So you want to give thanks …

… but you do not want to deny your grief, for the loss of life, and love, and hope that you have suffered. You want to give thanks, but you are afraid of becoming faithless, betraying your pain.

It is enough to give bitter thanks for the mixed blessings of mortality, even to give gritted-teeth thanks for the opportunity to pick yourself off the ground, prove stronger than any imagined; or to stay there a while longer. It is enough to shout sarcastic, cynical thanks to the sky, and weep. No one will be any the wiser.

And when you have spent your anger on thanksgiving and its unreasonable, seasonal demands, perhaps, you may hear the whisper of God’s Spirit,

“You’re welcome. You are welcome. Welcome home.”

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Beating a retreat

Saturday, daybreak.

It is a rare day on which I wake up alone, with no plan except to write, and read, and dream.

I am still dreaming at daybreak (of cabinets in the church basement, and their mysterious removal) when my Fitbit buzzes my wrist to alert me to a phone call. I do not recognize the number, I tell the cat, who is also disturbed by the sound and wants to join in awakening me.

Less than thirty seconds later, it buzzes again (the Fitbit, not the cat). Someone wants to talk to me: now.

By the time I reach the kitchen and my phone, noticing on the way, as he had intended, the gift my cat has left me in the hallway, I have missed a third call. Someone must be dying.

No one is dying.

I feel unkind. After establishing who was calling,  I ask, “Is this an emergency?” We have had these off-peak conversations before.

We talk for a while, reach a tentative agreement to speak again on the regular church phone, during more regular hours.

On the way downstairs, anticipating a pastoral imperative, I prayed for strength, patience, kindness.  I am left instead with dissatisfaction, disappointment at my unkind thoughts, at the rude awakening, the breaking of the day.

I channel my devotion into the disposal of the dead mouse, a sacrificial offering delivered by an uncomplicated disciple.

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Stealing a blessing

Christ the King Sunday arrives with less pomp and circumstance than ambiguous authority; a compromised crown; the scandal of the crucifixion.

Yet there is a promise to be heard: not only that we, like the thief on the cross whose blessing we borrow, will be with him in paradise; but that Jesus will remain with us even through our pain, even through our panic, even in our most hopeless hour.

May you know the promise of paradise;

even this side of paradise, may you know the presence of Jesus beside you;

may he be your strength, your hope, your way home.

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Be still and know

Because it is in silence that we hear

behind the chaos of our own hearts

the stillness of God suspended

awaiting our creation

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“Do not be weary of doing what is right”

A sermon for the Sunday after an election, Church of the Epiphany, Euclid, Ohio, 2016

First and foremost, if you hear nothing else from me this morning, please hear this: God loves you. I love you. I’m glad we’re in this together.

Now. About last week.

Last week, we renewed the promises of our baptismal covenant. We remembered the promises God has made to us, in creation, in the Incarnation of Jesus, in the resurrection of the body and the communion of saints.

And we remembered the promises we have made, with God’s help. Do we still remember them?

I ask because next week we’re going to make them all over again, when we baptize the youngest and newest member of our church family. We will promise, with God’s help, to mold the world in which he grows up as closely as possible to the kingdom of God.

I wrote on Wednesday in my blog that the work of this week looks much the same as the work of the last. It is the work we signed up to do when we made those promises. “Brothers and sisters, do not be weary in doing” that work.

We promised, you remember, to continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers.

And here we are: so far, so good. We are still together, despite political differences, busy schedules, or the debilitating depression of having too little to do. We are one body, sharing one bread, members who know that we have need of one another, with Christ at our head.

Then, we promised to resist evil, and whenever we fall into sin – not if, but whenever – to repent, and return to God. This may be treading on less safe ground. What does resisting evil look like in this time and place?

In our prayer of confession we repent aloud of the evil that ensnares us, the evil we have done, and the evil done on our behalf. It is easy to repent of our own evil. But that which is done on our behalf? That which ensnares us? To take responsibility for the sin in which we live and move and have our being is hard work. Resistance is not futile, but it is frustrating. Still, “brothers and sisters, do not be weary in doing” what we have promised.

And we have promised to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ. When people see us coming, they should expect good news.

Which brings us to those other little promises tacked on to the end of our list. The promise to seek and serve Christ in all persons. To respect the dignity of every human being. To love my neighbour as myself. To strive for justice, and peace.

The work hasn’t changed since last week. But some of the challenges have.

The dignity of women, for example, and their right to freedom from sexual harassment has never been guaranteed – ask any woman. But public statements which appear to legitimize or dismiss such attacks have raised the urgency of demanding respect for our dignity, regardless of gender or gender identity, sex or sexuality.

The status of refugees and immigrants is by definition precarious and vulnerable. There is a mandate throughout scripture to be kind to the stranger among us, to treat each alien as an honoured guest. The need for kindness for those in our community whose future feels unsafe, whose place among us is unsecured, becomes exponentially greater in times of stress and upheaval, change and uncertainty.

We have talked together many times about the injustice of the racism that continues to plague and infect our common life together. The work of resisting that evil assuredly has not gone away in the past week. Unfortunately, some in our society have decided that this is a time to exercise and amplify the voices of hate. Racist slogans: Make America White Again, have appeared on community walls. Students of colour have found themselves targeted with frightening and threatening messages, images of lynching.

The promise that we made to strive for justice and peace has not changed, but its challenge has been raised.

This is not a party political statement. Because here’s the dirty secret of the kingdom of God: it is not a representative democracy. It is not a republic. God does not wait for our mandate. “As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.” And God will still be God.

The outcome of last week’s election is important. It will be profoundly important in the effect it has on the lives, the livings, the conditions of the people in this house, and in these United States. We pray for the best outcome for us all, and hope not to become weary in working for what is good. Because the work of the people of God, the citizens of the kingdom of God, has not changed in the past week. We are always called to love God above any leader. We are always called to love every neighbour as ourself; not just to be agreeable, but to love them, feed them, soothe them, defend them to the end. Because that’s what love does.

“Brothers and sisters, do not be weary in doing what is right.”

We have our marching orders. We have made our promises.  Do not be weary.

I’ve been trying to work on some positive ways to put my promise into practice. I’ve been asking each day, “What shall we do tomorrow?” and I’m open to suggestions. Here are the gestures I’ve made personally towards the promises I’ve made. I’m sharing in case they give you some ideas:

I’ve subscribed for the first time to the New York Times. Information is important, and in an age of quickly shared memes and themes with little fact-checking, I think it’s time to take time to seek out true stories. And a free press isn’t free.

I have applied to become a volunteer for Refugee Response, to tutor or mentor a family settling in the new world of Greater Cleveland. I remember what it was like to be a new immigrant here, a stranger in a strange land.

I wrote to our closest mosque and a few synagogues assuring them of prayers for my fellow friends of God, for the safety and peace of their congregations and families, inviting them to call on me to back up those prayers with practical assistance if I can be of service.

I’m still working on the repentance and return piece. It’s a process.

I have returned to the teaching and fellowship of the apostles, the breaking of bread and the prayers.

Just yesterday, we were given the opportunity once more to witness to the hope of the resurrection, celebrating the life of our friend, Gene. I was reminded, once more, of the love of God, the life that we share. I am glad we are in this together.

Next week, with the baptism of Robert, we will once more ponder the mysteries of a life lived just this side of eternity, yet replete with the promises of God. We will once more renew our own baptismal promises, joining our voices together in hope, in promise, in prayer, never wearying of the words,

“I will, with God’s help.”

Amen.

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Weary blessings

I apologize for skipping last week’s lectionary-based blessing post. I was overwhelmed by the choices – All Saints’ or Proper 27? Track 1 or Track 2? Narrative Lectionary or RCL?

Actually, that last one’s a bit of red herring, because I’ve been following the RCL all along. And I’ve been kind of avoiding the Track 1/2 dilemma by using exclusively New Testament sources for the blessings.

Speaking of which, this week’s Epistle convicts me of last week’s failings, and commands me to do better this week. “Keep away from believers living in idleness!” it cautions. “Brothers and sisters, do not be weary in doing what is right.”

It has been, for many of us, a weary week. For those preparing sermons for Sunday, know that I share your deep sighs and frustration at a Gospel reading that kindly suggests, “make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance; for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict,” while we are busy praying, “What the hell are we going to say?”

I don’t have it all figured out, but I know that my mantra, the nudge that the Holy Spirit has been throwing my way since early Wednesday has been that phrase which at once acknowledges the burden, and promises to help ease it: “do not be weary in doing what is right.”

Check back on Sunday to see how that worked out.

May the Wisdom of God direct you, the Word of God defend you. May the Spirit of God keep you from weariness, and enable you to do always what is right, for the sake of Christ Jesus.

Amen.

 

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The next day

What a difference a day makes.

Yesterday, the sun was shining and the weather was warm as I crossed the street to cast my vote in the presidential election.

I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night; stayed up late watching the returns, and woke early with a storm rolling in, wind and rain battering against my bedroom window.

The work of today, though, looks a lot like the work of yesterday.

I have a funeral to prepare for, always a hard call, to hold the grief of the bereaved, while continuing to hold out the hope, even the joy, of resurrection, the extension of a life of love.

Last week, I noticed that our infant baptism information forms had not been updated in a long time; they contain embarrassing assumptions about the structure of family. They need to be reformed in order to reflect the blessed diversity that is embraced in this community.

I had a conversation with a community colleague about the nasty undercurrent of racism underlying some of the discussion of local ballot issues. We agreed that we have work to do to help to understand, air, heal our divisions; to root out the racism hiding in plain sight in our neighbourhoods.

I need to study and pray in order to prepare a sermon from the scriptures for this Sunday, one which will assure people of the grace of God’s love, the gospel of Christ, and compel us to respond likewise by loving mercy, doing justice, walking humbly with one another and with God.

I will look ahead to Advent, with its portents and promises of end times and righteous judgement, when the oppressed will be set free, the hungry fed, the weeping comforted. In the meantime, the season says, though, there will be storms.

A line in this week’s readings exhorts, “Brothers and sisters, do not be weary in doing what is right.” (2 Thessalonians 3:13)

The sleepless night, the stormy conditions, the darkness of the morning do not help to mitigate the weariness, the nervousness, the heaviness of life and limb, but the work is the same today as yesterday. Holding grief; holding out hope. Reforming assumptions to include more families in our embrace. Confronting sin. Studying scripture, praying, waiting on the Word of God. Weathering storms.

“Do not be weary in doing what is right.”

 

 

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Election day prayer

“My kingdom is not of this world, you say, yet, “The kingdom of God is at hand.”

And so we wait, and watch, and vote, and pray, “Thy kingdom come,”

all the while hoping that each small act of kindness, strength, integrity,

love may bring us one small step closer to where you brood

over us, waiting to draw us out of deep waters,

declaring, “Let there be light!”

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A post-election sermon on a pre-election Sunday

All Saints, 2016

Readings: Daniel 7:1-3,15-18Psalm 149Ephesians 1:11-23Luke 6:20-31

Paul wrote, “I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints, and for this reason I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers.”

May such be our epitaph.

No one ever said that it was easy to be a saint.

“Woe to you who are rich, and full, when all speak well of you,” proclaims Jesus. Woe to those who find their own satisfaction and do not worry themselves about the welfare of others, who will not trouble themselves to find out who could use a share in their comfort, nor to care about those whose lives are unsecured, untethered, uncertain.

Sainthood is hard to find in satisfaction. Sainthood is not satisfied with its own holiness, nor with its own comfort, nor with its own certainty. Instead, it seeks others to serve. It follows the undeserving. It washes the feet of the betrayer and shares a cup of wine with the enemy.

Sainthood is not for the faint of heart.

Jesus has turned the blessings we crave into woes, and the misfortunes that we avoid into blessings. Sainthood is less, after all, about keeping a clean halo than it is about living in the dirt and ashes of the world and finding God, shaken and pressed down, a rough diamond in the heart of it.

Blessed are you who are poor, because this inequity, the injustice which holds one person in higher value than another will not stand in the kingdom of God, and those who had the power and the privilege to hold it in place will fall from their pedestals, while the poor will receive an inheritance beyond their imagining.

Blessed are you when people hate you, exclude you, revile you. When they mock you for your physical appearance or hate you for your race. When they revile the traditions of your ancestors and exclude you because of your gender. When they ridicule you for your faith, your naïve trust in the Son of God.

For it has happened before, to the prophets. It has happened before, when the slave ships were in full sail. It has happened before, at the Holocaust. It has happened before, on the cross, such condemnation.

But never has it prevailed in the face of God’s grace, the echoing thunder of the empty tomb, the stark, stone cold reality of the resurrection.

Jesus has turned woe into blessing, weeping to relief, wailing into songs of praise. The resurrection has restored justice where there was formerly only order; comfort, where there was formerly only woe; life where they was formerly only death; deep joy where there was formerly only deeper grief.

That is the hope of the kingdom of God. It is the promise of the resurrection. It is the witness of the communion of saints, whom we celebrate today.

Nevertheless. I am weary of woes. I am weary of the stones cast.

I do not expect that casting a vote in this election will bring about the kingdom of God – although I think that prayer and a long, hard consideration of the values of the gospel, and the beatitudes of Jesus will bring us closer through the exercise, if we are faithful. I do expect that in the aftermath of this Tuesday and all of the woes that have brought us here, with far too few blessings heard among them – I do expect that we as people of faith, as people of love, may be part of a new resolution to work together, raising blessings instead of casting woes.

Jesus said, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you.”

Someone has to give way.

He said, “Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again.”

Someone has to forgive the debt.

Jesus said, “Do to others as you would have them do to you.”

Because that way sainthood lies.

We may not be able to vote in the kingdom of God, but we can live it.

We can live as those too poor not to need one another.

We can live as those too hungry not to thirst for mercy for all of God’s children.

We can live as those who weep with hard laughter at life’s woes, knowing that joy is restored in the morning.

We can bear the ridicule of believing, naively enough, that God is with us, that the Holy Spirit blesses us, and that Jesus will not leave us to bear our woes alone.

“I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints, and for this reason I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers.”

May we be worthy of such an epitaph.

Amen.

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All Hallows Eve

spirits wake
the crones take bones and withered skin
to dance by starlight 
feigning beauty
phoenix feather passion soon
consumed, confused
the saints dream resurrection, raise
a hymn of praise
against the silence of the night
a cowl thrown across the moon
the dying of the light

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