lauren laughs

Preached at The Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta

Proper 15, Year A

Before I share this story with you, I need to tell you I have permission to share it.  The person the story is about is not here today… she is worshipping at the parish where she was baptized six years ago.  She is full of Holy Spirit fire and wonder and joy, and I love her even more than she loves to push my buttons. This person is, of course, my daughter.

This summer, my daughter came to me and said, “I want to get my ears pierced.”  I wasn’t sure what prompted the announcement or how serious she was about it, so I used the pool as an excuse to hold off a few months, explaining her ears would need to heal after swim season was over. 

She agreed with that logic and never argued, but also never wavered from her desire to get her ears pierced.  She brought it up frequently, always with a bounce in her step and a twinkle in her eye.  I became convinced this was truly her heart’s desire.

Fast forward to the end of July when we always head to the grandparents’ cottage on Lake Ontario for some quality time with aunts, uncles, cousins and friends.  My niece, who is the same age as my daughter, had recently pierced her ears.  These two girls are the best of friends despite living so far apart, so asked my daughter if she’d like to go ahead and pierce her ears the last day of our trip and bring her cousin along.  She was thrilled with the idea.  We talked about what the process would be like, including the one-hour drive each way to Pittsford, NY, right outside of Rochester.  Again and again my daughter insisted she was ready and eager to make the drive and take the leap into the world of pierced ears. 

And so, on the appointed day, my mother-in-law, my niece, my daughter and I all piled into the car to Pittsford.  We drove for an hour, arrived, and spent a few minutes picking out the earrings, which I then purchased.  My daughter sat on a chair while we took turns inspecting little dots of marker on her ears to ensure proper placement.  And then she sat in my lap with her cousin and grandma by her side.  The time had come.

It was at this moment that my daughter started asking a lot of questions… and I mean a LOT of questions.  The girl was clearly stalling.  My mother-in-law would later tell me that I had the patience of Job, but I will tell you that I was feeling anything BUT patient. 

Finally, I looked at my watch and said, “We’ve got an hour drive ahead of us and dinner will be ready soon.  You either get your ears pierced now, or we’ve got to go without.”

Needless to say, my daughter still does not have pierced ears.  She cried when we left, but soon fell asleep in the car, exhausted from the whole ordeal.  When we got home, she woke up in tears, not wanting to enter the house with nothing to show for all her excited talk.

So I knelt down, held her in my arms, and told her that yes I was upset that we had driven all that way and spent all that money, but that I was not at all upset with her for changing her mind.  I told her, it’s never too late to change your mind. 

And when she finally looked me in the eye I said, “It takes courage to change your mind.”

In today’s very uncomfortable Gospel text, Jesus changes his mind.

And again I am left thinking, it takes courage to change your mind.

First it took courage on the part of the Canaanite woman, who introduces Jesus to the tenacity of a mother desperate to care for her suffering child.  She will not be talked down or talked down to.  She insists on speaking up for her daughter who cannot speak for herself.  If you’ve been following along in our Sunday School class on the Enneagram, you might recognize this woman as a classic Eight.

I am grateful for the courage of the Canaanite woman.

But Jesus shows courage too.  Can you imagine being the person known for always saying the right thing, for always showing the better way, for always imparting wisdom, for always proclaiming the Good News of the Kingdom of God, and then being told by a stranger and a “foreigner” that you’ve got it wrong this time… and you’ve got it wrong because there’s actually more than enough love to go around, more than enough Good News, more than enough redemption and healing.

Jesus hears this woman’s insistence for more and discovers the invitation her words present—an invitation to expand God’s love and God’s presence and God’s work in the world beyond what Jesus thought he knew.

I imagine Jesus was recalling all the stories of God he had learned as a child, including stories of God changing the divine mind.  You know… that time Abraham argued with God and changed the mind of God not to smite the entire city of Sodom.  Or that time Moses argued with God and changed the mind of God to practice just a little more patience with the Israelites.  Or that time God decided flooding the earth wasn’t the best idea and put a rainbow in the sky as a reminder. 

Jesus had so many examples of God changing the divine mind—and every time for the sake of expanding love and mercy.  I imagine those stories gave Jesus the courage he needed to change his own mind for the sake of growing the Kingdom of God.

Because there is more than enough to go around.  The hymn we just sang reminds us that the love of God is broader than the measure of the mind.  And that means that sometimes we too are called to change our minds. 

We who are created in the image of God, we who are followers of Jesus, we too must change our minds for the sake of more love, more mercy, more Good News.

It sounds as if “more love” would be the easiest thing in the world, but sometimes the invitation to love more can be a challenge. 

It can challenge what we thought we knew about one thing or another.  It can challenge our view of the world, or our view of the Kingdom of God.  It can challenge our comfort zones and our relationships with friends and strangers.

And part of the challenge is that we’re often surrounded by people that think just like us!  We go out to dinner with people who like to talk about the same things we like to talk about.  We read books by people who think like we do.  We listen or watch news stations that adhere to our worldview.  It can be hard to change your mind when everyone around you is like-minded.

But friends, there is one place you can go where you are guaranteed to encounter people who think differently than you do… Church!  This church is one such place!  And thank God that it is!

When you walk through the doors of the Cathedral of St. Philip, you pass by the words we heard today from the prophet Isaiah: For my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples. 

And it is!  This is truly a house of prayer for all peoples.  Go to a Bible study, or join a Foyers group, or volunteer with the youth, or sing in the choir, and you know what you’ll find?  Someone who thinks differently than you do.  Pass the peace with someone near you, and you know what you’ve done?  Made peace with someone you disagree with. 

The beauty of this place is that it is truly a house of prayer for all peoples.

So keep coming to church.  And get to know the people around you.  Sooner or later, you too just might have the courage to speak up like the Canaanite woman, or the courage to change your mind like Jesus.

And when you do, the Kingdom of God will expand.   Amen.

Preached at The Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta

Proper 10, Year A

Have you ever seen a tree clap its hands?

I ask because of our passage from Isaiah today… have you ever seen a tree clap its hands?

The prophet Isaiah proclaims this good news from God:

“For you shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.”

I love this passage because I used to watch the trees clap their hands every morning.  I was living in Cotonou, the coastal city and business capital of Benin, West Africa.  After living with a family for several months, I was finally renting my own place.  A pink stucco house with a water well and a yard. 

Near the entrance of my yard was a canopy of bougainvillea, offering protection and shade with its bright pink blooms wicked thorns.  By the shed was a banana tree, with real bunches of bananas that would ripen all at once, so you had to share them with neighbors before they went bad.  And along one side of the house were several palm trees.

The kitchen was attached to the house but had a separate entrance… so I had to exit my living room door, walk three steps outside, and open my kitchen door if I wanted to grab something from the fridge when the power was working.  It wasn’t the most convenient setup, but it did keep the inevitable pests out of the living quarters. 

Every morning, I would sit outdoors on that 4-foot stretch of tile between the living room and kitchen.  I would breathe in the morning air, drink my tea, write in my journal, and listen for God.  And every morning, the palm trees would clap their hands.  There is no better description for the movement and the sound… the wind would move through the leaves like oversized hands that would slap together and clap for joy. 

So much about that season of life is a blur.  Speaking French, teaching English, arguing over the price of eggs at the market, or riding the back of a motor-bike taxi with no helmet. 

I think back on those days and if feels like someone else living a different life in a different world.  Maybe you have seasons of life that feel that distant as well.

But then I think of the trees clapping their hands in the morning, and it’s as if I’m transported back in time.  I remember with clarity the intimacy I felt with God all those mornings sitting outside the kitchen.  I remember listening to and watching the trees clap their hands and thinking, ‘This is significant. I am resting in the palm of God’s hand, and the trees know it. I will carry this with me forever.’  And I have.  Maybe you too have moments or seasons that remain palpable and real no matter how much time has passed.

I say all this because our Gospel text talks about a sower and soil and seeds.  And the sower, soil and seeds know something about seasons, too.  I’m especially interested in the seasons of soil. 

Because when we hear this Gospel, it might be tempting to hear about the different types of soil and assume they represent different types of people.

It might be tempting to hear about the dirt on the path and think: Oh, I know that type.  I know those people who just refuse to believe in God—no matter what!

And it might be tempting to hear about the rocky soil and immediately think of those people in your life who are so wishy-washy.  They seem genuinely interested in God for a few weeks and then they’re back to their “old ways.”

And it might be tempting to hear about the soil among the thorns and conjure up images of those people who are essentially possessed by their possessions.

And it might be especially tempting to hear with relief about the good soil, look around this room, and think: Ah, yes.  Here we are.  The people who have taken God’s Word to heart.  It feels so good to be good soil alongside all these other good people.

Only, I don’t think that’s what this parable is about.  I don’t think the different types of soil are meant to classify different types of people. 

I think the different types of soil are present within each of us.  Sometimes we’re like the dirt path, sometimes we’re like the rocky soil, sometimes we’re caught in the thorns, and occasionally, yes, we are good and fertile soil.  Soil has seasons.  And we do too. 

For soil to be good, it has to be dug up and turned over.  For soil to be good, it has to lie fallow for a time.  For soil to be good, it has to absorb the nutrients only stinky decay or manure can provide.  The soil isn’t born good or bad.  It is what it is based on its season of life and the care it receives.

Some seasons are long and can feel like a lifetime ago.  Others are especially short like different moods in the course of a day.  No matter how short or long the season, our own health determines how well we can receive the Word of God and bear the fruits of God’s love.  The soil isn’t who we are, but how we are.

So how are you?  How are you today?  Are you path-y, rocky, thorny, or healthy?  Don’t be scared of the question or your answer to it—it’s not a life sentence.  It’s not a judgment.  It’s a season. 

No matter what season you are in, you are a child of God, lovingly created in the loving image of God.  And when you are the fullest expression of yourself, all of creation rejoices!  The trees clap their hands!  And when you’re the tired, scared, sad, angry, or selfish version of yourself, you are still a child of God deserving of the care that can bring you wholeness again.

Perhaps you are in a season of being turned upside down.  Perhaps you’re in a season of lying fallow.  Or maybe you are knee deep in the stinky stuff.  No matter what kind of soil you are or what kind of season you are in, remember that God scatters seed everywhere… not just on the good soil, but everywhere.

No matter how you are today, know that you are loved.  And hear God’s promise to you:

“You shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.”  Amen.

Preached in Spanish Service at La Catedral de San Felipe, Atlanta

Proper 8, Year A (English translation follows)

En el Evangelio de hoy, Jesús habla de la bienvenida. Un gran parte de nuestro enfoque en la iglesia es cómo damos la bienvenida a los demás. Nos esforzamos por ser una comunidad de hospitalidad, y esta congregación es especialmente hospitalaria. ¡Su paciencia conmigo como predicador cuando Juan no está es evidencia de esa verdad! Pero creo que las celebraciones de cumpleaños son el ejemplo más brillante de su bienvenida a amigos y extraños.

En cada alegre celebración bautismal, nosotros como comunidad renovamos nuestros votos bautismales. Y en esos votos se nos pide:

¿Buscarás y servirás a Cristo en todas las personas, amando a tu prójimo como a ti mismo?

Y Uds. ya saben la respuesta:

Asi lo hare, con el auxilio de Dios.

Nos comprometemos a amar a nuestro prójimo y a ver a Cristo en nuestro prójimo, y pedimos la ayuda de Dios en este esfuerzo… porque a veces puede ser difícil ver a Cristo en la persona que no nos agrada.

Pero el Evangelio de hoy no se centra en la bienvenida que debemos dar a los demás. El Evangelio de hoy se centra en cambio en la bienvenida que podemos esperar como seguidores de Cristo.

Que quien nos acoge, acoge al Jesús que seguimos.

Ese es un sentimiento encantador, sin duda. Pero también es un recordatorio de la responsabilidad que tenemos como cristianos. ¡No solo buscamos y servimos a Cristo en todas las personas, sino que somos el recordatorio visible y tangible de Cristo en el mundo!

Como seguidores de Jesús, no solo nos representamos a nosotros mismos, sino que también representamos a Jesús, todos los días y en todos lugares. Cuando entramos en una habitación, traemos a Jesús con nosotros. Ya sea que hablemos amablemente, sonríamos, gritemos o hagamos una mueca, estamos representando a Jesús.

Esta verdad se hizo especialmente evidente para mí cuando en la iglesia me ordenaron como clérigo. Vivía en Nueva York y tomaba el metro hacia y desde el trabajo todos los días. La mayoría de los días estaría agotado en el viaje a casa. Hacia calor y me dolerían los pies. Pero luego subía a bordo una persona mayor o una mujer embarazada, y yo le ofrecía mi asiento. Hice esto porque es lo correcto, pero también porque estaba representando a Jesús en ese tren.

O estaría en la cola del supermercado y el empleado escanearía mis artículos sin levantar la vista. Hablaba para preguntarles sobre su día y, al hacer contacto visual, de repente se daban cuenta de que un clérigo estaba parado frente a ellos: “Mi mamá está enferma. Reza por ella.” Y lo haría, porque quería orar por esta persona delante de mí y de su madre enferma, pero también porque sabía que yo era el recordatorio físico del amor de Jesús en esa línea.

Sí, el uso de un collar me hizo especialmente consciente de que estaba representando a Jesús en todo momento y en todo lugar. Pero lo mismo ocurre cuando me quito el collar. Y lo mismo es cierto para cada uno de ustedes.

¿Cómo reconocen las personas a Cristo en ti?

¿La gente sabe que tú eres cristiano?

¿La gente sabe que tu representas a Jesús?

¿Sabes tú que representas a Jesús?

¡Porque lo haces! Como seguidores de Cristo, ustedes son la representación física de Jesús en el mundo. No es la iglesia, no es este edificio, eres tú. No importa tu edad, no importa tu educación, no importa tu trabajo, no importa tu nombre, eres las manos y los pies y el corazón de Jesús en este pueblo y en este mundo y en este tiempo. Eres tú. Jesús está en ti.

Entonces, si no está usando un collar clerical, o no está usando un collar cruzado, y no tiene tatuado “Jesús” en su brazo, y no está usando una camiseta que dice “Jesús te ama”. … ¿cómo sabrán los demás que eres cristiano?

Bueno, la Biblia dice: Ellos sabrán que son cristianos por el amor que se tienen los unos a los otros. Y el amor puede hablar más fuerte que las palabras.

Pero también podemos usar nuestras palabras. Podemos decirle a las personas con las que trabajamos: “Mi fe es importante para mí”. Podemos decirles a nuestros amigos en la escuela: “Jesús te ama y yo también”. Podemos decirle a nuestro vecino de la calle: “Ven a la iglesia conmigo y déjame presentarte a esta amorosa familia de fe”.

Entonces seremos bienvenidos no solo por lo que somos, sino por lo que amamos y por lo que seguimos: Jesucristo. Amén.

In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus talks about welcoming.  A lot of our focus in church is on how we welcome others.  We strive to be a community of hospitality, and this congregation is especially hospitable.  Your patience with me as a preacher when Juan is away is evidence of that truth!  But I think the birthday celebrations are perhaps the shining example of your welcome to friend and stranger. 

At every joyful baptismal celebration, we as a community renew our baptismal vows.  And in those vows we are asked:

¿Buscarás y servirás a Cristo en todas las personas, amando a tu prójimo como a ti mismo?

And you know the response:

Así lo hare, con el auxilio de Dios.

We commit to loving our neighbor and seeing Christ in our neighbor, and we ask for God’s help in this endeavor because it can sometimes be hard to see Christ in the person we dislike.

But today’s Gospel focuses not the welcome we are to extend to others. Today’s Gospel focuses instead on the welcome we can expect as followers of Christ. 

That anyone who welcomes us, welcomes the Jesus we follow.

That is a lovely sentiment, to be sure.  But it’s also a reminder of the responsibility we bear as Christians.  Not only do we seek and serve Christ in all persons, but we are the visible and tangible reminder of Christ in the world! 

As followers of Jesus, we represent not just ourselves, but we also represent Jesus, every day and everywhere.  When we enter a room, we bring Jesus with us.  Whether we speak kindly, or smile, or yell, or grimace, we are representing Jesus.

This truth became especially apparent to me when I was first ordained and started wearing a clerical collar.  I was living in New York and taking the subway to and from work every day.  Most days I would be exhausted on the commute home.  It would be hot, and my feet would ache.  But then an elderly person or a pregnant woman would come on board, and I would offer my seat.  I did this because it is the right thing to do, but also because I was representing Jesus on that train. 

Or I would be in line at the grocery store and the clerk would scan my items without looking up.  I’d speak up to ask about their day, and making eye contact, they’d suddenly realize a clergy person was standing before them: “My mom is sick.  Pray for her.” And I would, because I wanted to pray for this person before me and their sick mother, but also because I knew that I was the physical reminder of Jesus’ love in that line.

Yes, wearing a collar made me especially aware that I was representing Jesus at all times in and all places.  But the same is true when I take the collar off.  And the same is true for each of you.

How do people recognize Christ in you?

Do people know you are a Christian?

Do people know that you represent Jesus?

Do you know that you represent Jesus? 

Because you do!  As followers of Christ, you are the physical representation of Jesus in the world.  It’s not the church—it’s not this building—it’s you.  No matter your age, no matter your education, no matter your job, no matter your name—you are the hands and the feet and the heart of Jesus in this town and in this world and in this time.  It’s you.  Jesus is in you.

So if you’re not wearing a clerical collar, or you’re not wearing a cross necklace, and you don’t have “Jesus” tattooed on your arm, and you’re not wearing a “Jesus loves you” t-shirt… how will others know that you are a Christian? 

Well the Bible says: They will know you are Christians by your love for one another.  And love can speak louder than words.

But we can use our words too.  We can tell the people we work with: “My faith is important to me.”  We can tell our friends at school: “Jesus loves you, and I do too.” We can say to our neighbor down the street: “Come to church with me and let me introduce you to this loving family of faith.”

Then we will be welcomed not just for who we are, but for who we love and who we follow—Jesus Christ.  Amen.

Preached at The Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta

Proper 5, Year A

Jesus says: Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’

Jesus, a person who understands sacrifice better than any one of us ever will, tells us to learn what it means to desire mercy over and above sacrifice.

If I’m honest, I think it’s easier to understand sacrifice than it is to understand mercy.  It’s maybe even easier to embrace sacrifice than it is to embrace mercy.  Why is that when mercy clearly sounds more desirable in the first place?  Because sacrifice is within my control.  And I love control.

Perhaps I’m hoping for an early bedtime, but then one of my kids comes down with a stomach bug.  I will sacrifice my need for sleep, not just because I love my child, but also because it gives me a sense of control—I can manage this situation—over something totally out of my control—the virus attacking my child’s body.

Or it could be something more trivial. Perhaps I want a chocolate croissant while shopping at the Farmers Market on Saturday, but choose instead to eat a hard-boiled egg at home to curb my craving while buying produce.  I will sacrifice my desire for the flakiness of a pastry only butter can create for the sake of my health, but also because it gives me a sense of control—I can choose healthy foods—over something totally out of my control—my aging and changing body.

Sacrifice is something I can choose.  It gives me the illusion of control. 

Mercy, on the other hand, will not bend to my will.  Mercy is not something I can earn or achieve.  My only choice is whether to receive it.  And when I extend mercy to another?  Once granted, I have no control over how the other will respond.  I may choose to offer mercy, yes, but the moment I offer it I let go of control.

Jesus desires mercy over sacrifice, and Jesus tells us to go and learn what that means.  It’s as if Jesus knows mercy takes time to comprehend, embrace, and extend.  It takes time and practice.  It’s the spiritual practice of letting go of control.

Some of you know that the Living Faith Sunday school class has taken up the spiritual practices of the Twelve Steps the past two months.  We started the class with a plan to cover two steps each week, and then found the conversation to be so rich and the learning to so meaningful that we had to slow it down to one step each week. 

Our class covers Step 10 today, which says: We continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.  In other words: we practice asking for and receiving mercy, again and again and again.

You see when Jesus says: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice,’ I take that to mean that mercy is what Jesus wants from us.  Does Jesus want mercy for us?  Of course.  I can’t even count the number of times God is described as merciful in the Bible. 

But Jesus also wants us to learn how to be merciful.  If we are to love one other as Christ loves us, then we have to have mercy for one another as Christ has mercy on us.  Another way of translating that word “mercy” is “compassion.”  We have to show compassion for one another as Christ has compassion for us.

Mercy and compassion take practice.  And I think the practice of giving mercy and compassion begins with the practice of receiving mercy and compassion.  I think we can’t give what we can’t receive.  And that is the beauty of Step 10. That is the beauty of paying attention to our mistakes and admitting when we get it wrong.  It is a daily exercise in receiving mercy so that we might share that same mercy with others and point to Christ’s presence among us.

It’s impossible to receive mercy if we cannot admit our need for it.  And it’s impossible to grant mercy if we have not allowed ourselves to be transformed by the receiving of it.

I love Ted Lasso.  And I don’t even like to watch TV.  But when my mom and my best friend insisted I watch it, I heeded their advice. 

The first season of the show was my saving grace during COVID.  I was in the midst of a situation I had absolutely no control over—we all were.  I remember telling my therapist that no matter what I did, I was going to disappoint people, and the fear of inevitable failure was making it hard for me to find hope. 

My therapist responded: What if your only goal was to show up every day with your integrity—could you do that?  And I realized I could.  I couldn’t control how others would respond… I couldn’t guarantee that things would get better… but I could show up in the truth of who God created me to be. 

And that’s what I saw Ted Lasso do in that first season again, and again, and again.  He didn’t fit in, he made mistakes, he disappointed people’s expectations, he fell short so many times.  And yet he kept showing up, exactly as the person God created him to be. 

And the more he showed up as his true self, the more others around him began to show their true colors too.  The whole team, and then the whole town, was transformed by this one person’s willingness to show up in their truth, even when that truth meant admitting defeat and asking for mercy.

In the final season, a character who betrayed Ted and the whole team is shown mercy. Well, he is shown mercy by all but one person, Beard, who loves Ted so much that he cannot forgive the man who turned his back on him.  That is until Ted says something like, “Aren’t you glad none of us is defined by our worst mistake?” That line reminds Beard of his worst mistake—one that landed him in prison.  And it reminds Beard of how Ted had mercy on him when he was at his worst.  Because Beard had received mercy, he is finally able to grant it.

We can’t control mercy.  We can’t earn it, we can’t achieve it, we can only receive it or give it away.  Jesus desires mercy from us.  And this will take some practice.  But we can all begin again every day by paying attention to what we do and what we say, and admitting when we make mistakes.  We can ask for mercy.  And the more we practice this, the more mercy and compassion we will have to share with others, and the more mercy and compassion we’ll grant even to ourselves. 

Because control is an illusion.  But love is real.  And the compassion and mercy that love extends will change the world. Amen.

Preached at The Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta

In English and Spanish–the Spanish follows the English

Lent 3, Year A

This time next month, I will be preparing to learn the ancient art of icon writing.  I was talking about my upcoming icon writing retreat with a friend who paints.  She asked: why is it called icon writing if you are painting?  And while I’m not well versed enough in iconography to answer her question fully, my novice understanding is that icons are meant to be visual forms of scripture.  So just as we write scripture texts, we also write scripture icons.

Perhaps because of my upcoming retreat, as I studied the gospel text for today, I began to wonder what an icon of the woman at the well might look like.

Just as scribes would copy the same scripture text again and again to ensure a mostly consistent message of holy remembering, iconographers typically repeat certain colors, shapes, geometric positioning, etc.  So when I looked up icons of the woman at the well, I was not surprised to find common features among them.  Usually it is the common features that convey the most significance. 

The common feature that struck me when looking at icons of this text was this: Jesus’ posture in relation to the woman from Samaria.  In all the icons I studied, Jesus is seated beside the well.  The woman is standing… sometimes holding her water jug, sometimes holding a rope attached to the jug, but always standing.

Why is that important?  Because obviously Jesus as the Son of God and the Savior of the world is in a position of great power and strength—especially when compared to this woman, from the historically despised region of Samaria, who had been married five times (either because she had been repeatedly widowed or perhaps barren and therefore repeatedly divorced), who comes to the well at the heat of day to avoid the disapproving looks and whispers she would encounter when most women gather to fetch water earlier in the day.

But Jesus is not seeking power or recognition.  Jesus is seeking relationship.  Jesus has re-routed his trip from Judea to Galilee through the forsaken region of Samaria which is a little like traveling to Greenbay by way of Minnesota or Athens by way of Tuscaloosa, because God so loved the WHOLE world.  Even this woman from Samaria.

Jesus asks for what he needs—a drink of water.  And then the woman asks for what she needs—living water.  This is how relationship begins—with mutual vulnerability.

Jesus humbles himself again and again.  If we pay attention, we see that the vulnerability of God is a theme throughout the life of Jesus. 

It begins with the incarnation—when God humbles Godself to be formed in the womb of Mary and be born into this world as a nursing baby.  His every need is met by his earthly parents who, like all parents, are learning as they go.

God humbles Godself sitting beside this well in the scorching heat with no water jug of his own, hoping to convey his true nature—the God of relationship—to the woman who will respond to his thirst.

And God will humble Godself again at the Cross.  Allowing the King of Glory and King of Peace to die the shameful death of criminals—a public crucifixion. 

Why?  Why does an all-powerful God humble Godself repeatedly? What can we learn from the humble posture of Jesus in today’s story?

Jesus is seeking relationship.  So he starts from a place of vulnerability, seated, asking her for a drink of water.  He is not standing, he is not lecturing her, he is not lording over her.  He is seated.  Ready to receive what this woman has to offer.  Ready to give this woman what the whole world needs.  Ready to give and receive from place of humble reciprocity.

Relationships are transformative.  Relationships change the world.  Relationships are a glimpse of the Kingdom of God.  It is in relationship that Jesus reveals his true nature to this woman by the well, saying: I am the Messiah.  And it is in relationship that this woman leaves her water jug behind and runs to the very townspeople she had avoided a moment ago, saying: Come and see!

May we, like Jesus, be willing to humble ourselves for the sake of relationship.  May we be willing to name our needs and invite others to respond.  And may we like the woman be inquisitive and curious, so that we too may love what we discover and share that love with others.

I want to close with this prayer from Pádraig Ó Tuama, whose writings have shaped my prayer life over the years:

Thirsty Jesus,
you sat by a well and instead of reaching in yourself
created community with someone who came seeking solitude.
In all our solitudes, meet us,
especially in the solitudes where we cannot recognise
how we are repeating the same dry story.
Because yours is the water
that refreshes dry stories
so that they may spring up
with new life
and give life to many. 

Amen. 

La Catedral de San Felipe, Cuaresma 3, Año A

Esta vez el próximo mes, me prepararé para aprender el antiguo arte de escribir íconos.  Una amiga que pinta me preguntó: ¿por qué se dice escribir iconos si estás pintando? Y aunque no estoy ya suficientemente instruido en iconografía para responder a su pregunta completamente, lo que sé es que los íconos son formas visuales de las escrituras. Así como escribimos textos de las Escrituras, también escribimos íconos de las Escrituras.

Quizás debido a esta clase sobre iconografía, mientras estudiaba el texto del evangelio de hoy, estaba pensando cómo se vería un ícono de la mujer en el pozo.

Así como los escribas copiaban el mismo texto de las Escrituras una y otra vez para asegurar un mensaje mayormente consistente de recuerdo sagrado, los iconógrafos típicamente repiten ciertos colores, formas, posiciones geométricas, etc. Así que cuando busqué íconos de la mujer en el pozo, no estaba sorprendida encontrar rasgos comunes entre ellos. Por lo general, son las características comunes las que transmiten la mayor importancia.

El rasgo común que me llamó la atención al mirar los iconos de este texto fue la postura de Jesús en relación con la mujer de Samaria. En todos los íconos que estudié, Jesús está sentado junto al pozo. La mujer está de pie… a veces sosteniendo su cántaro de agua, a veces sosteniendo una cuerda atada al cántaro, pero siempre de pie.

¿Por qué es eso importante? Porque obviamente Jesús como Hijo de Dios y Salvador del mundo está en una posición de gran poder y fortaleza, especialmente cuando se compara con esta mujer, de la región históricamente despreciada de Samaria, que se había casado 5 veces (ya sea porque tenía ha enviudado repetidamente o tal vez estéril y, por lo tanto, divorciada repetidamente), que llega al pozo en el calor del día para evitar las miradas de desaprobación y los susurros que encontraría cuando la mayoría de las mujeres se reúnen para buscar agua más temprano en el día.

Pero Jesús no está buscando poder o reconocimiento. Jesús está buscando una relación. Jesús ha desviado su viaje de Judea a Galilea a través de la región abandonada de Samaria, que mucha gente evitan, porque Dios amó tanto al mundo ENTERO. Incluso esta mujer de Samaria.

Jesús pide lo que necesita, agua para beber, y ella luego pide lo que necesita: agua viva. Así es como comienza la relación: con vulnerabilidad mutua.

Jesús se humilla una y otra vez. Si prestamos atención, vemos que la vulnerabilidad de Dios es un tema a lo largo de la vida de Jesús.

Comienza con la encarnación, cuando Dios se humilla para ser formado en el vientre de María y nacer en este mundo como un bebé lactante. Todas sus necesidades son satisfechas por sus padres terrenales quienes, como todos los padres, están aprendiendo sobre la marcha.

Dios se humilla sentado junto a este pozo en el calor abrasador sin una jarra de agua propia, con la esperanza de transmitir su verdadera naturaleza, el Dios de la relación, a la mujer que responderá a su sed.

Y Dios se humillará de nuevo en la Cruz. Permitir que el Rey de la Gloria y el Rey de la Paz muera la muerte vergonzosa de los criminales: una crucifixión pública.

¿Por qué? ¿Por qué un Dios todopoderoso se humilla repetidamente? ¿Qué podemos aprender de la postura humilde de Jesús en la historia de hoy?

Jesús está buscando una relación. Así que parte desde un lugar de vulnerabilidad, sentado, pidiéndole un trago de agua. Él no está de pie, no la está sermoneando, no se está enseñoreando de ella. Él está sentado. Listo para recibir lo que esta mujer tiene para ofrecer. Listo para darle a esta mujer lo que el mundo entero necesita. Dispuesta a dar y recibir desde lugar de humilde reciprocidad.

Las relaciones son transformadoras. Las relaciones cambian el mundo. Las relaciones son un atisbo del Reino de Dios. Es en relación que Jesús revela su verdadera naturaleza a esta mujer junto al pozo, diciendo: Yo soy el Mesías. Y es en la relación que esta mujer deja atrás su jara de agua y corre hacia la misma gente del pueblo que había evitado hace un momento, diciendo: ¡Vengan y vean!

Que nosotros, como Jesús, estemos dispuestos a humillarnos por el bien de la relación. Que estemos dispuestos a nombrar nuestras necesidades e invitar a otros a responder. Y que nosotros, como la mujer, seamos inquisitivos y curiosos, para que también nosotros podamos amar lo que descubrimos y compartir ese amor con los demás.

Amen.

Preached at The Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta

Lent 2, Year A

I have a special fondness for the story of Nicodemus and Jesus talking about God’s immense love for the whole world in the middle of the night.  I have this vivid picture in my mind—it’s the picture from my childhood Bible.  A white leather Bible with gold leaf pages and my name inscribed on the front cover.  Every few hundred pages of text were interrupted by a single glossy page with a picture on either side, an artist’s rendering of a Bible story. 

And somewhere in the Gospel of John was one of my favorite glossy pages.  It was a picture of Nicodemus and Jesus.  The picture had a purple hue because the conversation took place at night.  The faces were friendly, curious, open, and earnest.  And the faces were close to each other, conveying a certain hushed quality.  This was not the sermon on the mount, this was an intimate moment of teaching and care.

Nicodemus comes to Jesus and calls him a teacher who abides in the presence of God.  And you can tell that Nicodemus really means what he says.  Because when Jesus responds with what sounds like riddles, Nicodemus is not put off.  He does not throw his hands up in frustration exclaiming: “What the heck is that supposed to mean, Jesus?”  Instead, Nicodemus simply asks: How?  And when Jesus responds with more mystery, Nicodemus asks again: How? 

Until finally Jesus turns to Nicodemus and says:  God loves you.  God loves this whole world so, so much.  And because God loves the world so much, God sent a piece of Godself—God’s own Son—to save the world with love.

And how are we invited to respond to this saving love?  We are invited to believe.

I remember learning a few years ago that the English word “believe” comes from the German word belieben, which means pleasure or love.  It is also linked to the Proto-Indo-European root word –leubh, meaning: to care, desire, or love.  Can you believe it?  Love! 

We believe when we hold a particular truth dear to us—when we treasure that truth—when we look at that truth with wonder, joy and affection—when we allow that truth into the vulnerable corners of our hearts—when we are transformed by our love for that truth.  That’s what it means to believe.

Is that kind of belief an accurate description of your faith and mine? 

Some days, yes.  When I’m worshipping with all of you, singing some of my favorite hymns, blessed by the beauty of this space, blessed by the curiosity of both our little saints and our wizened saints, yes.  When I’m walking in the woods or sitting in stillness near the water, yes.  When I’m at the deathbed of someone drawing nearer and nearer to God, yes.  I believe and I love.  I love and I believe.

But it’s also true that I sometimes forget to keep my heart in the game.  Sometimes I get stuck in my head.  Sometimes I’m so busy protecting my heart with my head, that I forget God offers to guard my heart for me.  Sometimes I’m so busy protecting my heart with my ego, that I forget I’ve invited God to take up residence there. 

Nicodemus hears Jesus say that one needs to be “born from above” to see the kingdom of God.  And Nicodemus responds first with his head, asking: How?  Jesus goes on to talk about how a person must be born of water and the Spirit, which is like the wind that blows where it chooses.  Nicodemus responds again with his head, asking: How? 

But then Jesus talks about God’s love for you and me and the whole world.  Something clicks.   A lightbulb goes off—not in the head, but in the heart.

How do I know Nicodemus believes?  How do I know that Nicodemus hears Jesus in his heart and responds to Jesus with love?  Because the Gospel of John talks about Nicodemus twice more.  In Chapter 7, Nicodemus encourages his peers to listen to Jesus before judging him, and in Chapter 19 he cares for the dead body of Jesus with myrrh and aloe and strips of linen.  What a loving response to Jesus’s teaching that one sleepy night, when two men sat together talking about new life and God’s saving love in hushed voices.

So here’s a Lenten practice I’m trying on for size—perhaps you will find it meaningful too.  Try replacing the word “believe” with “love” and see if it rings true. 

When we recite the Nicene Creed in a few moments, as you say the words “We believe in one God… We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ… We believe in the Holy Spirit…” hold the word love in your heart and mind each time you speak the word believe.  Can the Nicene Creed be for you a statement of belief, but also a statement of love?

And when your friend or family member or even a stranger tells you something difficult to comprehend, asking: do you believe me?  Can your response be not just, I believe… but also… I love you?

Because if we can practice belief as a truly loving response in our day-to-day lives, I think perhaps our faith in God will be characterized by love as well.  If we can practice belief as a truly loving response, I think we might find that every invitation to believe and love is actually an invitation to be born again.  And again, and again, and again.

For God so loved the world… that’s where our life’s story begins.  We are created in love.  We are redeemed by love.  And it is love that sustains us, still. 

Love is not just some warm-fuzzy feeling.  Love is not fluff.

Love is what saves us.  Love is the stuff of eternal life.  Love conquers death.  Love creates new life when we feel stuck.

May we, like Nicodemus, believe.  May we love boldly like Jesus.  May we be born again.  Amen.

Preached at La Catedral de San Felipe, Atlanta in Spanish

English translation follows the Spanish

Cuaresma 1, Año A

¿Se dieron cuenta cómo comienza el Evangelio de hoy? “Luego el Espíritu llevó a Jesús al desierto, para que el diablo lo pusiera a prueba.” Jesús fue guiado por el Espíritu? Al desierto? A ser tentado por el diablo? El mismo Espíritu de Dios que descendió sobre Jesús como paloma en su bautismo con las palabras: “Este es mi hijo, el Amado,” ese mismo Espíritu que llama a Jesús amado ahora lleva a Jesús a la tentación. ¿Por qué?

¿Por qué Dios posiblemente querría que alguno de nosotros estuviera en el desierto? Ser privado de comida y comodidad. Estar expuesto sin protección. Y luego ser tentado, luchar con un diablo astuto que en realidad es bastante bueno citando las Escrituras.

Este no es el tipo de sermón de “todo sucede por una razón”. Esa no es mi teología. No creo que el Espíritu Santo haya llevado a Jesús al desierto para enseñarle una lección.

Más bien este es un sermón sobre cómo Dios no está ausente del desierto. Cuando nos encontramos en el desierto, no es porque hayamos sido enviados lejos de la presencia de Dios. No, Dios está ahí. Aún allí.

Y cuando el diablo trata de distanciarnos de Dios animándonos a depender de nuestras propias fuerzas, o cuestionar la provisión de Dios, o adorar algo más conveniente, incluso y especialmente en esos momentos, Dios está con nosotros.

Desearía poder decir que cuando somos firmes y confiamos solo en Dios, como lo hace Jesús en el texto de hoy, los ángeles se abalanzan y salvan el día y todo es color de rosa de ahí en adelante. Pero sabemos que eso no es cierto. Lo sabemos porque esta historia del desierto que escuchamos es solo la primera de muchas cosas difíciles que Jesús soportará en su ministerio.

Yo pienso que cuando los ángeles llegaron al lado de Jesús para atenderlo, no dijeron: “Tranquilo, tranquilo”. Lo peor ya pasó. Todo esto era parte del plan de Dios”. Tal vez podrían haber dicho: “Eso fue difícil! Lo vimos todo. Dios te ama.”

Sabes lo que es realmente difícil para mí? Decir: “Lo siento”. Lo digo en el sentido empático todo el tiempo, esa parte es fácil. Es cuando estoy admitiendo que he hecho algo mal que lucho.

Me he dado cuenta de esto aún más últimamente porque a uno de mis hijos también le cuesta mucho disculparse. No es que no se arrepienta, puedes ver por su rostro que en realidad se está golpeando a sí mismo. Es tan difícil reunir las palabras, “Lo siento”, cuando la forma en que se sienten esas palabras es algo más cercano a: Metí la pata, soy una decepción, no soy lo suficientemente bueno.

Y, sin embargo, mire lo que podemos aprender del Salmo 32: “¡Dichosos aquellos cuyas transgresiones son perdonadas y cuyo pecado es quitado!” Por supuesto, para ser perdonados, primero debemos pedir perdón, por lo que continúa el salmista: “Mientras mordía mi lengua, mis huesos se secaron…”. ¡Ajá! ¡La felicidad no está en ser perfecto! ¡No en tratar de encubrir nuestras deficiencias para poder impresionar a los demás! No, eso es agotador. Eso hace que nuestros huesos se marchiten.

La felicidad viene al recordar que en realidad no somos Dios. Que no estamos destinados a ser perfectos. Que admitir nuestros errores y confiar en que Dios es Dios puede ser muy vivificante.

El salmista dice: “La misericordia abraza a los que confían en el Señor”. Mmm. ¿No suena encantador? ¿Ser abrazado y envuelto en misericordia? Requiere confiar en Dios, y eso puede ser difícil. Pero seguramente es más fácil que tratar de ser perfecto.

El salmista termina describiendo el acto de confesar el pecado y buscar el perdón de esta manera: “Alégrate, justo, y regocíjate en el Señor; griten de júbilo, todos los que son sinceros de corazón”.

¡La confesión y el perdón nunca sonaron tan bien! Olvídese del cilicio y las cenizas: la Cuaresma suena muy bien en este momento. Excepto que, si eres como yo, disculparte sigue siendo difícil. Me alegro de que el Salmo 32 esté allí para recordarme que no tiene por qué ser así.

Quizás tratar de apoyarnos en nuestra propia fuerza y hacer las cosas bien todo el tiempo es cuando estamos más expuestos, más solos, más hambrientos.

Tal vez cuando confesamos que no somos los Dioses que a veces tratamos de ser, o que hemos adorado el trabajo y la paternidad e incluso la iglesia más de lo que adoramos al Dios que nos crea, nos redime y nos sostiene, tal vez cuando nos volvemos a Dios y decimos, “Lo siento Dios. ¡Ayúdame a poner mi confianza en ti!”

Quizás entonces sentiremos que la misericordia nos abraza cuando los ángeles vienen a nuestro lado y dicen: “Eso fue difícil. Lo vimos todo. Dios te ama.”

Porque Dios siempre está ahí. Incluso en el desierto.

Amén.

Lent 1 Year A

February 23, 2023

Spanish Service

Did you notice how today’s Gospel begins?  “After Jesus was baptized, he was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil.”  Jesus was led by the Spirit…Into the wilderness?!  To be tempted by the devil?!  The same Spirit of God that descended on Jesus like a dove at his baptism with the words, “This is my son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased,” that same Spirit that calls Jesus beloved now leads Jesus into temptation.  Why?

Why in the world would God possibly want any of us to be in the wilderness.  To be deprived of food and comfort.  To be exposed without protection.  And then to be tempted—to wrestle with a wily devil who’s actually pretty good at quoting scripture. 

This is not an “everything happens for a reason” kind of sermon.  That’s not my theology.  I don’t think the Spirit led Jesus to the wilderness to teach him a lesson.

Rather, this is a sermon about how God is not absent from the wilderness.  When we find ourselves in the wilderness, it’s not because we’ve been sent away from God’s presence.  No, God is there.  Even there. 

And when the devil tries to distance us from God by encouraging us to depend on our own strength, or question God’s provision, or worship something more convenient—even and especially in those moments, God is with us. 

I wish I could say that when we are steadfast in relying on God alone, as Jesus does in today’s text, that angels swoop in and save the day and everything is peachy from there on out.  But we know that’s not true.  We know it because this wilderness story we hear is only the first of many hard things Jesus will endure in his ministry. 

My guess is that when the angels came to Jesus’ side to wait on him, they didn’t say, “There, there.  The worst is over.  This was all part of God’s plan.”  But they could have said, “That was hard.  We saw it all.  God loves you.”

You know what’s really hard for me?  Saying, “I’m sorry.”  I say it in the empathic sense all the time—that part is easy.  It’s when I’m admitting I’ve done something wrong that I struggle. 

I’ve noticed this even more lately because one of my children also really struggles to apologize.  It’s not that he’s not sorry—you can tell by his face that he’s actually beating himself up.  It’s just so hard to muster up the words, “I’m sorry,” when how those words feel is something closer to: I screwed up, I’m a disappointment, I’m not good enough. 

And yet look at what we can learn from Psalm 32: “Happy are they whose transgressions are forgiven and whose sin is put away!” Of course, to be forgiven, we must first ask forgiveness, so the psalmist continues: “While I held my tongue, my bones withered away…”. Aha!  Happiness does not lie in being perfect!  Not in trying to cover up our shortcomings so we can impress others!  No—that’s exhausting.  That makes our bones wither away. 

Happiness comes in remembering that we’re not actually God.  That we’re not meant to be perfect.  That admitting our mistakes and trusting in God to be God can be quite life-giving. 

The psalmist says, “mercy embraces those who trust in the Lord.”  Hmm.  Doesn’t that sound lovely.  To be embraced and enveloped in mercy?  It does require trusting in God, and that can be hard.  But surely it’s easier than trying to be perfect. 

The psalmist ends by describing the act of confessing sin and seeking forgiveness like this: “Be glad, you righteous, and rejoice in the Lord; shout for joy, all who are true of heart.” 

Confession and forgiveness never sounded so good!  Forget the sackcloth and ashes—Lent sounds quite lovely right about now.  Except, if you’re like me, apologizing is still hard.  I’m glad Psalm 32 is there to remind me it doesn’t have to be.

Perhaps trying to lean on our own strength and get all the things right all the time is when we are most exposed, most alone, most famished. 

Perhaps when we confess that we are not the Gods we sometimes try to be, or that we’ve worshipped work and parenting and even church more than we worship the God who creates, redeems and sustains us—perhaps when we turn to God and say, “I’m sorry God. Help me put my trust in you!” 

Perhaps then we will feel mercy embrace us as angels come to our side and say, “That was hard.  We saw it all.  God loves you.” 

Because God is always there.  Even in the wilderness.

Amen.

Preached at Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta

Ash Wednesday

Blow the trumpet in Zion; sanctify a fast; call a solemn assembly; gather the people… gather all the people… don’t leave anyone out.  Sanctify the congregation; assemble the aged; gather the children, even the infants at the breast.  Let the bridegroom leave his room, and the bride her canopy.  Gather all the people… don’t leave anyone out.

The prophet Joel speaks to us about the heart of God and the hearts of us, the people lovingly created in the loving image of God. 

He begins with a warning—saying the day of the Lord is near, and it could be a day of what he calls “thick” darkness.  Thick because Joel envisions not just a dark sky of clouds, but clouds of locusts.  So take whatever dark and stormy day you pictured when you first heard this scripture, and then kick it up a notch with swarms of flying bugs. 

Joel is describing the devastation of a life separated from the love of God.  He is describing the deep darkness of a hardened heart, an unfeeling heart, a heart with all the defenses up.

And yet, this is not what God desires for us.  What God desires is intimacy, closeness, loving relationship: saying, return to me with all your heart.  This is what God desires.  Not our best work, our achievements, our gold stars, but our hearts.  Our real, vulnerable, messy, sometimes broken hearts.

Why?  Because “the Lord is full of compassion and mercy,” as we just sung in our Psalm.  And where do we comprehend and experience compassion and mercy?  In our hearts.  We have to offer our hearts to God to know God’s compassion and mercy.  It is the only way.

When I was seven years old, I walked down the aisle of my church and told the preacher I wanted to invite Jesus into my heart.  That was the language we used in the church I grew up in.  It was language that made sense to me.  Of course I wanted Jesus in my heart, because God is love and our hearts are where love lives.  But there was also this sense that until that moment, I had closed my heart off to Jesus, and now I was inviting him to come in and clean things up… or that I had finally cleaned up my own heart enough that now it was ok to let Jesus in.

My theology has changed a bit since then.  Perhaps you think of God differently than when you were seven years old too. 

I think what the prophet Joel invites us to in returning to God with our whole hearts, is to actually offer our hearts up to God.  Not just invite God into our hearts, but hand our hearts over.  To me, this feels more vulnerable.  It feels like giving up a lot of control, and control is one of my favorite things to cling to.  This feels less like a spring cleaning and more like a total renovation—and I don’t even get to see the plans before work begins.

What does it look like, this year, for you to turn to God with your whole heart.  What does it mean for you to offer your heart to God in this season of Lent?  What do you have to let go of—not give up, like giving up chocolate… but really let go of? What do you have to let go of to offer your heart to God in this season of Lent?

Will you let go of anger?  Will you let go of the illusion of control?  Will you let go of perfection?  Will you let go of convincing your friend that you are right?  Will you let go of that grudge?

In a few moments, the Celebrant will invite us to observe a Holy Lent.  He’ll remind us that in the early church, Lent was a time when people who had been separated from the church were reconciled, forgiven, and restored to community.  This isn’t just a season of asking forgiveness, it’s a season of granting forgiveness.  Who do you need to forgive in order to give your whole heart to God?

You may know the answer to these questions already, or you may need to give it some thought.  Lent is a time of self-examination.  Not just today, on Ash Wednesday, but for a season.  Because letting go and turning to God takes time.  Not because we have to clean our hearts up and make them presentable to God, but because we have to do something much more courageous… we have to be willing to give God our whole hearts exactly as they already are.  And in doing so, we invite God into the self-examination.  We invite God’s compassion and mercy to transform our hearts.

When we do this, it does more than just transform you or me as individuals.  It transforms us.  It transforms this community.  So that all the people are gathered, and no one is left out.  We offer our whole hearts to God, and God blesses us with more wholeness than we could ever attain or achieve or accomplish on our own.

God says: return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning.  Why?  Because God loves you.  And returning to that love requires a lot of letting go.  Letting go can be hard and scary, yes.  Self-examination can be hard and scary, yes.  We return to God with our whole hearts, and God returns us to ourselves—our most whole selves.  And no one is left out of the wholeness of God.

Amen.

Preached at La Catedral de San Felipe, Atlanta

Epiphany 4 Year A, Bilingual

I wrote this sermon based on the English translation of our Gospel text for today, which uses the word “blessed,” but the Spanish translation uses the word “happy.”  So then I looked at the oldest translation we have, the Greek, and the word used is Makarioi.  Makarioi is an adjective used about 50 times in the New Testament and can be translated as “blessed” or “happy.” This is interesting and maybe a little difficult for the preacher because we don’t use blessed and happy interchangeably anymore.  Most scholars favor the translation “blessed” because happiness is often linked to what happens, while one can be blessed regardless of what happens.  So I am going to use the word “blessed” today.

Escribí este sermón usando la traducción al inglés de nuestro texto del Evangelio, que usa la palabra “bendito”, pero la traducción al español usa la palabra “dichoso”. Entonces miré la traducción más antigua que tenemos, el griego, y la palabra utilizada es makarioi. Makarioi es un adjetivo que se usa 50 veces en el Nuevo Testamento y puede traducirse como “bendito” o “dichoso”. Es interesante, y tal vez un poco difícil para el predicador, porque ya no usamos bendito y dichoso indistintamente. La mayoría de los eruditos prefieren la traducción “bendito” porque ser dichoso está vinculada a lo que sucede, mientras que uno puede ser bendecido independientemente de lo que suceda. Así que hoy voy a usar la palabra “bendito”.

I remember listening to this passage from Matthew when I was younger—listening to Jesus preach about who is blessed.  At least, that’s how I heard it at the time—as if Jesus was making a list of the people who are blessed in the world: the poor, the grieving, the meek, the hungry, the merciful, the pure, the peacemakers, the persecuted and the reviled. 

Recuerdo haber escuchado este pasaje de Mateo cuando era más joven, escuchando a Jesús predicar sobre quién es bendecido. Al menos, así lo escuché en ese momento, como si Jesús estuviera haciendo una lista de las personas bendecidas en el mundo: los pobres, los que sufren, los humildes, los que tienen hambre, los compasivos, los de corazón limpio, los que trabajan por la paz, los perseguidos y los maltratados.

Well I can tell you that this list of blessed people made me uneasy.  Because while I considered myself to be merciful and a peacemaker, I wasn’t sure any of the other titles applied to me.  Sure there have been times in my life when I was making less than a living wage or when I had to depend on the generosity of others, but I always had a place to sleep and a meal to eat.  And yes I tried to be pure of heart, but nobody’s perfect.  And sure I had upset some people along the way, or had a hard time as a woman trying to speak up in the church, but I hadn’t been persecuted or reviled as Jesus describes.  Was I worthy of Jesus’ blessing?

Pues, puedo decirles que esta lista de personas bendecidas me inquietó. Porque aunque me consideraba compasiva y alguien que trabaja por la paz, no estaba seguro de que ninguno de los otros títulos se aplicara a mí. Claro que ha habido momentos en mi vida en los que ganaba menos de lo que podía para vivir o cuando tenía que depender de la generosidad de los demás, pero siempre tenía un lugar para dormir y una comida para comer. Y sí, traté de ser puro de corazón, pero nadie es perfecto. Y seguro que había molestado a algunas personas en el camino, o había tenido dificultades como mujer tratando de hablar en la iglesia, pero no había sido perseguida ni tratada como describe Jesús. ¿Sería yo digno de la bendición de Jesús?

Just in case this has been you—just in case you have heard these words and wondered if you met the criteria for blessing—let me tell you something very important: this passage is not meant to be a pre-requisite for blessing.  This passage is instead telling us a beautiful story of Jesus blessing the people gathered around him.

En caso de que hubieras sido tú, en caso de que tú hubieras escuchado estas palabras y te hayas preguntado si cumples con los criterios para la bendición, déjame decirte algo muy importante: este pasaje no pretende ser un requisito previo para la bendición. En cambio, este pasaje nos está contando una hermosa historia de Jesús bendiciendo a las personas reunidas a su alrededor.

Just imagine—this big crowd of people has come near Jesus, searching for hope and searching for God.  Jesus looks up at their faces and sees their brokenness and pain.  Jesus looks at them with compassion and begins to bless what he sees—right there in that moment.  He sees a widow who has to beg for money and says to her: Blessed are the poor.  He sees a mother, giving what food she has to her children while her own stomach growls, and he says to her: Blessed are the hungry.  He sees a man with a battered face and downcast eyes and says to him: Blessed are the persecuted. 

Imagínese: esta gran multitud de personas se ha acercado a Jesús, buscando esperanza y buscando a Dios. Jesús mira sus rostros y ve su quebrantamiento y dolor. Jesús los mira con compasión y comienza a bendecir lo que ve, justo ahí en ese momento. Ve a una viuda que tiene que mendigar y le dice: Bendito sean los pobres. Ve a una madre, dando la comida que tiene a sus hijos mientras su propio estómago gruñe, y le dice: Bendito sean los hambrientos. Ve a un hombre con el rostro magullado y los ojos bajos y le dice: Bendito sean los perseguidos.

Jesus blesses everyone gathered round him in that very moment.  Blessed are you.  Blessed are you.  Blessed are you.

Jesús bendice a todos los que se reúnen a su alrededor en ese mismo momento. Bendito seas tú. Bendito seas tú. Bendito seas tú.

Imagine if Jesus were in this room looking into your eyes—what would he bless?

Blessed are the faithful who show up in this place to pray with and for one another.

Blessed are the students with tests and papers hanging over their heads.

Blessed are the fearful who worry about immigration officers.

Blessed are the parents trying to give their children a better life.

Blessed are you.  Blessed are you.  Blessed are you.

Imagina si Jesús estuviera en este lugar mirándote a los ojos, ¿qué bendecirá?

Bendito sean los fieles que se presentan en este lugar para orar con y por los demás.

Bendito sean los estudiantes con exámenes y papeles colgando sobre sus cabezas.

Bendito sean los temerosos que se preocupan por los oficiales de inmigración.

Bendito sean los padres que tratan de dar a sus hijos una vida mejor.

Bendito seas tú. Bendito seas tú. Bendito seas tú.

Whatever it is you bring to this place today, whatever it is you bring to this altar, let Jesus love you.  Let Jesus bless your truth, your life, your present… not your future or what you are striving for, but your right now. 

Blessed are you. Amen.

Sea lo que sea que traigas a este lugar hoy, sea lo que sea que traigas a este altar, deja que Jesús te ame. Deja que Jesús bendiga tu verdad, tu vida, tu presente… no tu futuro o aquello por lo que te esfuerzas, sino tu ahora mismo.

Bendito sean ustedes. Amén.