Month: August 2014

A Sermon for the 11^th Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 16 – Year A – 24 August 2014

John Edward Miller, Rector

When Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” And they said, “Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.   – Matthew 16:13-20

The Collect

Grant, O merciful God, that your Church, being gathered together in unity by your Holy Spirit, may show forth your power among all peoples, to the glory 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.

For many months the disciples had been witnesses to healings and miracles performed by their master, and they had heard him preach and teach about the transforming power of God’s love. Jesus and his disciples had shared a common mission that reached out to the poor, the outcast, and the sick. As his ministry gained followers, Jesus was attracting the attention of the ruling authorities. Danger was increasing with every act of compassion Jesus offered to those whom society regarded as undesirable and indecent.

The moment that Matthew memorializes for us occurs at a point of no return for the teacher from Nazareth and his disciples. Jesus was about to cross the spiritual Rubicon by heading toward the heart of darkness that was Roman-occupied Jerusalem. From this point on, he would tell was going to suffer at the hands of religious and secular leaders. Jesus put them on notice that there would be a final showdown with the principalities and powers in the holy city. Jesus began to speak of his own death, and he foretold that he would then be raised from the dead on the third day. These were difficult ideas to digest, but they had to be. It was high time for a loyalty check among his followers.

As they entered the territory of Caesarea Philippi, a beautiful Roman city adorned with impressive architecture, Jesus likely signaled for his entourage to stop near the magnificent Temple of Caesar Augustus. Herod the Great had commissioned the temple to honor the Roman emperor under whose aegis he served as a puppet ruler. The emperor, who had been born Octavian, had taken the name Augustus in an act of self-glorification; he reveled in being called “the great one.” Moreover, Caesar Augustus had been deified; he was worshipped as the “son of God.” So his temple celebrated his so-called “divinity.”

For Jews the elevation of a mere man to god-status, regardless of his power or authority, was more than just ludicrous; it was idolatry, the sin of claiming divinity for anything or anyone other than the one true God. With this blasphemy so near his path, it is altogether possible that Jesus realized that this was a moment of truth for his companions. The contrast between mortal Caesars and the living God is infinite. The Augustan Age of Roman domination was impressive by the world’s standards, but it paled in comparison to the power and glory of God.

Maybe Jesus paused with that pagan edifice as his backdrop. Its presence raised the question, which Lord would they would serve? He then fired his famous questions at his disciples. “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” he asked. His students were on the spot; they had to come up with something good, something significant to say. After a little throat clearing and beard scratching, a few voices replied, “Some say that you are John the Baptist come back to life!” and “Other people believe that you are Elijah, or Jeremiah, or one of the other prophets miraculously reanimated by God.” Those answers seemed safe enough. As reports of what “they say,” the responses didn’t reflect any personal investment or cost. But the stakes were so high at that juncture, when all of their lives were on the line, that he couldn’t let them get away with third-person reports. So he put everything on the line with a question that they couldn’t evade. He asked them squarely, “But who do you say that I am?”

Peter was known as a man of action; he did things “immediately,” jumping in where others feared to get involved. His motto could well have been: “He who hesitates is lost.” Thus when Jesus turned to his disciples and asked them to declare what they thought of him, Peter was the first to answer. Once the question was posed, as if one cue, he blurted out, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God!”

Peter had uttered the truth. He did so in spite of himself, because he was never known to be a great thinker, or a man of deep insight. Among the first leaders of the church, it was John, and later Paul, who had those credentials. Peter was a fisherman who hauled in his catch with nets; he lived by his physical strength rather than his spiritual gifts. So his quick response, which got it so right, was out of keeping with his normal mode of being. His statement of belief was beyond him, but it was his nevertheless. And he said out loud what others might have been thinking but they were too timid and too uncertain to say.

Jesus must have smiled; in fact he may have laughed in joy that it was Peter who actually came out and said it. He knew the fisherman well, and if he was capable of seeing him as he was, then surely the others would grasp it as well. We can imagine Jesus embracing Peter by his broad shoulders and saying, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.”

Jesus praised Peter’s faith with those now famous words. With them he blessed the disciple’s openness and trust that enabled the big fisherman to identify Jesus as God’s messiah. In that pivotal moment of recognition and commitment we have been given a model for Christian belief, plus a foundation for the Church itself. Without Peter’s confession that his rabbi is the Son of the living God none of us would ever have ever heard of Jesus, much less have been here today in St. Mary’s Church two thousand years later. For in that moment both Jesus and Peter were standing on the bedrock of faith so solid that no force of evil can ever destroy it.

“You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church,” said Jesus. The disciples must have looked at one another in amazement, for they heard what we cannot hear in English. Jesus’ blessing was a play on words, and they were wondering whether their master had just told them a joke at Peter’s expense. In Greek, he had said, “You are Petros (Peter), and on this petra (stone) I will build my church.” Petros, which is a masculine noun and name, refers to a rock, a small piece of stone. In effect, the big fisherman was called, “Rocky,” a nickname that might imply thickness as well as strength. Think Rocky Balboa, for instance. On the other hand, petra, which is a feminine noun, means a stone formation – a massive rock that cannot be moved. Now think El Capitan in Yosemite National Park. The difference between the two terms can hardly be greater. Petros the disciple was no petra. In biblical Greek only Jesus, or God the Creator, is ever described as petra.

But this word play was not a joke. Jesus was not making fun of Peter.

On the contrary, he was singling him out for this blessing. The question is why? It had to have been more than a reward for a good answer. It wasn’t as if Peter had said the secret word and was winning the $100 prize, a la Groucho Marx. Big Rocky was neither that lucky nor that witty. The blessing was surely based was something else, something beyond Peter’s personal resources. Jesus gave him something in that power-packed moment. That gift was, and is, our one foundation.

And yet, here is where the church is entrenched in disagreement. We do not agree about the gift. So it’s a good thing that Jesus is the builder, and the one who places the church on a foundation of his choosing, because if it were left to us, the church would be on an even more unstable footing than it appears to be.

One view takes a literal approach to the gift and argues that Jesus has passed the torch to his chief disciple Peter, whom he blesses and calls “the rock.” In other words, this scene was like an ordination, a sacramental act wherein Jesus lays hands on Peter and transfers his authority to the one man who has confessed him as Christ, the Messiah. This ritual thereby makes the church associated with Peter the church, the repository of Christ’s power. The hierarchy and sacraments of that church become essential to being Christian, and in time, certain of its teachings would be regarded as infallible.

Another view protests that it was neither the choice of Peter, nor the act of authorizing him as head of the church, that constitutes the gift. Instead, it is his confession of faith, his believing in Jesus as Messiah, that his teacher was praising. The gift of Christ Jesus is the grace of recognition and the courage to name, and take a solid stand with, the Son of the Living God. Confession of faith, rather than sacraments and structures, was the rock upon which Christ would build his church. This view of the decisive moment became the standard position of the Protestant Reformers in the 16^th century.

And here we are – Episcopalians who stand on ground that is neither of the extremes, but contains elements of both views. We inherit and promote a “middle way,” based on Scripture and tradition. And we depend on the grace of God for guidance through, and the redemption of, our life. This is the gift: that God loves us, and supports us, and makes us whole, despite the fact that we do not merit what God is constantly giving. From this perspective of eternal love we can see that Peter is everyman; he is you and I.

Peter, the rolling stone, the unstable block (blockhead?) confessed Jesus as Messiah. By the grace of God, and at the right time, the truth penetrated his thick skull and he shouted it out. And at that moment Jesus knew that his friend Rocky, Petros, had put on the petra – had put on Christ, and that saved him and the church from stumbling. To Peter, the one whose doubt caused him to sink like a stone as he walked toward him on the water, the one who would deny even knowing Jesus three times as his Teacher faced execution, the one whom Paul would rebuke as two-faced in his dealings with Gentile converts, Jesus promised to give the keys to the kingdom – the keys of binding and loosing, His faith had overcome the obstacle that he himself was. Peter had become who he was intended to be.

He exclaimed, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God!” Thank God he said it. And that is exactly what we should say. Thank God, and no one else. As Jesus said to Peter, “flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven.” This was a revelation, not an insight or a correct answer. God made it happen, disclosing to an ordinary man an extraordinary truth. Peter remained fallible and dense, but with the help of God he persevered to the end, and endured an ignominious death for the sake of Jesus, the Messiah, the Son of the Living God. We have received his testimony; we confess our faith, even as we confess our sins. For we too do things that we should not have done, and have left undone those things that we should have done. And, as our forebears had the wisdom to admit, “there is no health in us.” Neither we, nor Peter, nor Paul, nor Mary, nor Joseph, nor Mother Teresa, nor Martin King, nor any other disciple, has the ability, in and of himself, to know Christ and make him known in word and deed. That power is beyond our reach, but it is given to us freely. Peter’s simplicity was his real strength; it made him open and receptive to Jesus, and he knew him.

That was enough. God’s grace is sufficient to fill the gaps and the cracks in our rocky ways. Though we often are petrified to risk our lives for his sake, God can make us be who we ought to be: his solid stone, his foundation for the future.

In the Name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Let it be. Amen.

 A Sermon for the 10^th Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 15 – 17 August 2014

Eleanor Lee Wellford, Associate Rector

__________

Jesus left Gennesaret and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.  – Matthew 15: 21-28

Have you ever been in a position to receive the benefit of something that wasn’t directly meant for you?  For example have you ever been close enough to overhear someone else’s golf or tennis lesson?  Or have you enjoyed listening to the music coming from a neighbor’s party that you didn’t happen to be invited to?

Last year my family and I were at the River over the 4th of July and for some reason hadn’t thought to bring even a sparkler with us.  But it didn’t matter because when we had finished dinner and were sitting out on our porch looking out across the Rappahannock River, we were mesmerized for about 20 minutes by the most amazing fireworks display – the kind where each burst looked like the grand finale!

If I had known who the people were who entertained us so well, I would have written them a thank-you note.  Those fireworks weren’t meant for us but that didn’t stop us from enjoying them!

In today’s story from Matthew, the Canaanite woman found something that most people of her day wouldn’t have thought was meant for her, either.  What she found was mercy – God’s mercy extended through Jesus.   But first, here is the context for this story so it might begin to make some sense to us hearing it today.

Jesus and his disciples, all Jews, were traveling in the predominantly Gentile region of Tyre and Sidon.  As you might remember from the Old Testament, the Canaanites were pagans and specifically the people whom the Israelites had to conquer before they could get to the Promised Land and with whom they were forbidden to mingle once they got there.

Somehow, the Canaanite woman in Matthew’s story knew who Jesus was and surprisingly called out to him as the Son of David, which was a very Jewish reference.  She had done her homework when it came to Jesus, (or as we might say, she had looked him up on the Internet) and when she found out that he had been curing people of demons, she knew what she had to do.

So, she tracked him down and shouted at him to get his attention because her own daughter was possessed by a demon and the woman was desperate to have Jesus cast it out of her.   At first, Jesus ignored her, and his disciples advised him to keep ignoring her because as Jews traveling in a foreign country, they didn’t want to be noticed by having someone shouting at them.

She didn’t let Jesus’ silence stop her, though.  She kept tracking him until she finally got close enough to fall on her knees and pray fervently: “Lord, help me!” (Matthew 15:25).

And then came this strange dialogue.  Jesus told her: “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”  To which the Canaanite woman was quick to answer: “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”  Something in Jesus must have shifted as a result of what she said and out of compassion he answered her, “Woman, great is your faith!  Let it be done for you as you wish.”  And then Matthew wrote that her daughter was healed instantly.  (Matthew 15:26-28).

What seems to be at stake here is the nature of God’s mercy: just how far does it extend through Jesus?  Should it be “wasted” on pagans such as the Canaanite woman or kept just for the Jews?

In Jesus’ day, the term “children” was a reference to the children of Israel, and apparently pagans were sometimes referred to as “dogs” which to our ears sounds demeaning and insulting no matter how much we love dogs.  Yet despite the unworthiness of her nationality and social position in the eyes of any self-respecting Jew, the Canaanite woman risked her dignity and appealed to Jesus on behalf of her daughter.   It makes me think that Jesus must have recognized the extent of her faith in the sheer brazenness of what she said and did.

The Canaanite woman must have known that she was out of her element in asking for Jesus’ healing power of mercy, but she somehow felt the wideness in it – that it didn’t stop with Jews alone.   Whether she was entitled to those crumbs or not, she sensed that through Jesus, they were within her grasp.  So she opened her hands and her heart and gathered them in.

In her book called Traveling Mercies (New York: Pantheon Books, 1999), Anne Lamott also experienced something that wasn’t meant for her; yet that didn’t stop her from benefiting from it.  In her writing, she makes no secret of the fact that when she was in her early 3  0s, she struggled with alcohol and drug addictions and lived in a ghetto section of affluent Marin County, California.   By virtue of her middle class upbringing, she shouldn’t have been living there.

Her addictions, however, were in full control of her life and she eked out an existence, writing and buying what she needed at flea markets.  One Sunday she was wandering around the streets of the ghetto, mingling with the dusty people at the flea market and feeling terribly hung over.

It was around 11:00 o’clock that morning when she heard gospel music coming from a church across the street.  It was called St. Andrew Presbyterian Church.  “It looked homely and impoverished” she wrote,  “a ramshackle building with a cross on top, terrible brown linoleum inside and … plastic stained glass windows” (pg 46).

The music wafting out of the open door caught her attention and she stopped and listened to it.  It reminded her of a happy time in her childhood when she would go to church with her grandparents and sing gospel music.  She knew, though, that the music and singing were clearly not meant for her.  She wasn’t a member there.  She was an outsider, a bystander lost in the dust and bustle of the ghetto.

Yet she approached the doorway of the church, anyway.  And during the part of the service when the people were greeting and hugging each other, she found herself shaking hands with complete strangers and being drawn into their circle of warmth.

Instead of judgment, there was complete wideness in their acceptance of her.  “No matter how bad I am feeling” she wrote, “or how lost or lonely or frightened, when I see the faces of the people at my church and hear their tawny voices, I can always find my way home” (p. 48).

Maybe in the same way, the Canaanite woman in Matthew’s gospel, found her way home by reaching out for something that wasn’t meant for her.  She, too, was an outsider looking in upon a circle of people who were doing their best to ignore her.  But she would have none of that.  There was something in that circle that she needed desperately – even if it meant risking her dignity to receive it.

Have you ever been so desperate for something that you were willing to risk being shamed or losing your dignity to receive it?  Forgiveness might fall into that category; but as the Canaanite woman proved and as did Ann Lamott, so might mercy.  Like grace, mercy is not something we earn or deserve but seeks us out when we are most open and in need of it.

Mercy is defined as “a disposition to be kind and forgiving; the feeling that motivates compassion” (Word Book app).  The Canaanite woman’s presence and persistent faith must have appealed to Jesus’ compassion and he healed her daughter.  And there was something in Anne Lamott’s surrender to the presence of the Holy Spirit on the doorstep of St. Andrew Presbyterian that stirred up compassion among the members of that congregation.   As she described it, their hospitality and mercy became both breath and food to her.

So there are two examples of God’s mercy that span a period of time of over 2000 years.  And the good news is that it hasn’t run out yet and like God’s love and grace, I can’t imagine that it ever will.

A Sermon for the Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

Year A- August 10, 2014

David Hathaway Knight, Priest Associate

Father-like, he tends and spares us;
well our feeble frame he knows;
In his hand he gently bears us, rescues us from all our foes.
Alleluia, alleluia! Widely yet his mercy flows. Hymn 410, stanza 3

 At one time or another there are those things that can strike a note of fear in most, if not all of us.  I begin with a story about a young boy who lived in the neighborhood where I grew up.  Twice a year it seemed, he experienced fear in its purest form, at least its purest form for a young child.   This fear occurred every six months in March and again in September.  It came in the form of a little envelope in the mail box out by the entrance to the driveway to their home.  In that little envelope was a note on crinkly paper depicting a little bear in a blue jacket.   The little bear had a friendly message but it struck a note of terror in this little boy.   The note was the same every six months. On each page there was that little brown bear in a blue jacket.  On the cover page the little bear was saying these words, “Now I know you must go…” turning to inside page, “Before delay causes decay…” facing page on right, “T’would be a shame to have a pain…” back cover,  “Dr. John F. Keller, DMD”.  His mother always opened it because she knew what it was and what to do.  Every time that little envelope with that little card on crinkly paper depicting that friendly little bear came in the mail box, it meant that this boy was due for a trip to the dentist.  Few things in his young, innocent, protected life struck more fear than a trip up those long linoleum covered stairs and around the corner through the frosted glass door to Dr. Keller’s office where he would sit on one of those green vinyl chairs until summoned by name into the dentist chair.  One day as March that year was rolling in, he had an idea!   You see, his little mind had been working overtime on a solution to escaping from his trip to the dentist.   It was time once again for that little envelope with that card on crinkly paper with the little bear and his friendly reminder to arrive in the mailbox.  He had a solution!  He, and he alone, would get to the mail box before anybody else and he alone would screen the mail.  Well, behold, in a few days, there it was, that little envelope with the card on crinkly paper and the little bear in the blue jacket with his friendly message. “Ha!”  He removed the mail from the mailbox, carried it through the garage and paused, paused where the trash can was located. Thus, it came to pass that on that day not all of the mail made its way into the house where his mother would sort the bills and letters, for you see one piece of mail was now at the very bottom of the trash can. It had been shredded into tiny little unrecognizable pieces.  All was now well.  His mother would never see the little envelope with the card on crinkly paper and the friendly little bear in the blue jacket with his friendly reminder, and she wouldn’t have that reminder to call Dr. Keller. The little boy, his fear now gone, went off to sleep that night cuddling his own teddy bear  and very proud of himself..

Several days later after school he came through that same kitchen door where he could smell those delicious fruit tarts that his mother often made on Wednesdays.   A batch was fresh out of the oven and she offered him one for his after school snack.  As he was munching on this delicious treat all was well—well—until my mother said, “Now Davie, tomorrow you have to come right home after school.  You have a dentist appointment with Dr. Keller at 4:00.  My heart sank.  The fear struck once more.  My solution had… had…well, you get the drift.  You see, my mother did not need that little card with the note on crinkly paper with the little bear in the blue jacket with his friendly reminder, for her to remember to pick up the phone twice a year by herself and say to the operator “730, please”. (That was Dr. Keller’s  phone number and it is etched in my brain forever even though I can’t remember last Tuesday.  In 1962, in the event that you are even interested, it became 637-0730 when we went to dial phones.)  Bless her heart, my mother had a built in timer that went off in March and again in September like clockwork.  In fear, the next day I was destined to climb those linoleum covered stairs and open the glass door to Dr. Keller’s office and sit in fear on that green vinyl sofa until I was summoned by name to sit in his dentist’s chair.  That was then.  Now is now.  I must say that now I have absolutely no fear of the dentist.  Dentistry is very different today as we all know.  My current dentist is gentle, kind and skillful and with today’s procedures and her incredibly wonderful chair side manner, an appointment in her office is both pleasant and painless.  I actually look forward to my appointments. Isn’t that crazy?

What were some of the fears that you had as a child growing up?

And more to the point for our purposes this morning, what might be your fears now?  What worries do you have now? Fear is something we all have to face in one form or another and at one time or another.  Rational fear can protect us.  Fear of lightning keeps us from going out in a storm.  Fear of getting burned keeps us from touching a hot stove.  Irrational fears can be more complex and troublesome until we can name them and come to terms with them.  In our present time as in every age we each have our worries in the midst of complex circumstances in our personal lives, in the midst of such things as violence in our nation and in the world.    It is not unusual to have a number of worries on our minds at any given moment.

You and I can fear many things.  We fear uncertainty that might lie ahead for us in some way.  We fear an illness or a diagnosis.  We can fear death, our own, and death of the ones we love.  We can fear for our children that they might come into harm’s way.  These are very real fears and they are often based on our experience or upon what we have seen in the experience of others.  We can fear retirement as it approaches, though sometimes it’s hard to know who fears retirement more, the one retiring or the spouse!  How well I remember returning from Saint Michael and All Angels in Dallas back in August of 2007 and having the crazy notion that I might retire.  After four days at home, Jeannie, bless her heart, put her hands on my shoulders one afternoon as I was sitting at the computer and she said,  “Honey, you need a job.”

Fear can indeed grip is in many ways and at unexpected times.

Here’s another fear.  A very real one, and one that occurs often.  What about our fear of those conversations that need to take place, but ones we are afraid to have because we don’t want to stir any feathers, rock the boat or face controversy of any kind.  To do so might signal changes that we might need to make, and we fear what those changes might be.  We would rather continue with things as they are even if these conversations might lead to a better understanding of one another and perhaps a better outcome for the future.   These necessary conversations that we are afraid to have can be ones that should take place in a marriage, in our families, or in our places of work.  They can be ones that should take place in those relationships you and I have that matter.  They can be ones that should take place in the church.  There will for certain be from time to time those conversations we need to have, but because we are often fearful, these conversations don’t take place, and that can be unfortunate.  The question we might ask is, “Of what might we be afraid?”  Why do we avoid these conversations at all cost?  You see, the deal is this:  If we have the trust and the faith to initiate those necessary conversations, and if we do so in love and with respect for one another, and in a spirit of prayer, then the Holy Spirit will be present in the midst of those conversations and we need not fear the outcome.  The Holy Spirit will never, ever abandon us.

Fear so often comes when we are facing troubled waters, or when we even think we might be facing troubled waters.  It can be fear of things imagined or of things that are very real.  Today’s gospel passage we hear this familiar passage:

“…early in the morning (Jesus) came walking toward (the disciples) on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, ‘It is a ghost!’ And they cried out in fear.  But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, ‘Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.’”

This is a passage filled with rich and vivid images of how Jesus was there for his disciples in their fear in the same way that he is here  for you and me in our fears and in our worries.  This is a passage from Matthew that has given comfort, encouragement and challenge to God’s people for a very long time now.  This is a passage that paints a picture in which we see the disciples attempting on their own to navigate on the troubled seas and of Jesus coming toward them to save them from sinking as he calms the waters.  There is the image of how Jesus has the power even over forces of nature and how he can be very present with us and can conquer our fears as well as the evil forces that can cause even our worst fears.

There is the image to which most of us can relate.  It is that of the disciples who, because of their fear, could not even recognize Jesus even as he was in their very presence.  How often might the spirit of Jesus come to us and yet, because of our fear we do not, perhaps cannot, recognize that Jesus is there with us?  Happens all the time.

There is the image that as Jesus calms the troubled waters for his disciples so he can calm our troubled waters as well.

There is the image of the choppy seas and the reality that whenever you and I set out on the mission to which Jesus has called us, though we will often find ourselves in troubled waters, Jesus will never, ever abandon us.  He will come to us just as he came to the disciples.  And he will come to us when we need him the very most.  We have reason to take heart.  We might not for some time be able to recognize him, yet in time he will make himself known to us in ways we might not ever suspect and sooner or later we will know that he is with us and we are not alone and we find that we can face our fear in ways we’d not thought possible.  That’s the presence of the Holy Spirit in our midst. And it comes to you and me as a gift.

I find the words of Clifton Kirkpatrick helpful.  He says that the key to faith and fullness of life in Christ is to follow Peter’s example and be willing to step out of the comfort and security of the boat and head into the troubled waters of the world to proclaim the love, mercy, and justice of God that we find in Jesus Christ.  Being a disciple is risky and exciting business, but that is exactly what God calls us to do and to be, and God assures us that if you and I get out of the comfort of the boat we can count on the fact that our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ will never, ever abandon us.  God invites you and me to step out beyond our fears in faith that God will never abandon us.

What are your fears this day?  To have those fears is a normal thing.  Some of our fears are real and are warranted.  We know from life’s experience what might happen.  If this gospel reading tells us nothing else, if countless passages of scripture tell us nothing else, if the experience of so many who have gone before us tells us nothing else, it is that the Holy Spirit will never, ever abandon us, and that at some point along the path, in the midst of our fear something will happen and we will discover that we are not alone and that God is with us no matter what.

The disciples cried out in fear, but Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” As you and I face our fears, Jesus speaks to you and to me and says, “Take heart, do not be afraid.”

 A Sermon for the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

 Proper 13 – Year A –3 August 2014

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

 Let your continual mercy, O Lord, cleanse and defend your Church; and, because it cannot continue in safety without your help, protect and govern it always by your goodness; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

One of the least favorite things I had to face in college Phys. Ed. was the wrestling requirement. All freshmen were introduced to a number of challenging sports, including cross-country running, football, soccer, basketball and track. The athletics department promoted the “sound mind in a sound body” ideal while pushing us to engage in a wide variety of activities. Wrestling, the toughest sport of all, was reserved for the cold winter months in Lexington. I had covered wrestling as high school editor, and I had great respect for the grapplers who gave their all every time they hit the mat. But I was not drawn to the sacrificial discipline and strenuous effort that wrestling demanded.

Nevertheless, the curriculum required that I experience the sport, and I complied. My class consisted of thirty or so guys, and we were paired up with opponents who were roughly our size and weight. As luck would have it my wrestling partner was a fellow pledge brother in our fraternity. Neither Bill nor I was really thrilled at the prospect of all that exertion, and so we always looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders as our time came to step onto the mat and assume the wrestlers’ positions. However, our mutual disinterest and feigned boredom did not continue after the coach blew his whistle. We went at each other with severe intensity.

After a grueling, and seemingly unending, period of grappling the clock would wind down to zero. The coach would sound the final whistle, and a great deal of muscle strain, maneuvering, skin-searing holds, and sweaty struggle would end. The daily combat would cease with a stalemate. Neither Bill nor I could ever pin the other, and the points we amassed for various moves always remained equal. So we simply shook hands and laughed and waited for another day on the mat. Victory exceeded our grasp throughout the gray days of winter.

As a test of strength and perseverance wrestling was without equal. I learned a lot about my own mental toughness and physical potential, and I grew to appreciate the virtues of my opponent as well. However, in our case the outcome of the sport was inconclusive. We were too evenly matched. And yet, the memory of the contest and fact that it resulted in a draw no matter how hard we tried to dominate the other, remains with me. Who knew that match would serve as a lens for interpreting a great biblical text in my later life?

Our survey of the Genesis account of the patriarchs of Israel reaches a moment of transforming truth today. The text tells the story of Jacob’s wrestling match with a mysterious nocturnal attacker at the River Jabbok. This was a night terror that was not just a bad dream; the nightmare was real, and whoever the assailant was, he was trying to overcome Jacob with brute strength. He forced Jacob to fight for his life, and that is what he did. The wrestling revealed the kind of power that both men possessed. And that is the focus of God’s word for us this morning.

Jacob was clearly a match for the mysterious individual with whom he had to wrestle throughout that dreadful night. He was known to have almost superhuman strength. Still, the fact that he was not subjugated by the stranger’s might may also indicate that he gained advantage by trickery – which would be consistent with Jacob’s character. He was innately a trickster and a fierce wrestler. Not only did he do battle with his twin brother Esau in the womb, but he also grabbed hold of Esau’s heel as exited the birth canal first. Jacob always wanted to win, and it was obvious that he was hard to shake, a man whose wits and physical strength was a force to be reckoned with.

Throughout his life Jacob had sought to gain unfair advantage. He cheated Esau out of his birthright. He deceived his elderly, nearly blind father Isaac, and tricked him into giving him the paternal blessing reserved for the firstborn. And when he himself had been the victim of trickery in the service of his uncle Laban, he figured out ways to build up a fortune in sheep and goats at Laban’s expense. He even influenced his wife Rachel to follow his dubious example as a deceiver. As a crowning bit of self-promotion, Jacob sent his whole household – wives, children, servants, and flocks of sheep and goats – ahead of him across the Jabbok River. This may sound as though he was safeguarding them at the crossing, but there is little to support that. They didn’t need a rear guard because there was no one in pursuit. Laban had declared an uneasy truce with Jacob, allowing him to return to his native land.

The thing to fear lay ahead of Jacob’s entourage. His brother Esau and a large contingent of men were reportedly riding to meet him as he made the trek homeward. This news caused Jacob great concern, and rightly so. He was a cheat and a supplanter, and Esau was his usual victim. It was altogether likely that Esau would be seeking revenge rather than reunion. Thus, Jacob’s sending forth his retinue ahead of him could be seen as using them as human and animal shields in a forthcoming fight.

Needless to say, Jacob had a lot to think about on that night by the river. His deceitful past was shadowy, and his future seemed even dimmer. Guilt and doubt drew a pall over his consciousness. Jacob was anxious about the day ahead; his uncertainty about it was unbearable. He was groping about in the darkness – both literally and figuratively. That’s when he felt the powerful grasp of someone who wrestled him to the ground, and would not let go. The hand-to-hand struggle that ensued was terrifying. Jacob was afraid, but determined. He had the tenacity to contend with the stranger instead of capitulating. That was his choice, to strive with his mighty opponent rather than attempting to run or collapsing like a spineless jellyfish.

The match went on through the night. Jacob’s opponent was formidable, but he did not dominate the struggle. Despite the fact that the other wrestler had enough power to put Jacob’s hip out of joint, he did not pin him and declare victory. Jacob would not let that happen. He was locked in mortal combat, and adamantly refused to let the man go without receiving his blessing. This was a deadlock that would not be decisive, one-way or the other.

As daybreak approached, the stranger tried to call a halt to the struggle. He signaled for Jacob to loosen his hold and let him go, because the sun was about to rise. That was Jacob’s clue that he had been wrestling with more than a man. Mortals live and move in the light of day, but God’s messengers often prefer to come to us by night. He realized that he had an angel in his grasp, and he was more determined that ever to hold on for dear life. Jacob sensed that he had done well to wrestle him to a draw, and he may have thought that he could get a favor granted from the divine being.

Seeing that Jacob would not relent, the angel grunted out a question. He asked, “What is your name?” His query was not for information – an angel of God would already know the identity of one to whom he had been sent. Rather it was to get Jacob to say his name out loud, thereby exposing his identity. Names in the biblical world were regarded as symbols; they revealed the essence of the person to whom they were attached. Jacob answered, identifying himself to his opponent, who was in reality his advocate, the one sent from God to speak a word of grace to him. The angel replied,  “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.”

Jacob’s “prevailing” lay not in subduing the angel, but in not being subdued by him. His true victory was the change in identity that God bestowed upon him. The new name symbolizes that change. “Jacob” had described him as the “heel-holder” or the “supplanter.” The name “Israel” can be translated as “one who has striven with God,” but other meanings include “triumphs with God” and “prince of God.” In every case, though, the name Israel shows the transformation of Jacob’s character. No longer a cheat and a claim-jumper, he is one whose life is in the presence of God, a life now to be lived for the sake of God. That is a big change. It took a struggle and a blessing to make it a reality.

The text says that Jacob – now known as Israel – sought to learn the angel’s name. He did so in order to get a handle on him, to grab hold of the essence of God, so that he might still get an advantage. But he got no name from the other wrestler. Instead, he got a blessing, which is to say, a transformation. That gift was far better than an advantage. It was a conversion of his heart and mind, so that he could cross the river without guilt or fear, embrace his home and his brother, and experience redemption.

So Jacob arose from dust, and saw that the angel had vanished. He named the place Peniel, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved.” Jacob understood that his transformation was a miraculous gift. He had survived “facetime” with God. That is, he had looked God in the eye, and neither he nor God blinked. That is an amazing revelation. The ancient fear was that anyone who saw God would perish. The glory of God was like a consuming fire; no one could withstand its vaporizing heat.

But Jacob did. For him the face of God was a refiner’s fire. It made him a better man, and the father of the covenant people, Israel. The struggle left him with a reminder, though. He had not emerged unscathed. Jacob limped away from the wrestling match, and across the river Jabbok, because his hip had been damaged. That was his reminder of the night that changed his life. Jacob faced his own demons by facing his angel – the one whose message was the truth, the face of God. The encounter’s travail gave birth to Israel. The blessing was grace sufficient for the rest of his life.

God sends us his messengers in various forms. They come to us, and help us to face the truth, especially when our vision is obscured by the darkness caused by things we have done and left undone. They approach us when we are paralyzed by doubt, or fear, or uncertainty. Sometimes they take hold of us and wrestle us to the mat, and there coax us to reveal who really are, so that we may become the person God means us to be. The angel by the Jabbok River revealed the true power of God. He showed us that it is not coercive; it does not decimate or destroy. The power of God is creative; it is transforming love.

Jacob was changed. And we are all heirs of that transformation.

In the Name of God, whose love will not let us go, let us welcome that embrace and live. Amen.