This is my sermon from last Sunday, Transfiguration Sunday.  I wonder about power and the way we measure power, and how it’s completely different in God’s topsy turvy kingdom.

Last Epiphany — Year B

In this election year we are bombarded with ads, stories and sound bites telling us why each of the candidates would make a strong leader.  Their experience in their previous work life.  Or the way they take control in difficult situations.  The way they handle money and economic situations.  Their ability to stand firm in tough situations.  It’s about power, and strength and being better able than the other person to provide sound leadership.

And it’s obvious why: they’re running to become one of the most powerful people in the world.  So they project an image of strength and power.

But in the Biblical narrative strength and power aren’t validated in the same way.

This morning we heard the story of how Jesus was transfigured before the disciples showing God’s awesome power—he became dazzlingly bright, his clothes turned white, and he was transformed.  Yet notice that he doesn’t head right off from there to kick Herod out of Jerusalem.  In fact he tells his disciples not to mention anything about what they saw until after his death and resurrection.

It’s not about power for Jesus—although he had it in spades.  And I think that is why he is so clear on telling the disciples to not say anything until later.  He orders them, in fact, not to tell anyone about this display of God’s strength.  He knows that Peter and James and John might get the idea that if he could be transformed and speak with both Elijah and Moses, then surely he could overthrow the Romans and be done with their oppressive rule forever.  Jesus is very specific: don’t tell anyone about this until after the Son of Man has risen from the dead.  I bet the disciples don’t get this at the time, but Jesus is being clear.  His strength isn’t to be used just to establish another earthly kingdom; Jesus came to be a different type of leader.  A leader that would be made perfect in suffering.  Strength shown somehow in weakness.

You see, strength for us isn’t to be found in flexing our muscles or showing our superior knowledge, it’s to be centered in our utter reliance on God.  What this means of course is that we won’t understand this until we hit moments of extreme vulnerability and call out to God.

Elijah is best known for his confrontation with the prophets of Baal on Mt. Horeb.  He challenges these so-called prophets to a test: they will present a sacrifice to their deity and Elijah will do the same. Whichever god responds with fire will be declared the Almighty.  The prophets of Baal (dozens of them) dance and gyrate and call on Baal to come and light this fire.  He doesn’t.  After hours go by with no response, Elijah sets up his simple altar with his offering and pours gallons and gallons of water onto it and into a trench around the stones.  He calls on God, and an instant later fire comes down from heaven engulfing the entire altar and burning up the offering, the water and even the stones.  The people watching proceed to destroy the false prophets of Baal under Elijah’s order.

Elijah goes on the lam because Jezebel—the king’s wife—is a follower of Baal, and she’s upset that her priests have all been killed.  He flees into the wilderness, and after some days without food or water, Elijah falls under a tree praying for his death.  He’s at his weakest point and is utterly dependent on God. When he wakes up, Elijah finds a jug of water and a loaf of bread that have miraculously appeared.  God provides for him, has mercy on him and gives him strength for the journey.

He becomes an even greater prophet: he is both merciful to the needy and delivers God’s word truthfully and without fear.  Ultimately, as we heard this morning, he is caught up by a fiery chariot and taken directly into the Lord’s presence.

It seems that St. Paul was right when he said to the Corinthians, “When I am weak, then am I strong,” and “power is made perfect in weakness.”

It’s a paradox in following of God.  To think that power and strength are to be found in our weakness, in our utter dependence on God.  Often we see troubles, hardship—or our “growing edges” as some are wont to call them—only as liabilities, as hurdles to be gotten over as quickly as we can.  God sees them and says “I can use that for my greater good.”

Curtis Almquist, a brother with the Society of St. John the Evangelist in Cambridge, describes this unlikely relationship between weakness and power.  A “metaphor for this transformation of weakness is a pearl, something about which Jesus was familiar.  Remember his telling the parable about ‘a merchant in search of fine pearls.’  A pearl comes from the lowliest of creatures, from a mollusk lost in darkness on the bottom of the sea.  Quite tragically, a grain of sand or a small pebble will typically wound the inner membrane of the mollusk.  The mollusk’s attempt to cauterize, and encapsulate, and heal this inner wound is what produces the pearl. Pearls come from wounds, and so will your greatest gifts.”[1]

The novel The Shipping News follows the life of a man plagued with insecurity.  Quoyle almost drowned early in his life as his father attempted to teach him to swim by tossing him in a lake.  He fears the water throughout his life, and dreams that he is drowning whenever life gets overwhelming.  His father never believed in him and constantly belittled him.  He eventually lands a job at a newspaper as an ink-setter.  He falls in love with a woman who is only looking for a quick fling, and ends up having a baby with her.  He cares for that girl with deep devotion while the mother runs off with another man.  This pattern continues until the girl turns 6, and then his estranged wife ends up dying in a car accident.  Quoyle ends up meeting his long lost relative—a great aunt—and decides to travel with her to his homeland, Newfoundland, for a new beginning.

The three of them live together in the dilapidated family home out on the edge of the ocean, and Quolye lands a job as a bit journalist for the small town newspaper covering the shipping news—the boats coming in and out of the harbor.  He’s terrified of the water, of course, “I’m not a water person,” he says.  But his editor replies that all of his relatives are water people, and just expects him to get over it now that he is living in Newfoundland.  Since it is his only prospect, he takes the job.

And slowly he begins to find healing.  He meets a woman in that small town that he finds new love with.  He becomes more sure of himself, and he becomes the man that he always could be, no longer beset by doubt and insecurity.  This broken man is healed by the water, the very thing he feared most of all.

As we look today on the transfigured Christ, I want to encourage you to see that it is not about strength or control.  While Jesus is transformed in front of the disciples’ eyes, the kingdom he ushers in is about the weak being lifted up, and those in need finding mercy.  It’s about the restoration of all things so that we all might experience God’s profound care and love for us all.

It is hard to fathom this given the world we live in and the way we understand leadership.  Yet I believe deep down that when we rely on our own strengths, gifts, and abilities we hinder the work of God in our life.  We somehow think that we are doing it on our own without God’s involvement.

But God is able to look at us as we truly are in our full humanness and brokenness and God says, “I can do something with this.  I can make this one a beautiful part of my kingdom.”  May we not lose faith in God in our weakness.  May we not think that somehow when we are fully exposed before God that God will reject us.  May we know that God desires to transform all of us, and to call each one of us as his beloved children.  Amen.

[1] Curtis Almquist,  Accessed Feb 13, 2012.

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There are a lot of healing stories in the Bible.  A lot.  Some people believe that you can simply name and claim the healing, as if we can mentally make God do something for us if we just have enough faith or belief.  I disagree.

But I do think sometimes God offers us the path toward healing and we think it is too difficult.  That’s the focus for this sermon.

Epiphany 6 — 2 Kings 5:1-17

“Do you want to be healed?”

I remember my spiritual director asking me that question during a very dark time of my life.  The difficulties of both my personal and professional life compounded by recent loss at that time had taken their toll on me emotionally and spiritually.   I was not at a place of shalom—peace in body, mind and spirit.  I longed for something better, for that deep sense of centeredness in my life and relationships.  I wanted to be at the place God desired for me.

“Of course!” I said to her.

She waited, patiently.  I had been in ministry long enough to know what she was asking.  Not just the quick question with the obvious answer but the one behind it as well.  “Do you really want to be healed, no matter what the cost?”  That question was a little more disquieting.  Even when we are tossed around by the storms of life, those storms become horrifyingly familiar.  They become the norm and so seeking healing means letting go of that familiarity and heading out into uncharted territory; it means pushing out into deep water.   That can be scary even when the result is something we long for.

I took some time to ponder her question again.  Did I want to be healed?

We aren’t told much about the beginning of his disease, only that Naaman was a powerful commander from a foreign land and that he had leprosy.  We can only guess that this illness not only ate away at his flesh but also slowly gnawed at him on the inside.  Leprosy causes lesions on the skin, and these infected spots rob the skin of any sensitivity to pain, heat or touch.  A cut or burn doesn’t register any response and can go unchecked for a long time.  The extremities need constant monitoring and can— due to repeated injury and infection—sometimes be lost to infection.  The disease was one of the most feared at the time, and often lepers were cast out of society.  Naaman was the exception.  His countrymen were obviously able to look past his disease while he was a great leader.  After that point, who knows.

You have to wonder what the conversation was behind closed doors at Naaman’s house.  Even though it’s not mentioned explicitly, surely he wants to be rid of this dreaded disease; why else would the slave girl from Israel speak up?  She quietly goes to Naaman’s wife and tells her about the prophet of God in her home country.  Naaman’s wife in turn tells him, and he heads off to the king requesting to be healed.

Naaman certainly held prestige in Aram because the king sends him off to the king of Israel bearing a great deal of wealth in order to buy his healing.  On his arrival the king of Israel figures it’s a set up and rips his clothes for dramatic effect.  But it isn’t a sham, Naaman wants to be healed.

Word gets to Elisha, and he messages the king and tells him to send over the foreign commander.  Naaman and his entourage and all the stuff he brought to pay for his healing arrive at Elisha’s doorstep.  Elisha remains behind closed doors and sends out his servant.  This irks Naaman.  He’s used to dealing with people of power, so to get the lowest man on the totem pole to greet him is bothersome.  “Go wash in the Jordan River seven times and you’ll be clean.”

It seems easy enough, but Naaman wants nothing to do with it.  Maybe it was his pride at having the servant boy come out to him, or maybe it was because it wasn’t fantastical enough.  “I was expecting the prophet to come out and wave his hand over me and for the leprosy to be gone,” he says.  And then he bemoans the fact that it’s in the Jordan that he’s to wash and his national pride kicks in.  Surely the rivers near his home are better than the Jordan.  But one of his hired men snaps him to his senses.  “Master, this isn’t difficult.  If it had been difficult, wouldn’t you have done it?  How much more then when all he said was wash and be clean?”

So Namaan, awakening again to the reality that he longs to be healed goes to the Jordan.  He steps in to the river and baths.  He repeats this.  And again.  And again and again until finally he’s done it seven times.  And then as he comes out, his skin is as new as when he was born and the illness is gone.

Every clergyperson is asked the perennial question of why bad things happen to good people.  Why do we suffer?  Why do some among us get terminal illnesses, or have life altering difficulties with family members, or have their marriages dissolve?  Theologians give this question a fancy name—theodicy—to try and reconcile what we know about God and how justice from God is meted out, especially in relation to evil and suffering.

My stock answer is a glorified “I don’t know.”  It rains on the just and the unjust, we’re told in Scripture.  The nature of a fallen world means that most of us—all of us?—will experience pain in our own lives.  Jesus himself experienced great loss at the death of Lazarus and died himself by execution.  I don’t for one second believe that God wants to inflict harm on us or that God takes delight in our misfortunes, rather I think it breaks God’s heart.  It tears God apart as much as it tears us apart.

I don’t know why bad things happen to good people.  But I know at least in my own life that I have a choice in how I respond.

The dark time in my own life that I mentioned led me to the wrong response.  I closed myself off.  The pain was too much to bear so I clenched my fists, pushed others away and try to muster through it as best I could.  Did I want to be healed, yes.  I longed for it more than anything else.  But to get there I needed to do one essential thing.  I needed to open up.  And that terrified me.

That may sound too therapeutic to you, or too easy or too weird.  I can only say this: often we know what step we should take to put us on the path of healing.  We need to start loving our spouses again instead of seeing the negative.  We need to listen to our children with open hearts and truly hear them.  We can recognize that healing comes in many forms—that maybe what will ultimately bring us shalom is less physical restoration and more emotional and spiritual.  We know we should say our prayers, or make that phone call or write that letter, but we hesitate.  God longs to bring us peace, healing and restoration, and the first step is there.  Go, wash and you will be clean.  God desires that for us.

Madeleine L’Engle’s poem “Epiphany” gets at exactly what I am talking about.

Unclench your fists

                        Hold out your hands.

                        Take mine.

                        Let us hold each other.

                        Thus is his Glory



            Do you want to be healed?  Do you want to have your relationship restored?  Your difficult time heading toward resolution?  Then unclench your fists.  Hold out your hands.  Love.  Let God’s glory be manifest in your life.  Experience the epiphany that the answer is really as easy at it seems.  Walk toward the Jordan, step in.  Let the water wash over you.  Remember your own baptism and the glory of God coming down on you.

While you may want instant results, I’ve found in life that these are rare indeed.  I wish it weren’t so.  I wish that the prophet could come out and wave his hand and the pain taken away.  But life isn’t normally like that.  We need to go down to the river.  And wash.  And wash.  And wash and wash and wash.  It takes tremendous effort sometimes, and through the process God slowly changes us and heals and restores and brings peace.

Will you do it?  Will I?  Do you really want to be healed, no matter what the cost?  Do you want God’s glory to be manifest in your life?

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My sermon from Annual Meeting Sunday at St. Mark’s.  I hope it sparks conversation about where we are headed and the work God calls us to.


Mark 1:21-28

The church in America as we have known it is dying.  There is no polite way to say this.  The church as a destination, as a place to which people are attracted in order to get religious goods and services, no longer holds sway in our culture.  And let’s also be honest about that while we’re at it, the very reason many churches have existed throughout the 20th century was to provide goods and services.  We are known as consumers, aren’t we?  Churches have long marketed themselves as a place to find personal fulfillment in a spiritual life and to provide programs to meet that need.  But people are not wanting that sort of spiritual product any more, if we dare call it that.  Their lives are too busy, too overwhelmed, too crazy for yet another item on their to do list, and so church takes a back seat.  Many people find a spiritual connection elsewhere; they are spiritual but not religious, and many will never darken our doors on a regular basis.


Annual meeting Sunday is often a time to look back over the past year, discuss the highlights and then roll out some new programs and ideas for next year.  It’s State of the Union: Church Edition.  It’s a time to get you rallied behind me and the leadership of the parish and to have you be excited about the days ahead and make you want to give of your financial resources and time and maybe invite a friend or two to come to church.  It’s all about the church, this institution, and the stake we have in its long term success.


But I don’t think that this vision is ultimately what the church is about.  It’s not about us and the three Bs of church life—budget, bodies and buildings—it’s about the work of God being done in this community.  We are to focus on how Jesus Christ is on the move in this very neighborhood, and taking our place alongside Christ in that work.


I love the church a great deal—I am a company man, you know—but I believe that if we spend time making programs and events hoping it will attract people onto our campus, then we are missing the mark.  Church shouldn’t be about enticing people into our great buildings in the hopes that they will become members; it should be a place that pushes us out into our neighborhoods in order to share the love of Jesus Christ with everyone we can.  And I want to state as emphatically as I can, sharing the love of Christ isn’t done in order to get new members for St. Mark’s.  Rather, we are encouraged to be a blessing to the world, and we desire to do that without any hidden agendas.  We all know what’s it like when someone approaches us with a clipboard and a smile; we know that they probably want to get data in order to sell something to us.  And the church has done that as well in the past, so people do not trust our intentions.  Their guard immediately goes up if we meet them on the street or at the Harvest Fair and say we’re representing a church.  They think we want to convert them or get their money, or at least mine them for information so we know how to reach other people like them.


And the jig is up.  And that is really good news.


I’ve always felt deep down inside that what God wanted was more than to bring me personal happiness or the supposed “good life.”  I’ve come to realize that God wants to bring healing to all of creation.  The church is to be, as theologians have put it, “the sign, witness and foretaste of God’s reign.”[1]  We are called to live in to the reality of God’s kingdom here and now.


And you get an idea of what this looks like when Jesus heads into Capernaum.  He’s there, among the people, and then on the Sabbath, goes to the synagogue and begins to teach with amazing insight and authority.  While he’s teaching, a man comes in and begins disrupting all that is taking place.  Jesus can see the man is possessed, and rather than turning him away or telling him that he can’t be there or that he is too distracting, Jesus had compassion.  He rebuked the evil spirit and brought healing to that man.  He responded in a kingdom way.  Notice that Jesus doen’t first look at the man and say, “Now, would you like to become a part of this worshipping community?  Because if you do, I may be able to heal you, but only if you sign up first.”  He saw a need and took action.  The kingdom was realized because Jesus focused on people and reached out.


Last week I told you about 3 characteristics of discipleship, that we are called to connect, grow and serve.  I asked you to think about those things in light of our annual meeting.  I hope you did this—and if not, quick, you have 40 minutes to think of something fast!—in relation to what God is calling us to do at St. Mark’s.  We’ll talk about that over our brunch, but I also want to direct the question away from just how does St. Mark’s connect, grow and serve the St. Mark’s community, but what does this look like in our neighborhoods?  Churches spend a great deal of time looking in at themselves, in grand navel-gazing, but God wants to bring reconciliation to the world.  Christ came not to build buildings, but to be among people, changing lives, bringing healing, making a difference, to be missional.


The vestry and I have been wrestling with this idea of becoming more missional this past year.  Being missional doesn’t just mean doing more outreach or creating new programs or doing evangelism.  It isn’t about creating a better “destination” so more people are attracted to St. Mark’s for our great events.  Being missional essentially means engaging in God’s kingdom work in our local neighborhoods—work that God has already begun and invites us to be a part of.  It is living into “an alternative imagination for being the church.”[2]  Church not as destination or attraction, but as a community that sends all of us out so we can live out the kingdom of God in the world, precisely because that’s where God is, among the people.


What if this year we decided to get to know our neighbors?  What if we sat down with them, listened to their stories and engaged with them?  What if we did this, not because we wanted them to join us at St. Mark’s, but simply because Jesus tells us to do it?  Recently one of our vestry members called the Southborough Senior Center to see what their needs are.  You may have seen the news article recently that the center had to raise prices on the meals they provide due to the loss of some funding and grants.  The person she spoke with was grateful for the call, gave a full report of what has happened with their funding, and encouraged her to call back if more questions came up.  A few days later, another friend of hers saw her and reported that her name was brought up at a Senior Center meeting simply because she had shown interest with a phone call.


People are hurting in our world and wanting others to notice.  Marriages are facing tough times and are in need of help.  People are convinced that no one really cares about them for who they are.  They are people here today who are lonely, hurting and broken and there are many more out in our local community.  People long for the kingdom life that God offers.  We can share the transformational love of Jesus with people without trying to make them Episcopalians.


I need your help to do this work.  I can’t be one of a few here who engages in missional work.  God calls each of us to model the kingdom and live the good news, and God will equip us in that.  We can all make a difference here in Southborough or whatever town you live in.  God wants to engage in our neighborhoods, and we are Christ’s body, his hands and feet in this world.  Second, this year will be difficult for me and my family: my father was diagnosed this past week with non-small cell lung cancer.  I will occasionally need time to be with him and my extended family in Michigan—I’ll be traveling there the end of this week to be with him for his birthday.  As I get more information about his diagnosis, I’ll communicate that to you.  I certainly appreciate your prayers during this time, and I also know that there are others out there who are hurting as well.  How might we connect, grow and serve them and one another?  The church as we know it is changing, and a new church is emerging.  A church centered on the work of Jesus Christ.  St. Mark’s is on it’s way to being that kind of church, and I am very excited about all that God will call us to in the days ahead.  Amen.

[1] Alan J. Roxburgh and M. Scott Boren. Introducing the Missional Church. 40.

[2] Roxburgh, 45.

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Here’s my sermon from 2 Sundays ago….  Getting caught up!

Mark 1:14-20

“Now when John was arrested,” comma, “Jesus came….”  So Mark begins the telling of Jesus’ ministry in the world, and then he dives right into it.  These beginning words are often overlooked for the seemingly better ones to follow, the ones about Jesus telling about God’s kingdom coming, about Simon Peter and Andrew being told how their fishing will change.  But Mark is always intentional in his writing.  He doesn’t include any word, any detail, that doesn’t play an important part in his narrative.  His is the shortest of the gospels, the one whose story feels like a sprint.  And so this phrase, this mention of John the Baptizer commands our attention for a moment.

Here is John, Jesus’ cousin, the forerunner to the Messiah, the one who proclaimed that the ways needed to be made straight, and he has been tossed in the slammer.  We know why from other gospels—he told Herod he was wrong for having an affair with and then marrying his brother’s wife—but Mark just tells us that John was arrested.  There is a sense of foreboding of course for the hearers of this gospel, because they know the details of some of what is to come—as do we—we all know it won’t be long before John is beheaded because of his prophetic voice.  And even for those participating in the unfolding of this story, there must be a permeating sense of fear.  John says God’s kingdom is coming, and then he is thrown in prison.  Surely some of his followers were wondering about their own skin, if they too were in danger.


And it is at this moment, in this time of fear, that hope emerges.  Jesus comes to Galilee and declares that the time has come and God’s kingdom is now here.  He proclaims to those who have gathered to hear him that they should repent and change their lives and believe the good news, the “euangellion” as it is in the Greek, from which our word evangelism comes.  Jesus holds out this beacon of hope.


Fear pervades many of our lives right now.  The economy continues to be rough.  People are losing jobs and making difficult choices.  Some are dealing with difficult health issues either in their own lives or those of loved ones.  Various members wait for the resolution of situations and conflicts over which they have little control.  And in the face of such things, fear reigns down.


“Now when John was arrested,” Mark writes, but he could just have easily written, “Now when the economy went belly-up,” or “Now when conflict and strife had their claws deep within,” or “Now when the doctor diagnosed it cancer” comma, “Jesus came…”   Hope came.  And the spark of light that he brought with him began melting fear’s icy grasp on our lives.


“God’s kingdom is here,” Jesus announces.  “Repent and believe the good news.”  Or as Eugene Peterson’s contemporary translation puts it, “Change your life and believe the Message.”  This language of God’s kingdom has been difficult to decipher for many of us, and we end up thinking of it as some far off place in heaven, where our souls will find eternal rest.  And yet that is certainly not what Jesus is proclaiming.  Bishop N.T. Wright describes it this way. “Faced with his beautiful and powerful creation in rebellion, God longed to set it right, to rescue it from continuing corruption and impending chaos and to bring it back into order and fruitfulness.  God longed, in other words, to reestablish his wise sovereignty over the whole creation which would mean a great act of healing and rescue.  He did not want to rescue human beings from creation… he wanted… to rescue humans in order that humans may be his rescuing stewards over creation.[1]


If we are to be a part of God’s kingdom, then we need to be about the business of rescuing creation, we need to participate in God’s redeeming love and forgiveness.  We need to live as disciples.


And Mark tells us exactly how to do this.  Jesus makes his annunciation of God’s kingdom, then he finds Simon and Andrew and says, “Come with me. I’ll make a new kind of fisherman out of you. I’ll show you how to catch men and women instead of perch and bass.”  (Message Bible Mark 1:17).  In other words, the good news is about people, it’s about changing lives, it’s about evangelism and rescuing this world.  It’s about discipleship.


Jeffrey Jones describes the three necessary elements in the life of a disciple of Jesus Christ: deepening, equipping, and ministering—or simply put Connect, Grow and Serve. [2]  Connecting in our relationships with, first and foremost, Jesus Christ, and also with one another and with ourselves.  Growing in our understanding of faith and in the recognition of the gifts given to us by God.  Serving by “becoming more like Jesus by becoming more fully engaged in God’s work in creation.”[3]  We are to be active participants with God in the rescuing of the world.


Let me put it clearly: God needs you to share your gifts for the redemption of creation.  God’s kingdom is here, and you are to be an instrument bringing God’s reconciling peace and hope to this world.  You may not think that you are equipped, but that is the evil one whispering words of doubt and fear into your ear.  God calls each of us just as we are, and Jesus tells us we will fish for people.  We will do his kingdom work.


As we move into our 150th year, your vestry has made a bold step, spurring us toward more engaged kingdom work.  Beginning today and continuing throughout each month, we will be giving away our loose plate offerings—that is, the non-designated cash or checks that come in the plate each Sunday.  Those who pledge will continue to see their pledge contributions come to St. Mark’s, and we would also strongly encourage those who pledge to make additional gifts to outreach programs that speak to their hearts as well, and you can easily label that in the memo line if you’d like.


Each month or so, the outreach team will designate a charitable organization that is doing kingdom work to give this money too.  In addition, either someone from our parish involved in that ministry or some one from the organization will come and speak to us about the work being done.  Finally, there will be an invitation for you to join in that activity yourself, so that our connection to outreach is more than just financial, but hands-on as well.  For the rest of January and February that charity is Our Father’s Table, and we’ll hear about them at the announcement time.


Some people here may not want to give of themselves for God’s work, either because they feel they do not have the time or because they feel under-equipped.  Even my saying that aloud will cause anxiety and fear to grow in some, and others of you may well be feeling a tad self-righteous because you feel that you give enough to God.  My response to both is simply this: Jesus says the same thing to all of us, “Follow me.”  And he says that he will give us what we need in order to fish for women and men and to be about his work of redemption in the world.


As we prepare for our annual meeting next week, I’d like you to think about those three words of discipleship: Connect, grow and serve.  How might St. Mark’s do that work this year and into the future?  How might we live more expectantly into Jesus’ call on each of us to fish for people, to spread the joy of his kingdom?  In what ways are you being called to connect, grow and serve?  I hope you will ponder those things, and seek to be engaged in conversation next week.


I am hopeful for the work Jesus will do in and through St. Mark’s in the coming months.  I am expectant, knowing that the road toward God’s kingdom is filled with promise and opportunity.   And, while fear lurks even on this path, in the end God’s kingdom will fully come.  Ultimately, the redeeming work of Jesus Christ will be fully realized and we, his followers, will be honored to have been a small part in creation’s healing and rescue, and in the restoration of God’s peace and love.  Amen.

[1] N.T. Wright, Surprised by Hope, 202.

[2] Jeffrey D. Jones, Traveling Together, 50.  The ideas following come from this book as well.

[3] Jones, 59.

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I’ve been slow at posting the last month or so.  My apologies indeed to those who regularly read my blog.

Below is my sermon for the 1st Sunday after the Epiphany, on Mark 1.

And a question for you all: what sorts of posts are helpful? Would you like more on books and films?  Or more short posts on faith?



            What does it really mean to be a Christian?

As we begin our 150th year worshipping as a community in this location in Southborough, that is the question I want to focus on with you.  What does it really mean to be a follower of Jesus Christ, a disciple, someone who is—if we use the literal meaning of Christian—a little Christ?

For many it means showing up for worship on Sunday, and making some sort of financial contribution to the church.  This isn’t their fault (or your fault, if you hold this view), by the way.  The official designation of a communicant in good standing of the Episcopal church is one who shows up three Sundays a year and works, prays and gives for the spread of the kingdom.  Since that second clause is a little hard to define, I’ve heard it unofficially reduced to “known by the treasurer,” whatever that means.

Which is all well and good, I guess.  But that isn’t a very fulfilling answer to my question, is it?  Surely there is something more to being a follower of Jesus than that.

In my cover letter sent to the search committee here at St. Mark’s I wrote this:  “As a priest, I am greatly concerned with what happens on Sunday morning—the liturgy, the music, the sermon and the rest—since it may be the only chance many take to connect with God (and since worship done poorly can be downright painful).  Yet I am even more concerned with what happens after parishioners leave the church building, what takes place the rest of the week.  If Sunday morning isn’t anything more than an hour of sitting and standing and singing and whatnot—if it doesn’t do something or stir up something deep within us—then why bother?  Sunday worship and the ministries of the church should lead us to so much more.  It should invite us to be active in Jesus’ transformative work in our world.”

The problem with the Church and Christianity in general is that people either don’t feel prepared or aren’t really encouraged to do any type of transformative work.  If I’m blatantly honest, it’s because we clergy don’t think you can handle that sort of message, or that you aren’t interested, or we suppose that it requires too much from you.  And if I think the best way for you to continue paying my salary is for me to tell you something you want to hear, then I better make the way forward easy and comforting and not challenging to the status quo.  We set the bar very low for membership —you’re in good standing if you attend Christmas and Easter and one other service and drop a check into the plate once throughout the year–so expectations are nil.  And when we do this we become, as I’ve mentioned to you before, the bland leading the bland.

Some years ago, theologian Ronald Sider wrote The Scandal of the Evangelical Conscience, subtitled, “Why are Christians living just like the rest of the world?”  His book, largely influenced by polling from Barna, Gallup and others, reports that many Christians—from more conservative folks to those of us in the mainline—are not different from those who choose not to follow the Christian faith.

For example, he reports that Christians are just as likely as non-Christians to object to an African-American family moving into their neighborhood.  Physical abuse in marriages takes place as regularly in both Christian or non-Christian homes.  50% of Christian men who regularly attend church said they had viewed Internet pornography over the previous 12 months.  Divorce rates are nearly identical for followers of Jesus and those who don’t claim to be Christians.  If all the Christians in the US tithed, there would be almost twice the amount of money needed to provide basic health care and education for all the world’s poor, even after taking care of their own church budgets.[1]

Prof. Sider contends that instead of living in a counter-cultural way, many Christians live just as the culture does.  Sexual promiscuity, racism, materialism, divorce, neglect of the needy—all things Jesus himself preached against—are common among Christians.

So, I’ll ask it again, what does it really mean to be a Christian?

On this first Sunday after the Epiphany we hear the story of Jesus’ baptism by John.  John has been baptizing all those who came to him, calling people to repentance and saying that one more powerful would be coming.  Jesus soon comes in Mark’s retelling and comes down to John to be baptized, and as soon as he does, the heavens break open, a dove alights on Jesus’ head and the voice of God is heard declaring that Jesus was his beloved Son.

At his baptism, Jesus was told who he was.

And at our baptisms, we’re told who we are too.  But we have a tendency to forget.  And when we lose that sense of identity—when we forget that we follow Jesus Christ—we live like everyone else in our culture.  In short, it doesn’t matter that we are Christians.  We’re just people who go to church on Sunday.

And that, apparently, isn’t enough.

What if this year we started a pattern going forward that we became people who lived our faith in real ways in the day in and day out of our lives?  There are people hurting in our own neighborhoods who need a listening ear and a kind word, we as followers of Jesus should be doing that.  We have people in this and the surrounding communities who go without food; we can change that.  Some in our community are too sick to gather with us on a regular basis, we can visit them.  Our young people have questions about life and relationships and identity and meaning and purpose and faith and they think that most adults don’t care about them.  They could use a mentor.  Our neighbors may be unable to care for their yards or shovel their driveways, we can help them.  On any given night in Worcester County, there are over 4000 people who are on the street, in shelters or doubling up in apartments with friends or relatives because they are unable to afford or find a place of their own.  We can make a difference.

There are many in our world who have not known of the gift of forgiveness and salvation offered through Christ because they are turned off by the Church, have seen too many Christians living hypocritically or because no one has ever taken the time to share this good news with them.  We are called to be a blessing to the world.

Jesus lived incarnationally.  He was completely in the present, interacting with all those who came in contact with him.  He loved them and respected the dignity of everyone he met, loved without consideration, listened and wept and laughed and ate and drank and connected with people.  And we are called to do the same in his name.

As we begin this 150th year and as we reaffirm our baptismal promises today, may we intentionally choose to live more like Christ.  St. Mark’s can become a place where community is deepened.  We as the body of Christ can make a difference in our neighborhoods, taking time to be Christ’s hands and feet to those who live near us in Southborough and Framingham and Marlborough and Hopkinton and wherever else you may live.  We are called to remember that we are followers of Christ and that he came not to bring more and more people into churches, but to change people’s lives.  May he change our lives.  And may we carry his light into the world proclaiming his good news in both word and deed and living as a blessing to all people.  That’s just the beginning of what it really means to be a Christian.  Amen.

[1] Taken from Ronald J. Sider’s The Scandal of the Evangelical Conscience.

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Talking about gift giving and Christmas is something I feel called to do as a priest, simply because it gets so frantic this time of year.  And especially since we hear about the so-called “war on Christmas” which foces on whether a store has the words “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays” displayed.  I think the war is really about the excess in our spending which completely misses the mark around Christmas.

Anyway, what follows is my sermon for the Third Sunday of Advent.  And here are convenient links to two organizations I mention: Advent Conspiracy and Living Water International.

Advent 3 — Isaiah 61:1-11 

            If these words from Isaiah that we heard this morning sound familiar to you, you’re right; they are.  These are the verses that Jesus reads when he is in the synagogue back in his hometown for the first time after his ministry begins.  This text for the prophet becomes Jesus’ mission statement.  It was the very reason he was born so many years ago in Bethlehem.

You would think that in order to honor Jesus’ birth we would focus on these sorts of things.  That Christmas would be a day proclaiming good news, or comforting the ones who mourn, or binding up the brokenhearted.  Instead, as you well know, Christmas is celebrated in America by a $465 billion shopping extravaganza[1].  We deal with weeks of traffic jams from people heading to the mall.  We rack our brains trying to think of the “perfect” gift for Dad (which trends down to a “palatable” gift by the time Advent 4 rolls around since we need to get this gift in the mail).  We fret over all this stuff and just hope to make it through Christmas intact.

It’s crazy really.  A billion dollar bills laid end to end at the equator would circle Earth 4 times.  465 billion dollar bills would circle it 1,860 times.  That’s a lot of money on sweaters or plastic toys or books or iPads or gift cards for PF Chang’s.  And we do it to honor Jesus’ birthday.

Do you think we should ask him if this is what he wants?

I saw a video this week put out by the people of the Advent Conspiracy—a Last plaything I did a review for was a Turnigy 9X review of a pretty sweet controller for my RC airplane, everyone was quite happy with it. nd I have a book they wrote a few years back as well.  They remind us about our excessive holiday spending and the reality that we could solve the world’s water crisis—that is, safe drinking water and clean sanitation for every human being—for $20 billion.  For 4% of what we Americans will spend on Christmas this year, we could help every single man, woman and child in the world have clean water.

Someone will say to me, “Yes, that’s nice, but my gifts are important.  I need to give Johnny that game for his PS3” or whatever it is that is on your must buy list.  And I’m not going to quibble with you about the actual gifts you are giving—or the ones that I am giving for that matter.  But I will say this, I think we’d all rather have memories and time with loved ones.  What we really want for Christmas is the relational aspect of this season, not a new toy or clothing article.  We want connectedness.  And I think this is true for our kids as well.  They want the time playing with someone else more than just a game they can play on their own.

I agree with Rick McKinley—one of the authors of The Advent Conspiracy—when he writes, “our world is increasingly fractured, yet we often mask the distance this causes with a kind of pseudo-community—we call, we email, we text, we Facebook, we Tweet, and the list goes on.  These can be important ways to keep in touch, but they can never replace the flesh-and-blood aspect of a relationship.  We need to be with each other.”[2]

That’s why Jesus came.  To restore relationships.  This list given by Isaiah and mentioned by Jesus in that first sermon highlight why the Messiah came into this world.  Jesus was born to bring life and hope to people who are hurting and broken.  The Messiah’s work is relational, fleshy, it’s in meeting the longings of people’s souls for connection with others.

Each category of person mentioned by Isaiah—the brokenhearted, the imprisoned, the captives—because of the circumstances of their lives, experienced disconnection from others.  What they wanted most was to be reconnected.  To not be cut off, pushed aside or forgotten.  They longed for community.  And that’s exactly what Jesus brought.

The Advent Conspiracy folks spend time talking about the idea of Jesus’ incarnation.  God was revealed to us through the coming of Jesus as a human being.  God wanted to interact with us, to live among us, to, as the Message Bible puts it, come into our neighborhood.  Jesus came to build relationships, and to deepen connections.  The Incarnation is “in practical terms, what it means to give ourselves to one another.”[3]  Jesus is to be called Emmanuel, God with us.  God with us!

Many of the gifts that will be opened on Christmas will be of the non-relational variety, gifts purchased under duress or with little thought about the person; gifts that are, for lack of a better way of putting, less than personal.  We’ve all gotten these in years past, and, lest we think we’re superior to others, we’ve also given these types of gifts as well.

So let’s get down to brass tacks.  What makes a gift relational?  Here are some ideas:  Give a gift card for Starbucks to a person who likes coffee, but with the following constraint, they can only use it with you, so that the two of you get to spend some time talking over that cup of joe.  Buy a puzzle or game for a young person, promising to spend time doing that activity together.  Give the gift of your presence, your company, in creative ways: making time to scrap book with someone or going for a hike when you give those new snow shoes or having someone over for dinner.

The authors of The Advent Conspiracy tell a story that I want to share.  “Relational giving means that we pay attention to the other person.  We think about who they are and what they care about,” they write.  Then they give this example.

“A father and his teenage daughter were enjoying their last Christmas at home before she headed off to college that summer.  For him, the days where beginning to blur into weeks and the little girl he was bouncing on his lap just yesterday was going to leave tomorrow.

“What did that father give his daughter for Christmas?  Two beautiful blank journals with these instructions: she was to fill one, he’d fill the other.  During the next year, which would include her final days of high school, an all-too-brief summer, and her first semester away from home, they both committed to writing: thoughts about leaving home, questions and fears, frustrations with overprotective parenting, what it meant to let go, and how it feels to watch your child become an adult.  The next Christmas, they’d exchange their journals….  No gift could have been more relational, more personal, and no other gift would stand a chance of being appreciated so warmly or remembered for so long.”[4]

It makes sense, of course, but it is also costly.  We have to invest part of ourselves in these types of gifts, and when we give of ourselves we take a risk.  Yet it is so worth the risk.  When we give relational gifts, we create memories that last much longer than the quick view and toss of the usual Christmas gift — I can’t help but think of Ralphie and Randy Parker of “A Christmas Story” fame, unwrapping socks with chagrin and simultaneously throwing them over their shoulders.

If we gave more relational gifts and spent less overall, we might also have the ability to give the gift of water to one of the billion of the world’s most needy who drink polluted water each day.  2.2 million people die each year simply because they don’t have access to clean water.  The organization Living Water International[5] can provide a person with clean water for an entire year with 98 cents.  If you made a contribution to them—perhaps in honor of someone else—you would really be working toward the mission that Jesus came to fulfill.

When we ponder the true meaning of Christmas as shown in the life of Jesus Christ, we cannot help but realize that what mattered most to Jesus was community, connections, relationships.  God with us focused on restoration and amendment of life.  He came bringing healing and wholeness, and he invites us to do likewise.  He encourages us to model our lives, and our Christmas giving, on the way he gave to others, sacrificially, wholeheartedly and without hesitation.  May we find it in ourselves this year to follow Christ’s example and give gifts that will last a lifetime and bring hope and peace to our lives and our world.  Amen.

[1] Accessed 12/7/11

[2] Advent Conspiracy, 71.

[3] Advent Conspiracy, 70.

[4] Advent Conspiracy, 74-75.


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My sermon from Sunday.

Advent 2B—Mark 1:1-8 and Malachi 3

It was a classic the moment it hit the television airwaves.  “Here’s to the crazy ones.  The misfits.  The rebels.  The round pegs in the square holes.  The ones who see things differently.”  Grainy black and white video footage of famous people filled the TV screen, as the voiceover continued.  Albert Einstein, Martin Luther King, Jr., Amelia Earhart, Alfred Hitchcock, Jim Henson, Pablo Picaso and others.  “While some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.”

“Think different” read the tagline at the end of the ad for Apple.  Think different.

The equivalent in the Greek is metanoia, a word we heard translated this morning.  Metanoia literally means, “to think differently after” or “to change one’s mind.”  We heard it this morning in the English as the word “repentance.”  It was John the Baptist’s message.  He was sent as the messenger to prepare the way of the Lord, and he did so by saying “think different,” “repent,” “turn around.”

Mark the gospeler tells us that John was fulfilling the prophet Isaiah as the messenger sent to prepare the way.  If you’re good at sleuthing, you may have noticed that the reading from Isaiah we heard this morning that Mark is quoting doesn’t actually have the first line in it.  Mark begins his quotation, which he attributes, to Isaiah with a line from the prophet Malachi, the line which reads, “See I am sending my messenger ahead of you who will prepare your way.”  Mark couldn’t Google the lines like we can today, and available scrolls to double check his work were few and far between, and most likely unavailable to him.  But this isn’t really a big deal in the scheme of things.  Mark depended almost entirely on his memory for these lines.  And this whole thing is fascinating to me, as one who likes to notice the details.

The line from Malachi comes from chapter 3 of that book: “See I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me,” the prophet declares.  The entire prophecy is about how God’s people who were living in Israel after the time of the Babylonian exile had become unfaithful.  Malachi, the name literally means “My messenger, is coming to prepare the way.  So he begins calling out the ways in which the people have missed the mark.

Here are some of the things he mentions about them: they were breaking the covenant by bringing flawed animals to be sacrificed, animals they wouldn’t offer to anyone else.  Animals they couldn’t sell or use to pay their taxes.  So they brought these cast off animals to fulfill their sacrifice rather than bringing animals that were unblemished as God had requested.

They were being unfaithful in their marriages, unfaithful to the spouses of their youth and getting divorces in order to marry others.

They participated in injustice.  They defrauded laborers of wages, oppressed the widows and orphans, deprived justice for the aliens who lived among them.  They withheld the tithe from God, offering a smaller portion than what God had asked of them.  And they spoke arrogantly against God, asking why they should even bother serving God.

So when Mark mentions this line in relation to the message proclaimed by John the Baptist, I suspect he was thinking about these and other ways that we sin, or fall away from God.

Talking about sin is a sure fire way to limit your success as a preacher.  If I was hoping to be a famous tv preacher, I’d need to be saying things like, “You are just fine the way you are!  If you follow after God you will become wealthy and experience God’s tremendous blessings in your life.  There is no reason to really change anything, other than your negative thinking to more positive thinking.  And when you do, God will make you healthy, wealthy and wise,”  which, of course, isn’t something God said but something Ben Franklin said in Poor Richard’s Almanac.

John the Baptist was taking his side along both Malachi and Isaiah in preparing the way by preaching a message of repentance.  He proclaimed why sin pollutes us and is not the way of God.  Sin is anything that separates us from God.

Minister and author Frederick Buechner describes it in this way, “The power of sin is centrifugal.  When at work in a human life, it tends to push everything out toward the periphery.”  He continues, “Other people and (if you happen to believe in him) God or (if you happen not to) the World, Society, Nature—whatever you call the greater whole of which you’re part—sin is whatever you do, or fail to do, that pushes them away, that widens the gap between you and them and also the gaps within your self.”[1]

Where are the gaps within your self?  As a priest once put it, the issue is often that we are “out-of-true,”[2] like a tire that won’t turn properly.  Are you off-centered, unable to be in balance, feeling like the life you are living is not the one God has called you to?  Our sin widens the gap between us and God, and us and our neighbor, and between the person we are now and the person Christ calls us to be.  When we sin, we become less and less the one God created us to be and more and more someone wanting to seek our own will over God’s will for us.

I had a good friend who went through a lot of change in his life a couple of years ago.  He faced some demons from his past.  He was honest about his drinking problem.  He fessed up to the ways he had hurt others.  He took on healthier habits.  He made strides in areas of his life that had long been neglected.  After a good 10 months in to this process he grabbed a coffee with me.  “If I had known what a difference this would have made in my life, I would have done this so much sooner,” he said to me at that Starbuck’s.  He uttered those words because he never saw himself as a person in need of change.  People around him would have said the same thing.  But deep down he felt God wanting him to go in a different direction.  So he followed that inner voice of God and sought reconciliation.  It made all the difference.

“The voice of one crying in the wilderness, prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.”  We seem to like our crooked paths, thank you very much.  We seem to not want to prepare the way of the Lord.

We do, however, want to prepare for Christmas.  We put up the decorations and the tree and the crèche and the wreaths so that we can get in the holiday spirit.  We play the music and get wrapped up in the busyness of this time of year.  We get it all done to get ready for Christmas in that way, but the internal work we leave for another time.  Or another year.   Possibly another decade.  Just not now.

But if we’re truly going to be ready for Christmas, if we are going to do the work of Advent, then we need to hear John the Baptizer’s message.  Repent.  Turnaround.  Make those paths straight.  If you want to hear the good news about Jesus, if you want to get ready for all that he will bring, then you need to get ready, you need to wake up, you need to turn around.

What will help you change your mind?  What will make you want to turn around?  What will make you recognize the beginning of the good news about Jesus Christ?  It begins with metanoia.  It begins with thinking differently.

Because the ones who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.

Are you crazy enough to believe that the world can be changed?  Are you crazy enough to believe that your world can be changed?  Imagine the way life could be.  Imagine what this Christmas would be like if you truly heard the Baptist’s call and repented for the places where you need to find forgiveness.  Turn around.  Repent.  Prepare the way of the Lord.  Amen.

[1] Frederich Buechner. Wishful Thinking, pgs. 108-109.

[2] Ian Cron Jesus, My Father, the CIA and Me: A Memoir of Sorts. 2011, pg. 102.

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We had an amazing day here at St. Mark’s.  The entire community gathered for a single service to mark our desire to commit a portion of our treasure for next year.  In addition, we had a celebration lunch to mark the occassion.

It was a day of joy, of laughter and of thinking on how we can live a better story both individually and corporately.

Here’s the text of my sermon.  I hope you join us—whether a member here at St. Mark’s or not—in living a better story.

Matthew 25:31-46

Jesus paints quite a picture in the parable of the sheep and the goats that we read today.  The Son of Man has returned and is sitting on his throne, and the nations come before him.  He begins separating them, some on his left and some on his right.  He invites those on his right into the kingdom he has prepared since the beginning of time, because they fed him and gave him clothing and something to drink and visited him and welcomed him.

“When?” they ask.  “When were you naked or hungry or thirsty or lonely or a stranger or sick or in prison?”  And he tells them quite simply, “Whenever you did it to someone who was being overlooked or ignored—the least among you—you did it to me.”

He runs the same list with those on his left, the goats, except they never did these things.  They ask the same question, “When was it that you were shivering or thirsty or destitute and we didn’t do anything?”  “Whenever you didn’t do it for someone who was being overlooked or ignored—the least among you—you did not do it for me.”

In this image of the Last Day when we come before Christ the King, it comes down simply to what we did or didn’t do.

I read Donald Miller’s book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years a couple of years ago while I was laid up with a tibial plateau fracture, and it changed my life.  Don subtitles the book, “What I learned while editing my life,” and he talks about living a better story.  In one of the vignettes in his book, he talks about the frustration of writing fiction, because often the characters don’t do what he, as the writer, wants them to do.  As he would walk to his office in the morning after his coffee, he would dream up the plot of his novel.  But there was a problem.  “Stories,” he explains, “are only partly told by writers.  They are also told by the characters themselves.  Any writer will tell you characters do what they want.”[1]  Those of us with kids certainly know the irritation of not having them do what we might want them to do—especially when we know it’s for their own good—but characters in a book you’re writing?  How annoying would that be?

Don writes, “As I worked on the novel, as my character did what he wanted and ruined my story, it reminded me of life in certain ways.  I mean as I sat there in my office feeling like God making my worlds, and as my characters fought to have their way, their senseless, selfish way of nonstory, I could identify with them.  I fought with my [character] who wanted the boring life of self-indulgence, and yet I was also that character, fighting with God and I could see God sitting at his computer, staring blankly at his screen as I asked him to write in some money and some sex and some comfort.”[2]

As this idea percolates, Miller questions his desire to take over his own story, to not listen to God as the writer of his life.  He talks about wresting control, of hijacking the story for his own means.  But then he reconsiders.  “At first, even though I could feel God writing something different, I’d play the scene the way I wanted.  This never worked.  It would have always been better to obey the Writer, the one who knows the better story. … So I started obeying a little.  I’d feel God wanting me to hold my tongue, and I would.  It didn’t feel natural at first; it felt fake, like I was being a character somebody else wanted me to be and not who I was; but if I held my tongue, the scene would play better, and I always felt better when it was done.  I started feeling like a better character, and when you are a better character, your story gets better too.”[3]

And then he writes this, “At first the feeling was only about holding my tongue.  And when I learned to hold my tongue a bit, the Voice guided me from the defensive to the intentional.  God wanted me to do things, to help people, to volunteer or write a letter or talk to my neighbors.  Sometimes I’d do the thing God wanted, and the story always went well, of course; and sometimes I’d ignore it and watch television.  But by this time I really came to believe the Voice was God, and God was trying to write a better story.”[4]

“Be the master of your domain, the king of your castle,” we’re told by our society, but God wants to write a better story for us.  We want more for ourselves—whatever that more is—but God longs for us to have more joy and fullness of life.  God wants us to have deeper relationships with those we love.  God asks us to hold our tongues, and take a little time to talk to our neighbors.  God calls us to feed the hungry and hand out cups of water and visit the ones we know who are sick and in prison.

There have been times in my own life when I wanted create a story of my own choosing.  Times when I ignored those who are the least among us.  Times when I said something I shouldn’t have said.  Moments when I asked God to write in more of what I wanted into my story.  Things meant merely to bring entertainment, or personal gain, or to stroke my ego or to make me feel better about myself at the expense of others.

But if I keep doing that, if I keep pursuing that storyline, I may end up at the end saying to Jesus, “What a sec.  When were you hungry or sick or destitute or alone?  I don’t remember seeing you, Jesus, ’cause if I did, I would’ve stopped.  I would’ve done something.  I would have gotten you some warm clothes or tried to offer you some comfort.  Are you sure it was you, because I’m pretty sure I would have recognized you.”

The vestry, staff and I believe the purpose of St. Mark’s is to be a community that lives fully into Christ’s mission for our world.  To be those wanting to live a better story.  To be disciples who notice the least among us and who reach out to them and create a place for them to be with us.  We desire to teach our young people—and our adults too­—about the faith, and we want to have our buildings used to deepen community both among ourselves and our neighbors.  We know that there are many hurting people in this world—both in our parish and beyond our walls—and we want to be those who do something about that, who offer support and care and the chance for life-change through Jesus Christ.

And that’s why Melissa and I will be giving 10% of my salary to St. Mark’s.   Because we want to be a part of congregation that longs to make a difference in this world.   We’ve decided that there is a greater meaning to be found in life, and we want to help create a more just and humane world.  And we believe that we can fully participate in God’s dynamic mission at St. Mark’s by committing our financial resources and offering our time and talents for a common goal.

We’ve seen that when people hold out with open hands the finances and treasure that God has entrusted them with, God’s work gets done.  I know personally that when I give generously and joyfully, I live fully into the story that God is writing for me.  And I want to invite you to join with me in creating that story.  I encourage those who have found a church home here to strive toward giving 5-10% of your income to God’s work in this place.  If that is out of reach for you, or if you have never pledged before, I’d suggest that you make a commitment of 3% of your income this year—3 pennies on each dollar you make—with the hope of moving toward a larger percentage next year.  If we all made these types of commitment, we would have resources both to meet our financial obligations for the work we are already doing here, and we could expand our ministries at St. Mark’s to reach out to the ones often overlooked.

In 1968, just after the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., the rector at Saint Luke’s Parish in Darien, CT, together with lay people there, decided to respond in a faithful way by working for those who were poor in their area and to help educate others about poverty and injustice.  They began a ministry called Person-to-Person, and began collecting food and clothing for the working poor who lived and worked among them.  P2P started in a cleared out closet in the church admin building to hold the donations they received.  This past year P2P, going strong over 40 years, helped more than 22,000 people, had 2,900 volunteers, sent 600 low income kids to summer camp, and has taken over the entire administration building on the church grounds, including the apartment Melissa and I and our kids lived in when we served there.  It was a small idea that grew into a significant blessing.

What would happen if we at St. Mark’s took action on some small ideas that we shared together?  Maybe expanding our connection with Straight Ahead ministries and providing start up capital and business advice for young men like we did for a man named Kon.  He’s turned his life around and began a small t-shirt business called “Creating Hope Apparel” in Lowell this year.  Or maybe we could offer annual mission trips for our youth and adults. We could strengthen connections we already have with Our Father’s Table or Cradles to Crayons or build on the success of our own Bargain Box.  The beauty of being a part of a faith community is that we can see a seed of an idea grow into a life-changing endeavor.  And I’d love for this sort of dialogue to be a part of our work together this next year as we prepare to celebrate our parish’s 150th anniversary.

I am so very hopeful for the future of St. Mark’s and I am so proud and humbled to serve as your rector.  As we enter into 2012, I know that we can make a significant impact in our world.  It begins with a strong commitment to Christ and to the call he has given us to serve him and see his presence in all of our sisters and brothers and especially those who are least among us.  As we make our commitments this morning for the work of this parish, may we do so trusting that God will use whatever we can give for the continued growth of Christ’s kingdom.  Amen.

[1] Miller, 85.

[2] Miller, 85-86.

[3] Miller, 88.

[4] Miller, 88.

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The Parable of the Talents was read by many churches this morning.  You may remember the story Jesus tells: a rich guy calls three slaves and gives them a certain number of talents.  He then goes on a trip and they are to do something with this talent (or these talents) they’ve been given.

It’s an odd parable, since it ends with a wicked slave being tossed out into the darkness.  If you read the parable quickly and think it’s about God or Jesus, then you get this mean God sort of reading that leaves a bitter aftertaste if you dwell on it.

Anyway, here’s my sermon on this passage about talents, the kingdom, Jesus and buried treasures.

From Matthew 25:14-30.

If you wanted to make a case that Jesus was a capitalist, our text from Matthew would be exhibit A.  The kingdom, he tells his disciples, is like a wealthy man who, when it was time to leave for a long business trip, gathered his workers and gave them huge sums of money.  This rich land owner gives a few talents to them, and we think it’s no big deal because it’s only eight talents all told.  But a talent is valued at about 17 years’ wages.  So even the dude who got just one talent was given a windfall.

This man—a quick reading might have us replace the word “man” with “God” or “Jesus”—hands over the cash to his workers based on their abilities and then goes on his journey.  It’s implied and the workers seem to know that he will return one day.  The first two—the ones getting 85 years’ and 34 years’ wages respectively—take that obscene amount of money and go to do something with it.  The bloke with the single talent, well, he chickens out not wanting to risk it and buries the money in the back yard and waits out his master’s return.

After some time the wealthy chap returns, the first two have doubled their master’s money and present it to him—now 170 and 68 years’ worth of wages if you’re keeping score at home—and they are highly praised by him.  “Well done! You have been trustworthy in a few things, so enter into my joy!”  The third one must be standing there getting a little warm under the collar.  So when he comes before the landowner, he dusts off the talent he was given and tells the master that he buried that treasure.  He digs his own grave when he starts talking: “Master, I knew you were a harsh man, reaping what you did not sow, and harvesting where you didn’t plant.  Because of this, I was fearful and hid your talent in the ground.  I present it to you now, a bit dirty, but all of it still here.”

The wealthy man turns on a dime and goes all Jekyll like.  “You knew this about me, did you?  You’re just a lazy and wicked slave who is worthless!  You could have taken my money to the bank, even the meager amount of interest would have been something to give back to me!”  And then he has the talent taken away and given to the one who now has ten, and then has him thrown out into the outer darkness.

“See,” some might say, “Jesus wants us to prosper, to have gobs and gobs of money so that we can be blessed.”  But if you read the parable that way, then God is portrayed as Dr. Jekyll, doing anything to make a buck, not caring about individuals, but rather reaping money from places where he hasn’t even invested his time.  And not only that, God hoards all this money for himself—some 239 year’s wages by the end of the parable and presumably has much more in other investments.

So Jesus must be a capitalist and he wants us to prosper financially too.  (And in case you think I am making this up, you can find an article that was published online earlier this year that makes this very point about this scripture. ).[1]

But that just doesn’t make sense with what Jesus is talking about.  Just before this parable, Jesus talks about being ready for the coming of the Son of Man, and the need to be prepared.  And the story he tells after this one starts the same way.  Jesus is talking not about attributes of God, but of ways to be ready for his second coming.  Jesus zeroes in on how his disciples can be prepared for that time.  What they did with their lives mattered greatly to Jesus.  Each of them had been granted amazing abilities by the Almighty and so how would they use those things—those gifts, talents and abilities—to be ready for Christ’s return?  I don’t think Jesus was telling them they needed to make money—given the fact that Jesus was himself a homeless rabbi, I find that reading very unlikely.  Rather, Jesus says to James and Peter and John and the rest, what will you do with what you have been given, this short time you are on this earth, in order to further the kingdom and be ready for the coming of the Son of Man?

So here’s the question of the hour: what have you been given by God and how are you using it to take part in the kingdom Jesus established here on earth?  What abilities do you have?  What gifts?  What things make you uniquely you?  Is it your artistic ability, or a gift of hospitality?  Is it how you cook, or your green thumb or your ability to bring a group together toward a common goal?  Is it your gentleness with children or the way you can explain new things to a group of students or is it your business smarts and savy or the way you can turn a phrase in writing?

If we read this parable with that lens—and I personally don’t think you can read it any other way—we must take stock of all that God has bestowed on us, and then ask what are we doing with those things.  Or maybe we need to ask if we’re taking those abilities and burying them in the backyard because of a fear that is insidiously making us less and less ourselves.

A few years ago the film “Akeelah and the Bee” addressed this very thing.  Akeelah is an eleven year old Middle Schooler from South LA who has a gift for academics but she doesn’t want to flaunt it for fear of being isolated from her peers.  She takes part in her school’s first ever spelling bee and wins quite easily even though she is hesitant to win.  She is paired up with an English professor, Dr. Larabee—played by Laurence Fishburn—who helps her prepare for contests that lead to the National Spelling Bee.  At one point in the film, Dr. Larabee has Akeelah read a quotation from Marianne Williamson.  She reads:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.  Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.  It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.  We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’  Actually, who are you not to be?  You are a child of God.  Your playing small does not serve the world.  There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.  We are all meant to shine, as children do.  We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.  It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone.  And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.  As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

“Does that mean anything to you,” Dr. Larabee asks.  “I don’t know,” Akeelah responds.  “It’s written in plain English.  What does it mean?”  “That I’m not supposed to be afraid,” she replies.  “Afraid of what?”  “Afraid of … me?”

It’s a turning point in the film.  Akeelah recognizes that she has this tremendous gift and that she has been hiding it due to fear.  She has been playing small.  She has taken what she has been given by God and run to the back yard and buried it.

We all do this from time to time.  We take the very abilities God has bestowed upon us and high tail it to a field or the flower bed or the place by the back fence, and we bury that ability never to be used by us.  We dig down deep and drop it in and pack the dirt on good and tight.  And then at some point in our life—maybe not till the very end of our lives or when the Son of Man returns—we’ll go back to that secret hiding spot and uncover it and try to dust it off as best we can so we can hand it back over to God.

“Why didn’t you use this?” God may ask us.  “I was scared,” we reply.  “Scared that it wouldn’t be good enough, that it wouldn’t make any difference, that it would make me stand out from the crowd.”  “You were born to shine,” God replies.  “Born to make manifest my glory in you.”

We were born to make a difference in this world for the sake of Christ.  And we can only do that if we take the chance.  We can only do that if we risk it all.  And in so doing, be prepared for the coming of the Son of Man.  May it be so.  Amen.

[1] “Jesus was a capitalist.” By Bryan Fischer,

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One of my seminary professors wrote in a commentary that nobody would be preaching on anything other than the Gospel this week because it is so familiar and so focused on love (you can read it here).  And he’s right, given the texts most preachers would be drawn to it.  But having lived recently in a desert climate, I couldn’t help but think about the image of a tree planted by streams of water from Psalm 1.  I had planned to preach mostly on Matthew’s Gospel this week, but I got overtaken by the image of the tree needing water.  And so that’s what I did.

Sometimes life is pretty hard.  So I wanted to talk about that today, about what difference it makes to come to church and whatnot.  My sermon is on Psalm 1.


A friend of mine has said to me a couple of times how difficult attending church was for him when he went through a rough spell in his life.  He was going through a divorce and lonely as all get out.  He had to change churches along the way—in a divorce it seems, even in spite of the best intentions of the clergy person, someone gets the church—and so walking in to a new church as a middle-aged single man was hard because not many folks reached out to him. He would be almost entirely ignored during the peace.  He would often go to coffee hour and stand by himself while others mingled around him.  He’s a gregarious person, mind you, but church was painful.

“People are hurting,” he’d say to me.  “How is your church connecting to them?  How are you bringing them life?”

It’s a tough question for a preacher and a pastor, of course.  But it’s a real one.  And unless we deal with the real questions of life from time to time, if not most of the time, then we might as well hang it up and shutter the windows.

I wish I could take away all the pain that is experienced by everyone who walks through the doors of this church.  I wish I could counteract the self-doubt and fear.  I wish I could magically heal each relationship that is broken and leaving destruction in its wake.  I would love to take each teen struggling with their sense of self-worth and reassure them that life does get better.  I wish I could take all of the financial hardships and make them disappear, and have new jobs for all those who want them.  I am not Aladdin’s genie or Harry Potter or Gandolf and certainly not Jesus.  I am a merely a priest.

“Happy are they who have not walked in the counsel of the wicked,” we heard the Psalmist declare this morning, “Their delight is in the law of the Lord, and they meditate on it day and night.  They are like trees planted near streams of water, bearing fruit in due season, with leaves that do not wither.”  Who are these ones meditating day and night on the law of the Lord, on the holy Scripture?  How are they nourished even in the midst of hard times?

We have a tendency to make things too difficult in our lives.  We can see the deterioration of a relationship over months or even years but be unable to take any action until it is too late.  We watch someone like my friend who is alone in a pew and just ignore him because we’re not sure what to say.  We hope our teens will figure it out along the way and we expect them to do this on their own.  We live on the sidelines in much of our relationships and in our spiritual faith, afraid sometimes to act, uncertain of what is next.

Thoreau lived less than thirty miles from here on Walden Pond when he penned the words, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”  They were published a mere 6 years before this church was founded.  It seems we still live behind masks, unnourished; we are trees withering and in desperate need of a drink.

“Their delight is in the law of the Lord, and they meditate on it day and night.  They are like trees planted near streams of water.”

We think we are so advanced in our day and age.  We’ve got technology and an understanding of the human psyche and civilized notions, and yet we still face a life of difficulties like they did in biblical times.  If you read the stories of scripture and the screwed up things that happened back thousands of years ago, in many ways it’s not really different than picking up today’s Sunday Globe and reading it.

We heard the distilled version of the law this morning from Jesus, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, strength and mind, which is the greatest commandment.  And the second is like it, love your neighbor as yourself.”  It comes down, all of it, to that.  Love.  God and your neighbor.  Love them without fail.  Love them without worrying about yourself first.  Love them when it’s not convenient.  Love.

Yet we do not fully love.  Either because we don’t know how or because we are hidden behind desperate masks of our own making.  Or because we’re afraid of what it might cost us.

I read an amazing op-ed this past week from the New York Times, called “Notes from a Dragon Mom.”[1]  Emily Rapp writes, “My son, Ronan, looks at me and raises one eyebrow. His eyes are bright and focused. Ronan means “little seal” in Irish and it suits him.

I want to stop here, before the dreadful hitch: my son is 18 months old and will likely die before his third birthday. Ronan was born with Tay-Sachs, a rare genetic disorder. He is slowly regressing into a vegetative state.  He’ll become paralyzed, experience seizures, lose all of his senses before he dies. There is no treatment and no cure.

How do you parent without a net, without a future, knowing that you will lose your child, bit by torturous bit?

Depressing? Sure. But not without wisdom, not without a profound understanding of the human experience or without hard-won lessons, forged through grief and helplessness and deeply committed love about how to be not just a mother or a father but how to be human.”

She writes about what it’s like to live as a parent knowing your child will have no future, when all of childhood seems geared toward that future on which hopes and dreams are staked.  She homes in on the thing that is necessary in life, “the only task … is to love.”

I do not know why we don’t love as we should, but I do know that for many loving God and loving our neighbor seems like an insurmountable task, especially when we are looking in from the sidelines.  I don’t know if it is fear or a lack of loving ourselves or pride or some combination of those or other things, but whatever it is, we hold back, and we are dying of thirst.  And when we hesitate and don’t move toward love, it becomes easier and easier to stay where we are, to remain closed off, to keep hidden behind the wall, to desperately languish by ourselves.

“Happy are those who delight in the law of the Lord,” “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul and with all your mind” and “Love your neighbor as yourself.”  We are happy if we delight in love.  We are blessed if we love God, if we desire to follow God’s yearnings for us and if we show love to each person whose lives intersect with ours.  We are nourished and rejuvenated and strengthened and restored.

The first step is in looking beyond ourselves.  It is in reaching out to both God and others.

And this important reminder: we need to take that first step.  We cannot expect change without moving incrementally toward the goal.  As the Chinese philosopher put it, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”  We need to lower the masks.  We must recognize our own quiet desperation and seek God, recognizing that loving God with all our heart begins with an action like coming toward this altar rail or kneeling quietly in prayer or taking a walk in the afternoon sun asking God for guidance.

I cannot wave a wand to make your life—or even my own life—better; I am no miracle worker.  But I think in the long run that’s for the better and that we can be made stronger by facing the challenges before us.  There have been times in my own life where I have worn the masks and been overcome by fear.  There were moments when I felt that I would not make it through the darkness.  I wish I could say that I always had amazing faith for those times and made it through unscathed, but that would be a lie.  Sometimes I have been the tree away from the stream dying for a drink.  I too bumble along at times needing to be reminded that it is about love and ruminating on that love day and night.

So how would I answer my friend’s question about how to bring life to those of us who are hurting?  I’d say this: I stand before you proclaiming that God’s deep desire for you is the fullness of life that you seek, knowing full well that I will lumber along myself in attempts to both declare that love and show it.  Yet I will keep trying because I know that it is the only way that I will draw closer to the stream of living water.  It is the only way that any of us will flourish.  So come.  Come to this church and to this table because it is here that we can reconnect with God; it is here that we can find comfort and grace and acceptance for who we are.  It is in this place that we can finally let down the masks and be vulnerable and share in the life God longs for us to have.  Amen.

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