Author: appadmin

Easter 6A (RCL)
Acts 17:22-31
Psalm 66:7-18
1 Peter 3:13-22
John 14:15-21

This passage from John’s Gospel comes in the middle of Jesus’ last discourse to his disciples, delivered at the last meal. Part of that discourse answers the anguished question of how the disciples can be sure of Jesus’ continued presence with them. The verse immediately following where this reading ends (14:22), has Judas (not Iscariot) ask, “Master, what has happened that you are about to reveal yourself to us and not to the cosmos?” How will we know your presence is real, if the world can’t see you?

As the answer has been all the way through John’s Gospel, Jesus assures his disciples that he is in the Father and the Father is in him, and we are in Jesus and he in us, and therefore, all of us together in God. The one who loves me keeps my commandments, and the Advocate will come and dwell in the community. When we love one another to the point that our lives are hard to separate (who is in whom?), then we know that God is dwelling in us.

John’s community had a difficult time doing evangelism. God was in them, and they in God, but the world couldn’t see it. In the letters, you see the community tearing itself apart over which part of the community God dwells in. Paul, in his speech on Mars Hill, suggests that all people seek God. John’s Gospel also suggests that in the first question addressed to Jesus, “Rabbi, where do you remain,” and his response, “Come and see.” We have to be careful that we don’t get so wrapped up in our life together as a community that we forget that God’s plan extends to the whole world. We may not go as far as Luke does in the words he puts in Paul’s mouth that God has established the boundaries and times of all the peoples on earth, but the message isn’t just for us.

The problem is double: How can we be sure that God remains with us, when the world can’t see; and how can we show the world that God is in fact involved in human affairs and desires to be with all? The life we live as God’s people, we live to offer God’s presence to all

Easter 5A (RCL)

Acts 7:55-60
Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16
1 Peter 2:2-10
John 14:1-14

Sorry for the long hiatus. These past two semesters, I had classes on Wednesday and Thursday afternoons. Thursday is my usual day for posting to this blog and for writing sermons. I had time to do only one of those things, and sermons were more important. But, I’m back (I hope).

For many people, it’s the last phrase of the gospel passage that will attract attention. “If in my name, you ask me for anything, I will do it.” How many people have been disappointed when that doesn’t work? Someone told the story of asking God, in full confidence, for healing from cancer, and it happened. Sometimes, things like that do happen, but just as often, they don’t. Does that mean we have prayed with inadequate faith?

I was reminded of the story of Nancy F. Nancy was one of those in control people. Successfully raised six kids, one with a learning disability. Worked full time (as a teacher). Sang in the choir, served on the altar guild, taught confirmation class. Plenty of things went wrong in her life (a daughter, who for a time, ran away from home, etc.), but you would never know it.

One day, at school, Nancy fainted. Turned out to be blood loss from a ruptured uterus. She had uterine cancer that hadn’t been diagnosed until too late. After surgery to stop the bleeding and remove the uterus, the surgeons essentially just closed her up and hoped for the best. Nancy didn’t want anyone to know anything was wrong. She kept coming to church, even while undergoing very aggressive chemotherapy. Everyone at church knew, but no one could say anything, because she didn’t want anyone to know. Her family had to play along.

People at church wanted to help. Her husband had to take off work (which they could ill afford) to drive her to chemotherapy. They were eating take out a lot (again, they could ill afford it). Finally, one day, as I was visiting her at home, I said, “Nancy, this isn’t fair, to your family and to the parish. You are preventing us from ministering to you.” She agreed the next Sunday to come forward for unction. When I got to her, I stopped, and invited her family to come forward to lay hands on her with me, and then explained to the congregation what was going on, and invited anyone who wanted to to come forward. No one stayed in their pew.

Immediately, people volunteered to drive her to chemotherapy, to bring casseroles for dinner, to help clean up the house, to drive the son to tutoring. Nancy and her family had been slowly withdrawing from the life of the congregation, because they couldn’t talk about what was really going on. Now, they were drawn back into that life. In a way, that moment at the altar, raised Nancy from the dead, even though we knew the cancer would eventually take her life.

She lived another year or so, and when she died, several of us gathered at the house to say the Litany at time of death. Her funeral was packed, and we buried her ashes in the memorial garden.

When Mary encounters Jesus in the Garden, she thinks he is the gardener. When he calls her name, she recongizes him. But he immediately says, “Don’t hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go and tell my brothers and sisters that I am going to my God and your God, my Father and your Father.” Later that evening, he appears to all the disciples (having by now ascended to the Father) and breathes on them, and tells them the sins of whoever they release, they are released, and the sins of whoever they hold on to are held on to; essentially, that they govern the boundaries of the community.

In our passage today, Jesus says that when he goes to the Father, we will do greater works than he has done; forgiving or judging, managing the boundaries of community. When Nancy wouldn’t let us know she had cancer, we couldn’t let her be someone different in community than she had been. We had to hold on to that sin. Once we could let go of it (the failure of dying of cancer), we could restore her to life; greater works than Jesus did.

All of the language in this passage is about a journey. Jesus says, “I am the road; I am journeying to the Father; in my Father’s house are many rest stops; you know the road where I am going.” Christian life is a journey; we all go together. Community is the road we take. Those greater things are not just the direct answer to prayers – let me beat this cancer – but the way we live that community life on the road to wherever it is we are going, to Jesus’ Father and our Father, to Jesus’ God and our God.

Proper 24C
Genesis 32:3-8, 22-30
Psalm 121
2 Timothy 3:15 — 4:5
Luke 18:1-8a

This is one of those parables we have a hard time with. Is Jesus suggesting that God is like the unjust judge? Several observations: this parable comes at the end of a long passage about the last days. Other Gospels saw the end of days coming soon. Luke wants to push it off into the indeterminate future. So, we have to keep praying. Also, there is bad mis-translation in the passage in the NRSV. Jesus asks, “And will God not grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them?” The last sentence should read, “Will he not be patient with them?” There is no way to construe the Greek verb makrothumeo to mean delay. It seems to me the point of the story is that we are to be constantly reminding God of justice, of how things are in the delay, and God will be patient with us.
That fits with the passage from Genesis. Israel has wrestled with God, and extracted a blessing from God, and has lived to tell the tale. We are to wrestle with God until we know what blessing God will give us. It’s not always pleasant to wrestle with God: Israel limps the rest of life. But we are not to give up.

Proper 22C
Habakkuk 1:1-13, 2:1-4
Psalm 37:3-10
2 Timothy 1:1-14
Luke 17:5-10

We are all now thoroughly aware that there is a “crisis” in the Anglican Communion. People on all sides of the issue are saying, with Habakkuk, “How long, O Lord?” The language of crisis is a way of selling newspapers, or of driving political wedges. I am not convinced there is a crisis.

Several years ago, Archbishop Ndungane visited our diocese. The Offices of the Bishop sent out an email that Ndungane was available to preach on a certain Sunday. No one responded, so they sent out the note again. By now, it was late in the game, so I responded. We had little time to prepare a reception (we did put something on) or a special liturgy. I remember meeting the Archbishop on the side walk, and nervously asking if he wanted to preside at Eucharist, as it is always a bishop’s prerogative to preside at table. He thanked me, but allowed that he would rather just preach and then be in the congregation as it were. He had only brought office vestments.

I recall being all thumbs at the altar (an Archbishop sitting over there at the sedilia!), but getting through. Somehow, I managed not to drop the host as I communicated him. Between services, we had an adult forum. Gene Robinson had just been consecrated, and several people asked the Archbishop if communion would break. He paused for a minute, and then said, “Your Rector and I are in communion. I have just taken communion from him. Nothing can change that.” No crisis here. Whatever others might do, communion is made up of such simple acts.

Jesus reminds the apostles that they are servants. Faith is as much about loyalty and doing what we owe to do, as it is about feeling or thinking. The difficulty comes in trying to remain loyal to all our brothers and sisters. Now, we plead, “Lord, increase our faith!” Habakkuk assures us that vision is coming. It may be delayed, but come it will. The righteous will live by their loyalty in the meantime. It may be hard and thankless work to live that way, but the language of crisis only divides.

September 23
Proper 20C
Amos 8:4-12
Psalm 138
1 Timothy 2:1-8
Luke 16:1-13

This parable has troubled interpreters almost since it was written. Jesus seems to be commending dishonesty. How can the master praise his steward for giving away his wealth, the very thing for which he was accused in the first place?

Bruce Malina and Richard Rorbaugh have written A Social Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels. They suggest that the owners debtor are tenant farmers, and the size of the debts suggests whole villages are involved. When the steward forgave a portion of the debt, the tenants would have been overwhelmed by the owner’s generosity. The owner now looks good, the tenants can pay — it’s a win/win situation. That helps the story make a little more sense.

But the moral still puzzles. Which of us haven’t told our kids or hear when we were little, receiving our allowance, “If you are careful with a little, you learn to be careful with much.”? I can even understand, “If you are not faithful with unrighteous wealth, how can you be faithful with what is true?” But what puzzles is, “If you are not faithful with what is another’s, who will give you your own?” That’s just backward from what we would expect: if your not faithful with your own, who will entrust you with what is theirs?

It implies that what I have now is not my own, and that my own will be much better than what I have now, and given to me by others. The owner receives honor from the villagers when his steward clears their debts. They give him what is his. The grain and oil were not his in the first place. They receive the grain and oil from him. What is mine? The only things that are inalienably mine are given to me by others: love, honor, joy. Anything I think I own belongs to someone else.

Proper 14C
Genesis 15:1-6
Psalm 33:12-15, 18-22
Hebrews 11:1-16
Luke 12:32-40

In the Genesis reading, Abram again argues with God. The New American Bible translates Abram’s response to God’s promise as something like, “What good are your gifts to me, since I have no heir?” God has just promised Abram the spoils of war (Do not fear, I am your shield. Your reward shall be great). Abram wonders what good that will do him.

Abram understands a basic truth about material wealth. It does the owner no good if he or she can’t share it. Only when used as a gift will wealth increase one’s status in a community. That was the problem with man whose fields produced so richly in Luke’s story last week. He wanted to hoard all his wealth in his barns. Even though Abram understands that wealth must be shared, nevertheless he doubts God’s ability to provide good. I wonder how often we do the same thing: say to God, “What good is all this you have given me, since . . .” Fill in the blank. We tend to set conditions on God’s goodness. None of the rest of God’s grace matters, because that one thing we hope for isn’t so. We see the one thing wrong among all that is right.

God responds to Abram in a surprising way. Go outside and look at the stars. God’s goodness is as sure and as vast as the stars. Essentially God says to Abram, “Get yourself out of the center of the picture, and you’ll see the goodness around you.”

The passage from Hebrews says the same thing. All these people had faith and looked for a city with foundations. They looked for the community of God. We never get to that city, but we always look for it.

The passage from Luke is a real mish mash. It seems to be grouped around the ideas of treasure, delay and thieves, following after the man who built bigger barns and exhortations not to worry. Heavenly treasure is material wealth used as gift. When it circulates, it builds up a balance of exchange as gift. It connects us in a network of mutual indebtedness. Nothing can corrupt that. In that network of relationships, the master is not shamed to serve the slave. The return of the master from his wedding feast, serving his slave is a picture of the reversal of the eschatological banquet. That’s the city our forebears anticipated. That’s the network we build in which we store heavenly treasure.

Proper 12C
Genesis 18:20-33
Psalm 138
Colossians 2:6-15
Luke 11:1-13

I can’t help but smile when reading this passage from Genesis. Abraham certainly takes his life in his hands when he argues with God about how many righteous would be needed to save Sodom from destruction. It’s a dangerous thing to confront God — even more dangerous to question God’s actions. “Oh, do not let my lord be angry if I speak just this once more. What if ten are found there?” The story ends with God going on God’s way, and Abraham returning to his place. He had certainly gotten out of it! It’s wonderful irony.

But there is more at stake here than just Abraham chutzpah. God has just promised to Abaraham and Sarah a son, through whom Abraham will become the father of a great nation, so that all the nations will bless themselves in Abraham. God has singled Abraham out, “that he may instruct his children and his posterity to keep the way of the LORD by doing what is just and right” (v 19). Through Abraham, the nations are to learn the way of the LORD. When Abraham argues that God should not sweep away the righteous with the unrighteous, he says to God, “Far be it from you to do such a thing. Shall not the Judge of all the earth deal justly?” Abraham instructs God on God’s way.

The story would have particular poignance before and after the fall of Jerusalem. Surely Sodom must have been a wicked place, if God could not find ten righteous there. Sodom was used as a warning for Jerusalem — just as Sodom failed to guard the orphan and widow, so Jerusalem (see Isaiah 1). Jerusalem must have been wicked, if God could not save it for the sake of the righteous in it.

Abraham has been chosen by God to instruct the nations in the ways of God. Two things then are incumbent on Abraham: to instruct his posterity, and to get involved in situations of unrighteousness. God’s chosen has to argue with God about what is just and what is not. So also for us.

Then, Luke’s teaching on prayer. The Lord’s Prayer in Luke is stripped to its essentials. No Kingdom, power and glory. No “who art in heaven.” No “thy will be done.” Just, “Father, let your name be revered, let your kingdom come. Give us daily the just sufficient bread. Forgive us our sins just as we are forgiving those indebted to us. Don’t let us be put to the test.”

The wonderful little story following is truly complex. There are three actors. The man whose friend comes to him off the road. The friend who comes off the road, and the sleeper. All three are shamed. What on earth is someone doing out one the road in the middle of the night? Things can’t be good for him. He has to resort to his friend in the middle of the night. This is shame. The friend does not have what he needs to welcome his friend. This is shame. He goes to his friend and bangs on the door. The friend, even if he won’t be raised up to give what is needed because his friend (note the ambiguity about who is whose friend), yet, because of his shamelessness he will get up and give whatever is needed. Whose shamelessness? The knocker’s or the sleeper’s? The Greek translates both ways. “Because he would be ashamed not to,” or “Because he was not ashamed to ask.”

A situation has arisen in a little village in which failure to respond brings shame on all three actors. A simple response, the loan of three loafs – bread just sufficient enough for the day, will instead bring honor for all, even though it is inconvenient. Just like Abraham, the sleeper has to get involved in situations of injustice. If we are going to pray, we have to be ready to get involved as well.

The next sayings are all that some people will hear on Sunday morning. “Ask, and it will be given to you.” So patently untrue. It does, however, beg the question, “Ask for what?” If the knocker in the story had asked for a sumptuous meal, it would have brought shame all around, because no one could provide it. If we ask for a million bucks (how many people pray to win the lottery?), it brings shame, because if we don’t get it, God has failed, and if we do, we have friends emerging from the woodwork. We become inhospitable, like Sodom. And ask whom? The story shows prayer working within a little community of three. We pray in community, not in isolation.

So, refer back up to the prayer Jesus has just taught. We ask for three things. Just enough bread for the day, forgiveness so we can release from debt those who owe us, and not to be tempted (to ask for more?). If you knew that a single wish would be granted, without fail, what would you ask for? Anything beyond today’s bread gets you in trouble. These are the ways of God we are called to teach.

Proper 11C
Genesis 18:1-10a
Psalm 15
Colossians 1:21-29
Luke 10:38-42

This Gospel story and the story of the workers in the vineyard who all get paid the same despite how long they worked generate more heat than any others. Why would Jesus chide Martha, who is working to put a meal before him?

I have heard sermons about the active versus the contemplative life preached on the story of Mary and Martha (favoring, of course, the contemplative life). Every woman who has ever served on the altar guild, or put on a parish brunch for the day the bishop visited, who washed dishes while everyone else enjoyed conversation, feels immediately put down by this story. Somebody has got to do that stuff. So, why is Jesus upset?

There are several things worth noting about the story. First, and so obvious that we miss it altogether, is that Mary is a woman. It would have been at least as shocking to Luke’s first readers that Mary is sitting at Jesus’ feet as would have been Jesus’ rebuke of Martha. Women did not sit at the feet of a teacher. Perhaps the point of the story is that women can be disciples in Jesus’ circle.

Secondly, I wonder to what extent this story reflects the struggle between the itinerant missionaries of early Christianity and the settled householders. Clearly, in the Didache, there are rules for how long a missionary can stay (and they must never ask for money!), and what a householder’s obligations are. If this story reflects that controversy, then surprisingly enough, we have women in both roles — Mary as Jesus’ traveling companion and Martha as a householder.

Finally, the NRSV translates verse 41 as “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things.” The Greek word translated “distracted” is thorubaze. A quick trip to Liddel and Scott reveals that everywhere except the New Testament (and the word is used to mean “distracted” only at this verse — pretty thin evidence for this meaning), it means to raise a public outcry, to cause a tumult or uproar. Perhaps this verse ought to be translated, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and raise a fuss about many things.” I wonder if the story might suggest that whatever part we have chosen, we should not worry about what others have chosen. If you can’t stand a dirty kitchen and choose to clean it, don’t fuss that others don’t.

The story of Abraham and Sarah is also surprising. It is narrated in so few verses, but clearly took a great deal of time. Abraham says to Sarah, quickly take three measures of flour (the best), knead it and make cakes. How long does that take — you’ve got to heat the oven and all the rest of it. Abraham tells a servant to kill a calf and prepare it. How long does that take? And how many people will it serve? Clearly this is not a meal just for the three men, but Abraham’s whole household (herders, servants, etc) will eat. If Abraham is sitting in his tent at the heat of the day (1:00 pm?), when will this meal be ready? 5:00 is pushing it. By the time the men go on to Sodom, it must be late in the evening. And according to the narrator, Abraham doesn’t even know who these guys are. It would have been great shame to him not to entertain them. It is great honor to entertain them this lavishly. I wonder what would happen if we treated visitors to church like that?

Proper 10C
Deuteronomy 30:9-14
Psalm 25:3-9
Colossians 1:1-14
Luke 10:25-37

This will be a short post, as I am just back from vacation.

The Gospel reading this week is the story of the Good Samaritan. As so often happens, this story has been misnamed. The main character (the only one who shows up in each episode) is the man among the robbers. We are supposed to identify with the main character, not the the minor character. Who is my neighbor? The person I can’t stand who helps me out when I’ve been beaten. Go and do likewise. What does that mean in this context? Accept help from those I can’t stand? Offer aid to those who can’t stand me? I suppose both.

Both, however, presuppose a situation in which I rub elbows with people I can’t stand. What was that Samaritan doing on his way to or from Jerusalem, anyway? Luke doesn’t answer THAT question. Gated communities are meant to keep out those we can’t stand, but the phrase becomes an oxymoron. It’s no longer a community if the Samaritans aren’t there. The moral of the story is that community is only possible when I’m put in a position of swallowing my pride to accept help; otherwise I go on believing I’m fine without you, thank you very much.

So, loving neighbor as self requires being willing to accept help. That’s the hard part.