Saturday, January 24, 2009

Your Deep Gladness and the World's Deep Hunger

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
January 25, 2009; 3 Epiphany, Year B
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Mark 1:14-20) – Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news."

As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea-- for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, "Follow me and I will make you fish for people." And immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John, who were in their boat mending the nets. Immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him.
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"Follow me and I will make you fish for people."

Who would have thought that the fulfillment of life for these four fishermen – Simon and Andrew, James and John – would have been fishing for people instead of doing what they had always done – fish for fish? Yet something about Jesus compelled them to take the chance to do something different. And they set their fishing nets into deeper waters.

There is a story told of an obscure woman in London. After attending a lecture by the distinguished naturalist Dr. Louis Agassiz, she complained that she never had a chance to learn. In response, he asked her what she did. She replied that she helped her sister run a boardinghouse by skinning potatoes and chopping onions.

He said, "Madam, where do you sit during these interesting but homely duties?"
"On the bottom step of the kitchen stairs."
"Where do your feet rest?"
"On the glazed brick."
"What is glazed brick?"
"I don't know, sir."
He said, "How long have you been sitting there?'
She said, "Fifteen years."
"Madam, here is my personal card," said Dr. Agassiz. "Would you kindly write me a letter concerning the nature of a glazed brick?"

She took him seriously. She looked it up in the dictionary. She read an article in the encyclopedia and discovered that glazed brick is vitrified kaolin and hydrous aluminum silicate. Not knowing what that meant, she looked it up. She went to museums. She studied geology. She went to a brickyard and learned about more than 120 kinds of bricks and tiles. Then she wrote a 36-page treatise on the topic of glazed brick and tile, which she sent to Dr. Agassiz.

He wrote back, offering to pay her $250 if she would allow him to publish the article. Then he asked: "What was under those bricks?"

She replied, "Ants."
He said, "Tell me about the ants."

She then researched ants in depth, after which she wrote 360 pages on the subject and sent it to Dr. Agassiz. He published it as a book, and with the proceeds she was able to travel to places she had always wanted to see.
(story attributed to Morman leader Marion D. Hanks,
quoted from Stephen M.R. Covey, The Speed of Trust p. 99-100)

Frederick Buechner famously said, "The place God calls you is where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet." Sometimes we sense this calling when one of the world's deep hungers grabs our attention. There is some need that touches your heart, and you are drawn to respond. That's how most of the ministries here at St. Paul's got started. Patty Sullivan saw that a group of parents would like to connect with one another about the hard work of raising children. She started a class on Sunday mornings for them. Kimberly Gross found there was a gap in the social fabric; homeless neighbors could get night shelter and a morning and evening meal, but there was no support for them during the day. Our Vestry helped her start the Seven Hills Homeless Center. An Episcopalian from Little Rock asked us to visit his daughter in the Women's Correction Center just down College Avenue. We found a deep hunger for the Eucharist, and we're about to start a weekly service there. Many of the fifty-plus ministries at St. Paul's began when someone saw a need and was moved to respond.

But God's calling to us also happens in the other direction. Calling also happens from within us, from our own deep gladness – when there is something that we love to do, and so we do it. We express our own spirit and heart, and it becomes our way to bless the world. If we follow the deep gladness of our heart, our heart will find a way to meet the world's deep hunger.

A colleague of mine in Connecticut visited with a widow who was battling a lost sense of meaning since her husband's death. She didn't know what to do with herself.

My friend asked her, "What do you do that comes fairly easily to you, and when you have finished, you have more energy than when you started?" She said, "Nothing that I can think of. But I'll see what I can come up with."

Several days later she returned, saying, "Now you may think this is silly, but I know what I do well. I set a really nice table. I know how to coordinate various foods and flowers, placemats and napkins, and make it all turn out beautiful and delicious."
"Great," he said. "Now how can you turn that into a ministry?"
"I don't know," she said, "but I'll get back to you."

Several days later she returned, saying, "I've got an idea. I see all of those people working in those offices downtown, and I feel sorry for them. My late husband worked close enough to home that he could come home for lunch every day. I would set a nice table for him, and we sat down together and had some of our best times eating lunch with each other. I'd like to do something like that for these men and women who work downtown near our church."

With that she started a weekly luncheon at their church. Before too long it attracted a large business clientele. Many people remarked that her meal was an island of peace and hospitality in the middle of their hectic work-week. Her service brought meaning and new energy to her life as well. The lunch was so appreciated that it continued in her name for years after her death.
(remembered from a conversation with Terry Fullam)

Simon and Andrew, James and John didn't know what their heart was leading them to when they left their nets to accept that enigmatic invitation from Jesus to "follow me and I will make you fish for people." But they sensed a deep gladness when they were with him, and they trusted that gladness enough to follow.

Where do you find deep gladness in your life? Are there things that you like to do? Things that come fairly easily to you, and when you have finished, you have more energy than when you started? We're going to explore that soon during the first four weeks of our new Journey Into Authenticity class. The first part of that class will be a workshop to discover our spiritual gifts.

What do you do naturally and well? What gives your heart deep gladness? If you can think of something, then ask yourself, "How can I turn that into ministry, or service, or vocation or a career?"

The four Galilean fishermen were good at their work. They were good fishermen. But something in their hearts resonated when Jesus invited them to follow him and to fish instead for people. They followed their hearts; they listened to their intuition, left the nets and went with Jesus. With Jesus as their companion, they learned to meet the world's deep hunger with their deep gladness.

Is there a need that catches your attention? What part of the world's deep hunger moves your heart?

What brings you great gladness? What things bring energy to your life?

"The place God calls you is where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet." A big part of the work of this church is to help your great gladness meet someone else's deep hunger.

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The Mission of St. Paul's Episcopal Church is to explore and celebrate
God's infinite grace, acceptance and love.

For information about St. Paul's Episcopal Church and it's life and mission,
please contact us at
P.O. Box 1190, Fayetteville, AR 72702, or call 479/442-7373

More sermons are posted on our web site: www.stpaulsfay.org
as well as on this blog in the archives

Visit our web partners at www.explorefaith.org

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Sacrificing Babies

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
January 11, 2009; 1 Epiphany, the Baptism of Our Lord, Year B
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Mark 1:4-11) – John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. Now John was clothed with camel's hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. He proclaimed, "The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit."

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."
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The renowned Christian educator John Westerhoff taught at Duke for many years and assisted at the Chapel of the Cross Episcopal Church in Durham, North Carolina. John says that every once in a while the rector would come across a particularly interesting couple who wished to have their child baptized, and who, in the rector's opinion, could handle having John do their pre-baptismal preparation. Without too much warning, the rector would send them over to visit with John, build him up in their imaginations with an impressive resume as the great Christian formation expert: the Rev. Dr. John Westerhoff. Thus prepared, the couple arrived at John's office, carrying their beloved infant.

"So, the rector sent you to me because you want your child baptized. You look like such a nice couple. This is a beautiful baby. Why would you want to do something like that to such a wonderful child?"

After the couples' dumbfounded look, John would continue. "Let me tell you what we're going to do to your little one. I'm going to take your child away from you in the name of the Church. This child will no longer belong to you, it will belong to the Church and to God. After I take your baby away from you, I'm going to drown it and remove its identity as your child and the descendent of your two families with all their horse-thieves, and I am going to give it an entirely new identity. I am going to drown it, brand it like cattle, and give it a new name. Now if you're willing to do that to this precious child, we'll proceed."

John said that the rector had been careful about whom he sent to John for pre-baptismal preparation, and so far, none of the couples had walked out. The reward for their bravery was a profound experience of Christian baptism.

Like the Christmas tree, the word "Easter" and the Celtic cross, Baptism has its roots in ancient, primitive tribal customs, the rites of initiation. When a young person was to be initiated into the tribe as a fully responsible member, the child would be kidnaped or separated from its home and village, and taken to an undisclosed place. There the child was taught the lore of the tribe – its story, its values, its meaning and purpose. There would be some trial which risked death and installed character. The child's old clothes would be removed and burned, and it would be given new garments to signify its full membership in the tribe. The child would return to the village where there would be a great festive gathering. Among the gathered community, the child would experience a ritual of initiation, receive a tattoo or mark of tribal identity, be charged with the responsibilities of membership in the tribe, and be welcomed into the community with a great feast and celebration.

Today that is what we are going to do to some precious children in our community. We are going to take them from their parents; teach them the lore of our tribe – our story, values, meaning and purpose; we will give each child a new identity, each will be Christened with its Christian name; we will drown these children into Christ's death; under the waters of baptism they will be united with Christ in his death and raised with him in his resurrection; out of the waters of new life they will be marked and sealed as Christ's own forever; the heavens will open and the voice of God will say, "This is my beloved child" and we will welcome each child into the household of God. We then will return each child to its parents and charge them with their ministry as steward's on behalf of God and the church, responsible for the life of this child. The child's sponsors or godparents will be given their ministry to insure that this child will be brought up in the Christian faith and life. It is primitive, powerful stuff.

Baptism is full initiation into the Body of Christ. We recognize each baptized person as family, and we welcome them to the family feast of the Eucharist to share in the Body and Blood of Christ.

The act of Baptism is indelible. From now to eternity, this person belongs to God, and God will never relinquish the divine claim. When the child is older, the child may choose to confirm that identity and faith, and through the sacrament of Confirmation take personal responsibility for the promises made on the child's behalf by its parent and godparents; or when it matures, the child may choose to deny that faith and identity. But God will never deny the reality that is accomplished today.

At least three things happen in Baptism: Identity, Membership, and Meaning.

We are given our primary identity – we are God's children, created in the image and likeness of God. We are made members of the Body of Christ, and we put on the mind and character of Jesus. We are filled with the Holy Spirit and grafted into the meaningful life and work of the Church.

The Baptismal Covenant tells us of the triune God in whose image we are created. At every baptism we repeat the Baptismal Covenant to remind us of our common work and calling as the Church: to continue in the apostles' teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers; to persevere in resisting evil, and whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord; to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ; to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself; to strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being. This is our calling. This is what we do as Christians.

We ask God to fill us with the Holy Spirit so that our consciousness, our interior subjective awareness, may be opened and conformed to the heart of Christ, so that we will be predisposed to lead lives faithful to the gift of our identity, membership and meaning as Christ's Body in the world.

This is our tribal initiation. It is ancient, profound, and mysterious stuff. But I want to mention one other ancient aspect of what we do today. You might even call it primitive. Whenever our tribal ancestors approached the divine, they always did so in a spirit of offering. They always had something to give to God, something to sacrifice. Grain or drink; self-immolation or money. There is ancient mythic power and meaning underneath the act of sacrifice. To sacrifice something is to give it to God; it is no longer our own. We make no more claim upon the object. Often whatever was sacrificed was burned as a symbol that it has been given to God. Whatever is given to God is made holy. That is the meaning of the word "sacrifice" – it is from the Latin, sacra meaning "sacred rites" and facere meaning "to do" or "to perform." To sacrifice something to God is to perform a sacred rite to make it sanctus or sacer: holy. Whatever is given to God is made holy.

But there is a further meaning to sacrifice. Whenever something is given to God, the part represents the whole. When we offer our prayers of the Daily Office, we give God this part today's time so that all of the day may be holy and blessed. When we offer to God a portion of our money, our tithes, we ask God to accept this part of our wealth and income so that all of it may become holy and blessed. When a person is set apart through ordination to become a priest, it is so that the whole community may know itself to be a holy priesthood for God. When bread and wine are sacrificed on the altar, it is that all may be nourished by the Body and Blood of Christ so that every table may be holy and blessed. When Jesus is sacrificed on the cross, it is so every human being may rise to the resurrection life that overcomes death. In the act of sacrifice, the part represents the whole. The part is given to God – is sacrificed, and thus made holy – so that the whole may also be blessed and made holy.

And so today we sacrifice these children into the death of Christ, that they may rise to his resurrection, holy and blessed, and be given their new identity and vocation of Jesus to be a holy blessing to the whole world. And the Church, this community of the baptized, we are not set apart as a superior tribe to claim any form of domination or arrogance above those who are not part of our community. We are to be the part that is sacrificed for the whole. We are to be the living sign of the reality that God loves and God claims all humanity. We willingly offer ourselves, our souls and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy and living sacrifice for the sake of the whole world -- just like Jesus. All inclusive.

The children whom we baptize today are God's beloved children before we ever bring them to the baptismal font. We are simply recognizing and enacting the pre-existing truth and reality of God's blessing upon them. The world of all humanity is God's beloved community. When we claim our identity, membership and meaning as baptized people, we are simply recognizing and enacting the pre-existing truth and reality of God's blessing that extends universally to all humanity. It is our privilege to sacrifice ourselves to that purpose and to live into our baptismal vows on behalf of all people.

Therefore, remember who you are and whose you are. It is a high calling. You are called to be God's sacrificial people. Everything you are and everything you do is to be part of what God is doing to reconcile and heal the world. It's such a big job. We need some help. Let's baptize a few more people today, to help us in this holy calling.

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The Mission of St. Paul's Episcopal Church is to explore and celebrate
God's infinite grace, acceptance and love.

For information about St. Paul's Episcopal Church
and it's life and mission, please contact us at
:
P.O. Box 1190, Fayetteville, AR 72702, or call 479/442-7373
More sermons are posted on our web site: www.stpaulsfay.org
as well as on this blog.
Visit our web partners at www.explorefaith.org

Saturday, January 03, 2009

The Hospitality of the Manger

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
January 4, 2008; 2 Christmas, Year B
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Matthew 2:1-12) -- In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:

`And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
who is to shepherd my people Israel.'"

Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

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This week my friend Bonnie Crocker from my former congregation in Jackson, Mississippi, sent me an email with two photos attached. I'm guessing the pictures were from Christmas around 1984, when both of my children were angels in the Christmas pageant. Allison's huge smile shows a gaping hole where her top two front teeth once were, and Gray is winged and wide-eyed with excitement. He's already posted his photo on his Facebook homepage.

The images that collect around Jesus' birth are touching, especially when linked to our traditional pageant – shepherds in bathrobes, Mary and Joseph singing to a pink-cheeked baby, the "Away in a Manger" lullaby of tiny angels, the sheep finding ways to pick at one another, the exotic dress of the little one who proudly announces "I'm a child from many lands," the fidgety Roman guards with their cardboard spears, the timid solos of the crowned wise men bringing gifts down the center aisle with each verse of "We Three Kings." It's good stuff. Heart-touching.

Yet, in his commentary on Matthew, Stanley Hauerwas claims that sentimentality is one of the greatest enemies of understanding the gospel, especially the Christmas story and the events surrounding the birth of Jesus.(1) There are dark and serious things afoot in our gospel reading today. Pagan magi making their way to honor the child pay a diplomatic visit to King Herod who will use their information to slaughter innocent children. This is a story that contrasts God's way of hospitality with the tyranny of abusive power.

Who are these "wise men"? Some bibles simply transliterate the word as "magi." Maybe they were priestly astrologers of Zoroastrianism who observed the stars for divine guidance. In their day they might have been regarded as scientists for the rigor of their observations and mathematical calculations. The fifth century historian Herodotus said they were a caste of priests from Persia who could interpret dreams, not unlike many therapists today. By the third century these visitors were thought to be kings, and the church interpreted this story as a clash of kingdoms, with the pagan royalty giving homage to Jesus while the Roman king tried to kill him. The early confession "Jesus is Lord" deliberately sabotaged the political claim that "Caesar is Lord."

So, using a little imagination, we can allow these wise men collectively to represent the presence of foreign religions, scientists and psychotherapists, and even political powers who come to the child Jesus and receive the hospitality of the manger. They offer what they can – gold, frankincense, and myrrh – gifts that aren't particularly needed by this child, but the gifts are welcome and accepted nonetheless. The text says of the magi that "they knelt down and paid him homage." Some translations say "worshiped him." The word means literally "to kiss the hand toward." It is an act of respect that has various meanings in the Middle East.

Here is the picture we are invited to contemplate: These exotic foreigners offer to Jesus a measure of respect that they are able to express, and the holy family welcomes them generously. Blessing and blest, the magi return home to continue in their pursuits. It was not expected that they give up their religion, their quest for knowledge, or their standing and authority in order to be in this cordial relationship with the holy family. The magi didn't become Jews, and there is no story of their becoming followers of the resurrected Jesus.

For me, the picture of this scene offers us an icon of the healthy relationship of hospitality and mutual respect that can exist between Christians non-Christians, between faith and science, between sacred and secular powers.

But behind this picture of unity and fellowship is a darker reality. While the magi are giving homage to the child Jesus, Herod and Rome are trying to kill him. Warned by a dream, the visitors return home by another way. Warned by a dream, Joseph takes his family and flees to pagan Egypt. In Israel's memory, Egypt has been a symbol of bondage. It now becomes a place of protection for the refugee family. Presumably they do not even need to hide from immigration officials. But back home, the brutal Herod kills every male infant in the region of Bethlehem. Refugees, violence, immigrants and genocide. It is still the stuff of today's headlines. We need more saving dreams. We need more inclusive hospitality.

We can be as hospitable as the holy family. We can welcome the stranger, the exotic belief and the unfamiliar custom. We can be as curious and respectful as the magi. We can explore mysteries and be open to truth found in unexpected places. We can listen to our dreams and honor their peculiar form of wisdom. We can be as available as Egypt. We can offer refuge, protection and hope to those who flee from violence, poverty and threat. We can resist tyrants and use our considerable power to oppose genocide, injustice and oppression.

In the midst of harsh political realities, we can create a manger in our hearts – a place of holy welcome and refuge where the divine life rests in a secure embrace. In my Christmas Eve sermon a few days ago, I invited you to make a picture in your mind's eye – to see a picture of the manger on that Christmas night so long ago. The star beaming its light from heaven; the hovering protective care of Joseph; the maternal arms of Mary, gently, lovingly holding the child who surrenders divine life into her keeping.

I said that same picture dwells within your heart. The divine light shines upon you, bringing life to your inmost being, where you hover with protective care and gently hold the love of God surrendered into your keeping.

Now add to that picture the visit of these strange magi, the entrance of the odd and alien ones, so different from ourselves. From the center of light and love that the manger represents, we can be secure and grounded enough to be people of radical hospitality, able to welcome the exotic and unexpected. We can be alert and humble enough to learn from our dreams. We can be nimble and non-possessive enough to leave what we must leave, to flee to Egypt in order to protect whatever is good and vulnerable.

There is something deeply true about the Christmas pageant tableau that fills our sanctuary with beautiful children in their wonderful costumes each year. They offer to us a compelling picture that is more than mere sentiment. When we look at those children, collected for the finale at the end of the pageant, we can see the whole of creation gathered around the Christ child in a spirit of hope and light. Sheep and donkey, soldiers and shepherds, angels and stars from heaven, children from many lands and those three exotic kings. We see in front of us a vision of the unity and peace that God intends for us. And something deep inside us tells us "this is true."

My two children, as complex and complicated as they are, really are angels deep inside. It's good for me to recall those childhood images, especially in moments when they bring me frustration or worry. The world, as complex and complicated as it is, really is blessed. All creation is filled with the glory of God. It's good to remember that too, especially in moments of anxiety or fear.

Let the star stop over the place where the child is. We also can be overwhelmed with joy. We can kneel and pay him homage. We can open our treasure and give him our gifts. We are welcome. All are welcome. Whoever you are, or wherever you are in your pilgrimage of faith, you are welcome in this place; you are welcome at God's table.

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(1) Many thanks to Dan Clendenin and his weekly webzine journeywithjesus.net. I've taken several parts of this sermon from his essay "Pagan Magi and Power Politics"

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The Mission of St. Paul's Episcopal Church is to explore and celebrate
God's infinite grace, acceptance and love.

For information about St. Paul's Episcopal Church and it's life and mission, please contact us at
P.O. Box 1190, Fayetteville, AR 72702, or call 479/442-7373
More sermons are posted on our web site: www.stpaulsfay.org
Visit our web partners at www.explorefaith.org