort to many while at the same time, have brought confusion, even distress to many others.  If we are not careful, we can take from these words the notion that if only our faith is strong enough, we will be healed. The question arises, does that mean then, that if one is not healed, that one’s faith was not strong enough, or even, perhaps, that not enough prayers were offered?  Why are some healed and why are others not.

 I have a vivid memory of a man in a parish in which I was serving who suddenly became ill and was taken to the local hospital. Within two days his condition rapidly worsened.  Diagnosed with a virulent blood infection, he was transferred to a major medical center where he was soon put on life support. For nearly a month he was in a coma and he hovered close to death. Early on, one Saturday morning I gathered with people from the congregation in the church.  We held a service of Holy Communion and offered prayers for Brian’s healing. The church was nearly packed for that service. In the weeks to follow, prayers in one form or another would continue for over a month.  Then one day, he began to turn a corner. It appeared that he might even recover.  There were signs of hope, but then it was discovered that he would need bypass surgery on his heart if he were to live. Miraculously, he regained strength enough to face that surgery.  He came through his heart surgery but would then face a hip replacement. Prayers continued and he came through it all and has fully recovered.  Today he is the picture of health.  His heart is strong, his hip is totally free of pain and he is most grateful to God for the gift of life.  Like the man in today’s gospel, to this day he praises God for the gift of his life once again. His recovery really was and continues to be miraculous.

 There is another vivid memory etched in my brain as well, however.  Some years ago there was a very popular young high school teacher in the city where I was serving as rector of the local parish. On a routine visit to his doctor it was revealed that he had a small melanoma. Within weeks the cancer had spread. Prayers were offered all over the city and at his bedside.  His fiancé was a member of the parish and we prayed fervently with her and for him.  Within a few short months, however, he lost his struggle against his cancer and he died.  Sadly, there were those among a religious sect in town who suggested that had his faith been strong enough, the outcome would have been different.  Others as well wondered why their prayers had not been answered.  The difficulty with this passage is that when we hear the words “Your faith has made you well”, the question arises when one does not get well, “Is one’s faith not strong enough, or were not all those prayers answered? 

 There are those who have given joyful thanks to God for a recovery, yet just as many do not recover even though they may have prayed just as fervently.   Life sometimes deals some mightily harsh blows that can change things for us.  There can come those chapters in our lives when things can happen that we had least expected would happen either to us or to our loved ones. Our lives are turned upside down. Our faith is tested.  In the passage we heard this morning from the Second Book of Kings, it is God’s compassion that creates a level playing field between the powerful and the powerless.  In the gospel there is a parallel.  It is God’s compassion that creates a level playing field between those who are physically healed and those who are not.  It is God’s compassion that creates a level playing field between those have not been hit by life’s heavy obstacles in their path, and those who have been hit by life’s misfortunes.  God is nevertheless present in the midst of all.

 Once again, in this Sunday’s gospel reading Jesus is telling us that it is not the quantity of faith that is at the heart of the matter.  It is not about whether we have enough faith to make our prayers work.  Rather it is that Jesus is teaching us about the very nature of faith itself.  As Eleanor spoke in her sermon last Sunday about the exchange Jesus had with his disciples about the mustard seed, faith is about relationships. It is about the relationship that God wants with us.  To have faith is to live in faith that God is with us and to live in such faith is to give thanks even if our gratitude begins in giving thanks for the smallest things in the midst of all that is happening.  It is when we live a life of gratitude that we live a life of faith.  The man in the gospel story who returned to give thanks is a man whose faith had made him truly and deeply well.

 Like all of us, there are those who for me have had an influence on my journey. One of those has been Bishop John Baden who, before he became suffragan bishop of Virginia, was my beloved predecessor at Christ Church,Winchester.  A man of deep wisdom, he could relate to just about anyone on any level.  Some of the best sermons I ever had occasion to hear were not from any pulpit but ones I heard from his armchair during those visits I had with him at their home in Bunker Hill, West Virginia after he had retired.  We would sit there as he puffed on his pipe. He smoked Amphora Tobacco in that pipe and I can still remember that aroma as he imparted gems of wisdom. The tobacco smelled awful.  In Bishop Baden’s retirement he raised sheep which was appropriate as he was a shepherd by nature.  My visits with him were always uplifting for me. He was a joyful man. After a full life of serving others and as he looked forward to retirement, however, circumstances dealt him a tough blow.  He was diagnosed with cancer.  He endured much over the next three years, yet he became a beacon of faith to us all.  I remember one cold, snowy afternoon in particular. I remember saying something to the effect that in the midst of all that he was facing, he was such an inspiration to us all.  He looked at me with those piercing eyes of his, eyes that always had a twinkle, and he said to me, “Boy, (he always called me ‘Boy’) let me tell ya, I’m always thankful for each new day God has given me.”  As he pointed to the calendar he said, “Those doctors—you know they told me I’d be dead by last November, but it’s January and I’m still here. To hell with ‘em!”  Then he said, “Don’t ever forget that the two most important words in the English language are the words, ‘thank you’, you understand what I mean?” As I drove back to Winchester from his home in West Virginia in what was then a blinding snowstorm, what I remember most was how his gratitude, given all that he was facing, put into perspective for me what really matters most in life. It was his gratitude that carried him through each day even to his last moments at Goodwin House where he died.  By his gratitude, while yet his physical illness would end his life, he was deeply and truly healed.  His faith empowered him to meet adversity without surrender and he became a beacon of light to others.

 Just the other day I was in conversation with a man who has, in a matter of sorts in recent years, become my mentor, my counselor, and spiritual coach.  We were talking about the presence of God in our midst when we are faced with adversity.  As we talked, he spoke of something he had once read in a sermon by the noted Methodist preacher, J. Wallace Hamilton who said, “This God who loves us would not play false with the hungers of our heart.”  These words bear repeating in light of our gospel reading today. “This God who loves us would not play false with the hungers of our heart.”  We recited the words of the psalmist this morning, 

             I will give thanks to the LORD with my whole heart. . .

            . . . the Lord is gracious and full of compassion.

 Let us never forget, and especially during times when we are facing adversity let us not forget, that God is in our very midst.  Our prayers of thanksgiving for that presence in the midst of all become our soul’s healing.  Our circumstances become subject to the healing presence of God.  Thankfulness is available to all of us in every circumstance.  You and I can give thanks for a wonderful outcome or a wonderful experience, yet we can also thank God for giving us the strength to bear up during a very difficult time.  Like that tiny mustard seed, we can, in the midst of difficult times, begin to give thanks for even the smallest blessings that we uncover in the midst of all the debris around our present circumstances.

 The gratitude of the leper who was healed was a gift of God.  It was God’s grace that made it possible for him to give thanks to Jesus for his healing.  Our gratitude comes to each of us as a gift from God.  It is that capacity to give thanks that restores and sustains our faith.  I can only tell you this: After we lost our son Jamie, it was finally—finally—when I was able to begin to give thanks even for the smallest things—things even as small as a mustard seed—that my faith began to be restored once again.  That process continues to this day more than 16 years later.  It is among other things gratitude for precious memories and for the many kindnesses I’ve experienced even as recently as this weekend. It is gratitude for the faith that in the communion of saints, as my dear friend and colleague reminds when I need to be reminded, that Jamie’s spirit is present and near even when it is beyond my capacity to feel his presence. It is gratitude for a life beautifully lived. You know, somewhere along the path, by God’s grace, I came to realize that without gratitude I would, in time, simply have become toast.  It is gratitude that ultimately sustains you and me through all that life brings.  

Where today, for you, is there a hunger in your heart for healing?  Where might be the hunger in your heart for guidance when your care for a loved one takes on new dimensions as life’s situations change?  God is in your midst today, here and now.  You can be assured that this God who loves you will never play false with the hungers of your heart.

 (9:00) May each of us, with all that we may be facing, live each day in thankfulness for the Lord who is gracious and full of compassion.  Amen.

 (11:00) Today, as we welcome Owen Martin into the congregation of Christ’ flock through the sacrament of Baptism,  we have prayed that the Lord will keep him in the faith and communion of his holy church.  That means that like each of us, as Owen is marked as Christ’s own forever, God will be with him in all things and through all things.  May he in time, and may each of us, with all that we may face, live each day in thankfulness for the Lord who is gracious and full of compassion.  Amen.

A Sermon for the 20^th Sunday after Pentecost
Proper 22 – Year C – October 6, 2013
by Eleanor Lee Wellford, Associate Rector

Luke 17:5-10

The apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith!” The Lord replied, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, `Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.

“Who among you would say to your slave who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field, `Come here at once and take your place at the table’? Would you not rather say to him, `Prepare supper for me, put on your apron and serve me while I eat and drink; later you may eat and drink’? Do you thank the slave for doing what was commanded? So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, `We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!'”

It’s hard to know exactly what the disciples were thinking and feeling at any particular time, but they were human and we are human – so we can try to imagine it.  When I looked at some of the passages in Luke that come before and after the one we heard this morning, I noticed that Jesus seemed to be in a “Proverbs” kind of mood, teaching his disciples mostly about relationships.

 There were sayings about the importance of repentance and forgiveness in keeping a relationship healthy.  “Be on your guard!” Jesus warned. “If another disciple sins and there is repentance, you must forgive…and if that same person sins against you seven times a day and turns back to you seven times and says, ‘I repent’, you must forgive” (Luke 17:3-4).  

 And there were sayings warning against irresponsible behavior in a relationship such as : “It would be better for you if a millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea than for you to cause (someone)… to stumble” (Luke 17:1-2). 

 No wonder we heard the disciples cry out for help in this morning’s gospel reading.  In desperation they said: “Increase our faith!”  And in answer to their cry of despair, or even our cry for that matter, Jesus said to them that it didn’t take much faith to do what he was asking – only faith the size of a mustard seed. 

I can only imagine that Jesus’ answer probably did more to frustrate the disciples than to encourage them since they probably thought that they already had at least that much, since a mustard seed is the tiniest of seeds even though it has the potential to flourish into a 9-foot plant. 

 I also imagine that, at times, it must have been exhausting for the disciples to be in Jesus’ presence especially when they didn’t feel as if they were on the same wavelength or page or sheet of music as he was. 

 How many times must they have asked themselves: “What did he mean by that?” after hearing some of things Jesus taught them.  And even when Jesus explained what he meant, the meaning still wasn’t always clear to them.  It’s no wonder they doubted their faith. “Something”, they thought, “must be missing.”

Do you remember being in school and thinking something must be missing when you had trouble understanding what was being taught?  I remember thinking that about religion when I was in college.  And that thought occurred to me several times again when I was in seminary studying German theologians. 

 Put yourself in the place of the bewildered disciples and imagine how you would have felt after hearing Jesus say to them:”Who among you would say to your servant who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field, ‘Come here at once and sit down and join me for dinner’?  Wouldn’t you be more likely to say to him, ‘Go make supper for me and after you’ve served me, then you may go and eat your dinner”? (paraphrased from Luke 17:7-8) 

 Jesus continued: “Do you thank the slave for working so hard for you and doing what was expected of him?”  Probably not.  Then, don’t expect to be thanked for what you have done, either.  Think instead to yourselves: ‘We are worthless slaves; we have done only what was asked of us.” (Paraphrased from Luke 17:8-10).

 So, in effect, Jesus told his tired, weary disciples to think of themselves as worthless slaves.  That sounds to me to be harsh and unsympathetic to what I imagine to be their exhausted emotional state.  So why would Jesus say that to them?  What are we missing in this teaching? 

 Well, we know that Jesus is teaching them something about relationships when the story is about a master and his servant.  But who is the master supposed to be and who is the servant?  Is God the master, expecting much of us servants when we are already tired and weary from a day of hard work? 

 I think there are too many examples of how much God loves us and does not require us to earn that love that makes me think that’s not the case.  More like it, maybe we are the master capable of irresponsible behavior when it comes to those who work for us.

 Jesus was a master of setting up contrasts in his teachings and then surprising his listeners by getting them to see things in a totally different light.  There are certainly a lot of contrasts in today’s story: one who gives and one who receives; one with power and one without it; one who is waited on and one who does the waiting; one who is tired and one who isn’t; one who gets what he wants now and one who has to wait. 

 So, where is the surprise that’s supposed to make Jesus’ disciples realize that despite how they felt, they had enough faith already?

Well, what if we were the master in the story and God was the servant?  Wouldn’t that be a surprise – that God would limit himself not only to become human but a human servant!  We all know that’s what happened in the person of Jesus.  But why would God do that?

 To teach us the greatest lesson of all about the nature of the relationship that God wants with us.  And Jesus knew about that relationship so well and modeled it for us in everything he said or did in his ministry.  He knew about the irresponsible person we are capable of becoming when we have power and influence over someone else – such as the master in the story. 

 Jesus also knew the person we are capable of being, which is the servant in the story, when we live in the knowledge of God’s love of us.  So the contrasts which we are so good at setting up in relationships with each other such as powerful vs. weak, or worthy vs. unworthy, collapse, go away, completely disappear in the relationship that God wants with us.

 When it comes to God and to us there will always be an imbalance, especially an imbalance of power, yet the relationship God wants with us is the one in which we never feel unloved by constantly being reminded of that imbalance. 

 Parents of small children and their teachers have a relationship of power imbalance, too; yet parents and teachers often limit their power when it comes to the way they love and teach their children such as when they are playing a game with them and let them win or when they marvel at their stick figure drawings and post them proudly on the refrigerator door or in the classroom.

 It’s such a lovely expression of love to limit our power and authority to be on the same level as our young children but for their sake we can’t be on their level all the time.  They would have nothing to learn from us and that would be irresponsible on our part – or as Jesus taught, it would cause them to stumble.

 So Jesus felt compelled to teach about relationship to his disciples and I can certainly understand how that would have made them feel in need of a boost of faith since relationships are never easy – requiring patience and understanding, repentance and forgiveness. 

There will always be imbalances in relationships but it’s the power of love that collapses those imbalances and smoothes over the rough edges of the contrasts and differences that threaten the health of any relationship.

 Faith is as organic as a mustard seed.  And Jesus said that we all have at least that much faith even though at times we may not feel as if we do.  And maybe the reason we feel that way is that we’re doing something that causes our relationships with God and with family and friends to become out of balance such as being selfish or irresponsible or unforgiving, or maybe just plain tired and worn out. 

 The disciples heard Jesus say that they should embrace the idea of servanthood as a way to be in healthy relationships with each other and with God.  And I’m pretty sure that we will find that our tiny mustard seeds of faith will not only take root if we, too, keep a servant’s heart of gratitude but will then flourish when we let ourselves be constantly surprised by the extent to which God loves us.