lauren laughs

Preached at The Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta

Epiphany 3 Year A

There is something about Paul’s exasperation in his letter to the Corinthians that I really enjoy.  I don’t think I have a sadistic sense of humor.  It just rings true.  It feels familiar.  It could be in response to a Thanksgiving Dinner conversation, or a skirmish on the playground, or triangulating coworkers, or a backseat sibling showdown, or even a Facebook post of church geeks arguing the correctness of certain liturgical practices. 

Brothers and sisters!  For the Love of God!  Can’t we all just get along?!?!

And then Paul begins to name their divisions—which seem to amount to baptism one-upmanship.  As a priest, this really cracks me up.  Baptizing people is a joy every time.  Yet here is Paul saying, “I thank God that I baptized none of you… well maybe a couple of you… or maybe more than a couple… I forget.” 

He is so frustrated with the divisions he’s heard about, so ready to pull his hair out. And he is hoping he didn’t contribute to the broken relationships that now break his own heart.

Gosh the early church doesn’t sound so different from the church of today.  We may not be arguing over whose baptisms are the most effective, but there are plenty other things to argue about.  Who can get married, who can take communion, who can preach, who can teach, who can lead, whose truth is true, whose interpretation is correct, and yes, in some traditions, whose baptism is real.

Paul responds with this desperate letter to the church in Corinth.  Imploring these early followers of Jesus to focus on just that—following Jesus.  Not this disciple of Jesus or that disciple of Jesus, but Jesus!

Paul says: Jesus didn’t send me to baptize.  Jesus sent me to preach the good news!  And I don’t even have to preach it well!  Because it’s not about me.  It’s about the life and teachings of Jesus.  It’s about the sacrificial and vulnerable and victorious love of Jesus. 

So as the preacher (who Paul points out doesn’t have to preach with eloquence or wisdom, but just needs to point to the saving power of God incarnate in Jesus), let me say something about today’s Gospel.  Let me say something about the good news of Jesus calling us in the midst of our busy lives.

Last week we heard John’s take on Jesus calling Simon and Andrew… today we hear Matthew’s memory of that same story.  In Matthew’s telling, Simon and Andrew are casting their nets into the sea.  Fishing was not a hobby for these two.  It was not what they did to escape the daily grind.  Fishing was their livelihood.  It was their work.  It’s what they knew.

Jesus didn’t have to know these two well to know fishing was the language they spoke. He only had to watch them working.  He only had to pause and pay attention to what they were doing.

He said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.”

Now despite that being one of the most vivid Vacation Bible School themes I can remember—Let’s fish for people!—a fishing God has never been an image that especially resonates with me.

You see, I grew up in a family that loved to fish.  And as a kid I enjoyed fishing in Colorado every summer with grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, parents and siblings.  But I didn’t love it the way most of my family did.  I never graduated from fishing with spinners off the bridge to the artistry of fly fishing.  I didn’t speak the language.  I would sometimes pretend to love fishing so I would belong, but the pretending never worked. 

And so this image of fishing for people felt like wearing someone else’s coat that was too small, or someone else’s boots that were too big.  I wanted to want to fish for people, I wanted to be a good Christian, but it didn’t fit.  I didn’t fit.

One of my favorite writers, Debie Thomas, helped me think about this story differently.  Instead of focusing on what fishing for people might look like, Debie Thomas points to the love and care with which Jesus calls these people—meeting them where they are.  She says: “Jesus did not invite them to abandon who they were; he invited them to become their most authentic, God-ordained selves.  He invited them to live into the fullness of the Imago Dei they were born with.”[1]

Ohhh.  It’s not that Jesus loves fishing and I have to love fishing too… for people no less.  It’s that Jesus loves Simon and Andrew and James and John, and Jesus speaks their language out of love for them. 

This is true of you and me, too.  It’s why we find ourselves in this particular church on this particular Sunday.  Because this language of liturgy—this prayer and scripture and music and receiving the Body of Christ—this is our shared language of God’s love for us.

And it’s why others find themselves in a different particular church on this particular Sunday—with a different shared language of God’s love for us.

It’s why some folks went to Saturday Mass last night, or some folks went to Shabbat services on Friday, or some folks are quietly walking trails this morning, or some folks are sitting at the bedsides of loved ones—because God has so many ways of calling us, out of a deep abiding love for us.

So, I’m sorry Paul, but we are not all of one mind.  And that’s ok because “the love of God is broader than the measure of the mind.”  Remember that hymn?

It reminds me of another Vacation Bible School moment—one that took place here three or four years ago.  At the end of an epic week of wonder, our young ones stood on these steps and sang the Bob Marley tune: “One love, one heart, let’s get together and feel alright.”

Not one mind, but one love.  Not one tradition, but one call. Not one expression, but one God.

Because God lovingly created you in the image of a loving God.  God knows the language of your heart.  And God calls you, exactly as you are, to follow the example of Jesus and walk in the way of Love.

Amen.

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[1] https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/2507-i-will-make-you

Preached at The Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta

Advent 4, Year A

Today is the day.  It only comes one Sunday every three years—the day when we get to talk about Joseph.  Luke’s Gospel focuses on Mary, the Gospels of Mark and John have no birth narratives.  But today we hear from the Gospel of Matthew, and we hear about a just and righteous man, Joseph.

When my Bible study read this passage in the King James Version on Tuesday, the person reading aloud said: Joseph was just a man… instead of Joseph was a just man.  That gave us a chuckle.  Indeed, Joseph was just a man.  He was just a just man.  And Matthew would be ok with that turn of phrase.  For he opens this story with a genealogy that reminds all of us that even the House of David has its flaws. 

Our story today picks up at verse 18, but the 17 verses prior weave an honest and messy story—reminding us that Tamar (the woman who bore a son after her father-in-law thought she was a prostitute) and Bathsheba (the woman who David forced himself upon before having her husband killed in battle) are ancestors of Joseph, who is the husband of Mary, who bore a son named Jesus.  It is only in Joseph taking Mary to be his pregnant wife, and in Joseph naming the child Mary bares Jesus, that Joseph claims Jesus as his own son and adopts him into the House of David.

Really, I think the author of Matthew’s Gospel could write for Bridgerton or The Crown.

So that’s where our story picks up.  In the midst of this mess.  And that’s how Jesus always comes to us—in the midst of mess. 

Some of you may know that I like to call Joseph the patron saint of: I did not sign up for this.

I imagine all of us have had moments in our lives where we’ve had the same thought—I did not sign up for this.  This is not at all what I was expecting.  Where do I go from here?  Perhaps a few months into taking a new job, or maybe many years into a marriage, perhaps after learning about a life-altering illness, or learning you have to move across the country for your wife’s job. 

We all have moments that take us by unpleasant surprise, and every pathway forward is marked with difficulty.  There is no easy out.  Joseph’s story describes such a time.  Here he is, a just and righteous man who presumably plays by the rules. 

One of the non-canonical books of our tradition, the Gospel of James, describes in great detail the struggle Joseph must have felt.  In the story, Joseph comes back from a building project out of town to find Mary 6-months pregnant.  He throws himself down on the ground in anguish, crying out to God.  Mary too, cries, defending her innocence.  Joseph retreats, afraid, wrestling with the fact that hiding Mary’s “sin” would be against the law, but exposing it could lead to her death.    It is in this place we find Joseph today, and in this place that the angel of the Lord comes to Joseph, saying “Be not afraid.” 

Be not afraid?  You might think with a preface like this, the angel would have some neat and tidy solution for Joseph—and Mary’s—predicament.  “Don’t worry, Joseph!  I’ve got the perfect fix!” But it is not neat, and it is not tidy.  It is a hard ask. 

Take pregnant Mary as your wife.  Name the child she births Jesus. 

I don’t know about you, but if I were Joseph, I’d still be afraid, or at least uncomfortable with this outcome.  And yet, Joseph wakes up, does what the Angel tells him to do, and courageously obeys God alongside an equally courageous and obedient Mary. 

Be not afraid.  Just take this mysteriously pregnant woman to be your wife, and claim the child, who will save the world, as your own.  Wow.

You see, despite the common refrain throughout scripture from angels, prophets, and even Jesus, to be not afraid, we are often asked to do difficult and even scary things.  The phrase “be not afraid” is never a guarantee of an easy way forward.  But it is an assurance that God is with us in the difficult steps ahead.

And they shall call him Emmanuel, which means God is with us.

God is with us.  When you look at the Greek, there’s actually no verb—just simply God-With-Us.  Every word in that phrase is necessary if we are to “be not afraid.”  God—the most sovereign omnipotent power beyond our imagination.  God with—as in right here, right now, present.  God with us.  Not God with me or God with you or God with him or her… but God with US.  We, the gathered!  We, the community!  We, together!  God. With. Us.

If you find yourself having conceived a child with the Holy Spirit: Be not afraid, God is with us.  If you find yourself marrying a young woman despite her bearing a child you did not conceive: Be not afraid, God is with us.  If you find yourself beside the bed of a dying friend: Be not afraid, God is with us.  If you find yourself out of a job: Be not afraid, God is with us.  If you find yourself questioning your identity: Be not afraid, God is with us. God is with us in these most difficult and messy times.  God is born in these difficult and messy times. 

Whatever mess you find yourself in, know that it’s not too much for God.  If anything, it’s God’s comfort zone.  It’s where God shows up, where God settles in, where God resides.  Not despite the mess, but in the mess. 

And no matter how difficult the path ahead, no matter the tears and struggle that accompany your next steps, God is already there, already in that next step.

Be not afraid.  God. Is. With. Us. 

When Joseph awoke from his dream, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded: he took Mary as his wife, she bore a son, and Joseph named him Jesus.  Was he afraid?  Maybe.  Courage isn’t the absence of fear. 

We can do hard things when we know God is with us.  What hard things will you do?  What hard things will we do?  God is with us.

Amen.

Preached at Catedral de San Felipe, Atlanta

Advent 1, Year A

Bienvenidos al primer domingo de adviento. Digo “bienvenidos” porque el adviento es un tiempo de atención a lo que viene. Nos preparamos para lo que viene. La palabra “adviento” viene de la palabra latina “adventus” que significa “venido”… pero Adviento siempre me recuerda a la palabra “aventura” porque por mucho que sepamos para lo que nos estamos preparando, la venida del niño Jesús, siempre hay espacio para misterio y asombro cuando nos preparamos para el nacimiento de Jesús.

Welcome to the first Sunday of Advent.  I say “welcome” because Advent is a time when we pay attention to what is coming.  We prepare for what is coming.  The word “advent” comes from the Latin word “to come” but it always reminds me of the word “adventure”… because as much as we know what we are preparing for, the coming of the Christ child, there is always room for mystery and awe and wonder when we prepare for the birth of Jesus.

El evangelio de hoy es típico del comienzo del Adviento. Siempre comenzamos con estas lecturas apocalípticas que apuntan a la segunda venida de Cristo. Porque, de nuevo, el Adviento se trata de llegar. Y aunque el regreso de Jesús se siente como algo para celebrar, el evangelio puede sonar un poco estresante o incluso atemorizante.

Today’s gospel is typical for the start of Advent.  We always begin with these apocalyptic readings pointing to the second coming of Christ.  Because, again, Advent is about coming.  And while the return of Jesus feels like something to celebrate, the gospel can sound kinda stressful or even scary. 

Necesitamos recordar que Jesús nació en un momento en que era normal hablar del fin del mundo, porque eso significaba el fin de la opresiva y abusiva ocupación romana. Era realmente algo que esperar con esperanza y expectativa.

We need to remember that Jesus was born at a time when it was normal to talk about the world ending, because that meant the end of the oppressive and abusive Roman occupation.  It was truly something to look forward to with hope and expectation. 

Pero el mundo no se acabó. Y aunque la ocupación romana ya no nos oprime, otras potencias sí. El regreso de Jesús es, por tanto, una buena noticia también para nosotros.

But the world did not end.  And while the Roman occupation no longer oppresses us, other powers do.  Jesus’s return is, therefore, good news for us too.

Esto es lo que me encanta del Adviento: recordamos el regreso de Jesús todos los días porque Jesús en realidad regresa todos los días. El Reino de Dios no solo está cerca, sino que está aquí. Cada día que nos levantamos sabiendo que somos hijos de Dios, y que Dios es amor, es un día que moramos en la casa del Señor.

Here’s the thing I love about Advent—we are reminded of Jesus’ return ever day because Jesus actually returns every day.  The Kingdom of God is not just near, it is actually here.  Every day we wake up knowing that we are children of God, and that God is love, is a day that we dwell in the house of the Lord. 

Hace un momento dijimos juntos las palabras: “Me alegré cuando me dijeron, vamos a la casa del Señor.” Al final del servicio, volveremos a cantar esas palabras. Ese salmo es quizás la mejor manera de comenzar nuestro día todos los días: reconocer con alegría que ya estamos en la presencia de Dios. Que cuando recibimos el amor de Dios y compartimos el amor de Dios, no importa dónde estemos, estamos morando en la casa del Señor.

A moment ago we said the words together: I was glad when they said unto me, let us go into the house of the Lord.  At the end of the service, we will sing those words again.  That psalm is perhaps the best way to begin our day every day—to recognize with joy that we are already in the presence of God.  That when we receive God’s love and share God’s love, no matter where we are, we are dwelling in the house of the Lord.

Nuestro pasaje de Romanos comienza con las palabras: “En todo esto tengan en cuenta el tiempo en que vivimos, y sepan que ya es hora de despertarnos del sueño.” El momento es ahora. No al final de nuestras vidas. No una vez que tengamos todas las respuestas. No al final de la opresión y la ocupación. Pero ahora. Durante nuestro sufrimiento. Durante nuestra alegría. Durante nuestro cuestionamiento y aprendizaje. En este mismo momento, podemos experimentar la venida de Cristo. Si Cristo es el Cristo eterno, entonces Cristo es el alfa y el omega y todo lo demás. Cristo es el Cristo del aquí y ahora.

Our passage from Romans begins with the words: You know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. The moment is now.  Not at the end or our lives.  Not once we have all the answers.  Not at the end of oppression and occupation.  But now.  During our suffering.  During our joy.  During our questioning and learning.  In this very moment, we can experience the coming of Christ.  If Christ is the eternal Christ, then Christ is the alpha and omega and everything in between.  Christ is the Christ of the here and now.

Así que prepárate. Porque es adviento. Y Jesús viene. Pero no te prepares para una verdad lejana. Prepárate para este día. Para este momento. Porque Jesús viene y ha venido y está aquí.

So get ready.  Because it’s advent.  And Jesus is coming.  But don’t get ready for some far-off truth.  Get ready for this day.  For this moment.  Because Jesus is coming and has come and is here.  May this be your advent practice—that you wake up every day ready to receive the love of Christ here and now.  Today.  Amen.

Que esta sea tu práctica de adviento: que te despiertes todos los días listo para recibir el amor de Cristo aquí y ahora. Hoy día, cada día. Amén.

Preached at The Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta

Proper 29, Year C

Did anyone come to church this morning feeling a little festive?  Thanksgiving is around the corner, school is out, family is coming in town–or maybe you’re packing up to travel, Christmas pageant signups are in the atrium, and this time next week we’ll be celebrating the first Sunday of Advent with music and wreath-making and a spaghetti supper.  It’s almost the most wonderful time of the year. 

And then this Gospel comes and totally kills the mood.

“They came to the place that is called The Skull, and they crucified Jesus there with the criminals.” 

Even though the passage ends with Jesus telling one or both criminals crucified beside him that they will join him in paradise this day, and paradise sounds like something to celebrate, the passage still lacks a certain joyful quality consistent with the holiday season we are hoping to embrace this week.

What gives, Jesus?

Well, in a strange way, I think today’s Gospel really is good news for us.  And not just because we know the end of the story, not just because this gruesome crucifixion is a step closer to resurrection.  But also because of how this story—our big story—begins.  Today’s Gospel reminds us of the full implications of God choosing to be incarnate in the person of Jesus, God with us.  O come, o come, Emmanuel. 

Some of my favorite stories in the Bible are creation stories.  Creation is also one of my favorite things to teach about in our adult confirmation classes.  From a theological standpoint, I think the creation story is pretty mind-blowing.  Not because I think God created the world in a mere seven days… I actually don’t believe that.

What I find most awe inspiring about creation is the loving presence of Jesus.  Remember how John’s Gospel describes it?  “In the beginning was the Word.  And the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  All things came into being through Jesus, and without Jesus not one thing came into being… The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” 

John’s Gospel begins with creation because Jesus’ story begins at creation—not in the manger, but at creation of the world. 

The text we heard today from Colossians says it this way: “Jesus is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in Jesus all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers–all things have been created through Jesus and for Jesus. Jesus himself is before all things, and in Jesus all things hold together.”

Consider this.  Consider what it means for Jesus to be present at the creation of the world.  Jesus was not some afterthought or consequence of sin and the need for salvation.  No.  Jesus is there at the very beginning!  Before the beginning!  Willing this world into being with full knowledge of the cost. 

So before we prepare for the prince of peace, we too get to remember where this is going.  Before loves comes down at Christmas, we remember what this love will demand of the baby Jesus.

Because the resurrected Christ was first the crucified Christ, and before that was the Christ child.  Jesus came into this world the same way all of us did—born of a woman.  But not before giving birth to the whole world.

Yesterday I got to sit where you are sitting now and let the beautiful music of Handel’s Messiah wash over me.  Some of you were here also.  It was awe inspiring.  I had chills several times throughout the performance—and not because I was cold, I know to dress warmly in any Cathedral—but because these familiar texts and familiar melodies point to the lavish love of God incarnate.  I sometimes think that scripture put to music makes it more true. 

If we look at the scripture text of Handel’s complete Messiah, we find that despite being considered especially appropriate for the Advent season, less than half the text points to the birth of Jesus.  Indeed, it is just as much a Holy Week text as it is an Advent or Christmas one. 

That juxtaposition is an intentional one—just as today’s Good Friday Gospel reading is no mistake. 

I have an idea.  A little Thanksgiving homework to get you ready for next Sunday’s beginning of Advent.  Pick a few of your favorite Christmas tunes and just read the words aloud.

Remember back in early Covid days when we had to read out hymns instead of singing them?  That was hard.  But remember how you would hear the texts differently and notice nuances you may have missed while singing them?  So try that again.  But this time read the hymn text while holding the image of the Christ Child, and Christ Crucified, and the Risen Christ together.

Let’s practice.  Do you have the image of Jesus from our Gospel text in mind?  Hold that image and listen to this text:

O holy Child of Bethlehem,
descend to us, we pray,
cast out our sin and enter in,
be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels
the great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us,
our Lord Immanuel!

I always love that verse because it reminds me of growing up in the Baptist church and inviting Jesus into my heart as a child.  But think about all that it is saying.  Naming this holy Child, asking Jesus to be born in us—while at the same time claiming this child as a savior who conquers death and casts out sin.  This is God with skin on. This is who we ask to come to us and abide with us, our Lord Immanuel. 

What carols or hymns bring God’s love close to you this season?  Read them with the fullness of Christ’s creation, birth, death, and resurrection in mind.  Let Jesus’ full life transform the meaning of the text for you, and then let that fuller text transform you too.

Just try it.

Because when we compartmentalize the life of Jesus Christ and focus on just his birth or death or resurrection, we miss out on the fullness of Christ.  We miss out on the larger-than-life-love that an eternal Christ makes real.  Jesus loved you before all time, at the creation of time, at Christmas time and Easter time and all the in-between time, in our time, and beyond all time.

Yes, Jesus loves me.  Yes, Jesus loves me.  Yes, Jesus loves me.  For the Bible tells me so.

Amen.

In Memory of Monste

This two-word question has been a mantra and joke in our family ever since my daughter could speak. Indeed, it’s possible “Where’s Montserrat” was her first sentence.  Up until three weeks ago, any time I was on the phone with Mignon, my daughter interrupt: “Miggy!  Miggy!  Hey Miggy!” Yeah baby?  “Where’s Montserrat?” Every single time.  She only had eyes for Montse.

When we gave Montse a Road ID bracelet for Christmas to officially welcome her into our family, after vital information like name, date of birth, blood type, emergency contacts, we inscribed the question “Where’s Montserrat?” because it was joyful reminder that she belonged, and she was fiercely loved.

We laughed at my daughter’s immediate and intense attachment to Montserrat because Monste wasn’t what you would call “a natural” with babies or children.  But because Montserrat loved Mignon, and Miggy is every child’s favorite adult, Monste had no choice but to get good with kids.  I think she took the challenge seriously—like every challenge she faced.

Montserrat could never just “kinda” do anything.

For instance, when Montse first moved to Atlanta, she decided it was a natural end to her crossfit days.  After asking us about our Peloton, she purchased one, and was immediately all-in.  I think it took me two years to get my “centennial” shirt for completing 100 rides.  It took Monste two months. 

And church!  Montserrat first came to St. Luke’s as Mignon’s girlfriend, and it would have been easy to stay in Miggy’s verger/treasurer/occasional guitar player shadow.  But no.  Montse quickly jumped in with both feet, serving on the altar guild, working with the Cuba ministry, and chairing the parish retreat.  The woman simply couldn’t half-ass anything.

And that brings me back to the challenge of becoming a kid-person.  I confess that early on, I was concerned that Montserrat’s reluctance around children would mean our family would become an after-thought as Miggy and Montse built their life together. 

I remember the two of them taking care of the kids for four days while Jay and I were on opposite coasts.  One night I called to check in and Monste said, “Lauren, I don’t know how you do this.  There’s never a break.  You can never not think about them or be aware of what they’re doing.  This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”  She paused a moment, and then continued, “So we’ve decided we need to watch the kids once a quarter, so you and Jay can take a mental break and just be together.”  I was floored.  She tried something, realized it was super hard, and then instead of backing away, the girl doubled-down. 

That was three years ago.  And since then, Montse has become the person every kid wants to talk to.  Look at the number of kids missing school today to be here.  They know what all of Montse’s adult friends have always known—that she was the best listener, always dialed in and present.  And being a good listener makes you good with people of all ages.

Where’s Montserrat?

She’s in every challenge you meet head on.  She’s in every community she helped build and care for.  She’s in the purr of a cat, the flight of an eagle over the marsh, the sunrise and sunset.  She’s in every giggle and occasional snort that accompanies ridiculous tik-tok videos.  She’s in concert halls, f-bombs, golf swings, voter booths, beaches, canyons, mountains.  She’s in every mega-watt smile and in every listening ear.  She’s in every single one of you.

Preached at The Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta

Proper 19, Year C

I got pretty excited when I read today’s passage from Exodus. That may seem like a strange response to a story of people misbehaving—so much so that God tells Moses that the creator of heaven and earth has HAD IT.

But this story reminds me of one of the most beautiful practices of the Hebrew tradition—arguing with God.  Not arguing with God like a petulant child who refuses to eat her vegetables… but arguing with God out of relationship and love and devotion and faith. 

Moses does this in our lesson for today because Moses knows that this almighty and changeless God has the capacity and willingness and graciousness to change the divine mind.

That sounds like a contradiction, doesn’t it.  That a changeless God would change the divine mind?  But what is changeless about God is God’s presence and character—not God’s ability to change God’s mind. 

Because the nature of God is relationship—the Blessed Trinity—Father, Son and Holy Spirit—God cannot by nature be some rigid, static, stagnant entity.  There is a fluidity to God that can only be comprehended in the context of relationship. 

We are created by God to be in relationship with God.  And because we are created in God’s image, God’s nature in us is relationship.  Even if we prefer to be alone, we are always in relationship because we are always with God.

And relationships shape us.  Right?  We can’t be in relationship with a building or a chair or a golden calf.  Because there’s no back-and-forth.  No empathy.  No love.  No growth.  Indeed Moses arguing with God highlights the difference between the God of all creation and the false god the Israelites had constructed in the golden calf. 

Moses reminds God who God is—a merciful God who is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. And God listens. And God is moved to compassion.

How many of you have argued with someone you love?  It’s different from arguing with a stranger at a stop light or on the internet, right?  Not that any of us would know anything about that.  Arguing with someone you love requires trust in the unconditional love that you share.

Do you have that kind of relationship with God?  Can you wrestle with God like Jacob did?  Can cry out to God, “Where are you God! How long must I go on like this!” like so many psalmists have done?  Can you respond to God like the woman in Gospels who, when Jesus denies healing for her daughter, talks back in faith that Jesus can and will heal her child?

I think sometimes we focus so much on God’s omnipotence, wisdom, power and might—that we forget how God chooses to reveal Godself in the person of Jesus.  We forget that our omnipotent and mighty God chose weakness and vulnerability for the sake of love and relationship with us.  God chose to gestate in a womb, nurse at a breast, be carried on a hip, crawl, walk and run, cry, suffer, and die.  Our God is so much stronger than a golden calf because our God chooses vulnerability alongside might.

It is because of this chosen vulnerability that our constant and changeless God is not an unmoved mover, but a God moved by our joy and our suffering. 

Let that truth sink in a little. God is always God. Yes. 

And God is always with you.

And God is always love.

And this almighty God is moved by you.  Out of love for you.

Not a golden calf, not an unmoved mover, but a God who sees you and hears you and is moved by you.

This is why God would move mountains in search of you.  This is why God would turn a house upside down and rejoice when finding you.  Because you are nor more a pawn in some game than God is a golden calf.  No, you are a child of God created in the image of God deeply loved by God.

So pray like it.  Use your biggest voice and your truest words to pray brave unfiltered prayers. Wrestle with God, argue with God, cry out to God, talk back to God, even as you rejoice with God, and praise God, and love God.  Because this loving relationship can take it. 

And no, not all your prayers will be answered in the ways you would like.  You’ll still get hurt, and the people you love will also hurt.  There will still be things to grieve.  But when you grieve them, you’ll grieve alongside God, knowing your grief moves God, and that will move you too.

I hope you’ll take some risks in how you talk to God this week.  I hope, first, that you will talk to God!  And I hope you’ll approach God with the same vulnerability that God extends to us.  It’s a brave thing, it’s a bold thing, and we are bold to pray.

Amen.

Preached at The Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta

Proper 16, Year C

I wonder which scripture passage about sabbath spoke to you today.  Did you notice that both Isaiah and Luke address keeping the sabbath? 

I especially love the poetic language of Isaiah: “If you refrain from trampling the sabbath…if you call the sabbath a delight…if you honor it, not going your own ways…then you shall take delight in the Lord, and I will make you ride upon the heights of the earth.”

To my ears, that description of sabbath is like a cool glass of water on a hot Georgia day.  I want to take it in slowly, letting the icy calm liquid linger on my lips, in my mouth, down my throat.  I may even raise the chilled glass to my face, letting the droplets wet my cheek.  Couple that with a gentle breeze and a chorus of cicadas, and that’s pretty much how I feel about Isaiah’s description of sabbath.  It is something to savor.

And I don’t want to miss what Isaiah says right before this description—really the whole of Isaiah 58 is a text worthy of printing out and taping to your mirror.  It is a passage we would do well to read again, and again, and again as a lesson on how to be in right relationship with God and one another. 

But where our passage picks up today in verse 9, the prophet tells us that if we care for one another and let God care for us, then we will be, “like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail.”  He says you will be rebuilt and raised up, and you will be one who repairs and restores.  You will be called the repairer of the breach!  Oh my goodness!  How we need breach repairers in this day and age!

And yet to be people who restore and repair broken relationships and a broken world, we must slow down and yield to God’s restoration of us.  We cannot do what we are called to do if we don’t take time to listen to and learn from the one calling us.  Our good intentions and intelligent minds and go-getter attitude will not be enough.  We need rest.  Like the God who so lovingly created us and then rested, we need rest.  Because we are created in the image of God, if we want to truly be that image of God in the world, we need rest.  We need sabbath rest.

As much as I know this truth in my core, as much as I love this truth and love to read about it, teach about it, ponder it, create space for it in our community of faith—I really struggle with sabbath.  For me, sabbath is just as elusive as it is important.  For that reason, I also resonate with our Gospel passage today.  Just like the frustrated leader of the synagogue proclaiming to everyone gathered—you’re doing it wrong!  You’re getting the sabbath all wrong!  I often beat myself up for getting sabbath wrong—for failing to practice the very thing I cherish. 

It’s not that I think other things are more important than sabbath rest with God.  It’s just that it’s easier to let myself down, or even let God down, than it is to let others down. And so I feel like the hypocrite Jesus calls out—the hypocrite who praises sabbath with all sincerity, but then fails to see the sabbath blessing of Jesus offering restoration and wholeness right there in front of him.

You see, Jesus doesn’t heal the bent over woman instead of honoring the sabbath.  He doesn’t say, sabbath is important but healing this woman is more important.  Instead, Jesus teaches us what sabbath is by calling the woman over, extending his hands, touching her, and restoring her to new life.  Sabbath is God’s way of restoring us.  Sabbath is Jesus calling us to himself, hoping we will slow down long enough to let God touch us and heal us, so that we can stand upright in the image of God once again.

Friends, we need rest.  Not just because we are tired, which I’m guessing many of you are.  We need rest because we need Jesus.  To refuse sabbath rest is to refuse Jesus.  And I don’t say that to condemn anyone for getting sabbath wrong.  I say it simply in the hope that you will see this invitation to let God love you and let God heal you.

My favorite book on Sabbath (which I happen to be re-reading right now because these are lessons I need to learn again, and again and again) is written by minister and therapist Wayne Muller.  He says: “If we forget to rest we will work too hard and forget our more tender mercies, forget those we love, forget our children and our natural wonder.  God says: Please don’t. It is a waste of a tremendous gift I have given you.  If you knew the value of your life, you would not waste a single breath.  So I give you this commandment—as important as not stealing, not murdering, not lying.  Remember to play and bless and make love and eat with those you love, and take comfort, easy and long, in this gift of sacred rest.”

Sabbath is sacred rest.  It is not taking more naps, though naps can certainly contribute—it is resting in the presence of God.  Sacred rest is resting in the awareness that God loves you.

What is it that is weighing you down?  What has you bent over, unable to stand up in the fullness of who you are?  Some of our burdens are things we’d like to cast off, but it’s also true that some of our burdens are a sincere labor of love. 

I know that when there is so much to carry, so much on the line, it can be especially difficult to stop moving—much less set your precious burdens down.  And yet I can assure you that if you do slow down and allow yourself to rest in the presence of God, the burdens you want or need to carry will still be there waiting for you, only now you’ll have more strength for the journey.

Jesus saw the woman.  And Jesus sees you too.  Will you listen when he calls you over?  I hope you will.  I hope I will.  Because you and I were created to be like a watered garden.  You and I were created to be repairers of the breach.  And you and I need sabbath rest alongside a God who rests, and who heals us in resting.

Amen.

Preached at The Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta

Proper 8, Year C 

It’s possible you heard today’s Gospel and wondered if perhaps Jesus woke up on the wrong side of the bed.  Sometimes I read this passage and think he sounds a little grumpy.  Someone says, “I’ll follow you wherever you go!”And Jesus responds, “Foxes… birds… you don’t know what you’re talking about.”Another says, “Let me go and bury my father.”And Jesus responds, “Let the dead bury their own dead.”Baw, humbug. But this week I noticed something different about Jesus’ response.  This week I hear Jesus speaking the truth in love.  And that’s not a new concept—plenty of people have said the same about this passage before.  Nor is it a cop-out… I’m not trying to sugarcoat the Gospel. Jesus clearly isn’t sugarcoating anything.  He is naming the truth that being a Jesus-follower can be uncomfortable and hard and inconvenient. Let’s back up to the beginning of this passage when the Samaritans deny hospitality to Jesus and his disciples.  James and John ask if Jesus wants them to call down fire onto the city.  “Burn it down!” they say. Well, that escalated quickly.  It’s easy to wonder, what were they thinking?  What a dramatic, over-the-top, unnecessary suggestion. And yet… And yet I hear the same thing expressed again and again in our own day, mostly figuratively… mostly… but the sentiment is the same. Some want to burn down the patriarchy.  Some want to burn down marriage equality.  Some want to burn down vestiges of the confederacy.  Some want to burn down a woman’s right to care for her body.  Some want to burn down the police.  Some want to burn down democracy. We have become an angry people.  And our anger is enslaving us.  Paul says to the Galatians—Jesus has set us free!  Stand firm, and don’t submit to slavery again!  Except—except through love be slaves to one another.  Love one another.  Serve one another.  Care for one another.  Honor one another.  That is the only yoke we should ever submit to. Paul says to live by the Spirit, not the flesh.  And he describes the fruits of both.  Friends, reading about the works of the flesh can be pretty discouraging: idolatry, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissentions, factions, envy… and that’s not even the whole list!  But it’s certainly an accurate description of the headlines every day.  It’s certainly an accurate description of the state of our world, our country, our city, and sometimes our church.  We have become an angry people.  And our anger is enslaving us.  Now let me clear—there is just cause for anger.  If you feel anger today, you are not alone.  But we cannot allow ourselves to be slaves to anger if we want to right the wrongs of this world.  We cannot be defined by our anger if we hope to protect the dignity of every human person.  We must instead be defined by our uncompromising belief that loving our neighbor is more than a cute concept—that loving our neighbor has real implications—that loving our neighbor can change the world. We bring our anger and our lament before God because we believe there is a way forward with God. The crazy thing about faith in a resurrected Jesus is that we actually believe God can redeem even the worst of things.  Jesus calls us to something different.  Jesus sets us free.  But free is not synonymous with easy.  Jesus is clear to his would-be followers: the kingdom of God is not the kingdom of this world.  It is decidedly different.  It is a good and joyful thing!  YES!  But is it not what we are used to, not what we’ve grown accustomed to, not what we are comfortable with, not what we were expecting, not an easy answer.  James and John get upset with the Samaritans and suggest total annihilation as a solution.  Burn it down! It’s easier to obliterate the opposition than stay in relationship with it.  It’s easier to demonize the people we disagree with, reducing them to the issues they champion.  But in reducing others, we reduce ourselves.  When we see Jesus in the face of our friend and neighbor and stranger and the person we disagree with—the kingdom of God expands.  When we deny the truth that all are created in the image of God—the very image of God!—we deny the kingdom’s presence and growth and fullness in this world. So Jesus rebukes them.  Because burning it down only tightens the shackles of anger on our hearts.  We become slaves to our anger. Following Jesus is not easy.  There will always be a reason to go another way, or a reason to delay.  And as the text illustrates today, some of those reasons may be honorable and good.  But when we choose Jesus, when we choose the way of Jesus over the way of the world, when we do the hard work of staying in relationship and coming together and finding a way together—when we allow ourselves to become slaves to one another through love—then we will know the fruits of the Spirit.  Then we will know love, and joy, and peace.  Then we will know patience, kindness, and generosity.  Then we will know faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.  Following Jesus can be hard—but not as hard as living under the yoke of anger that has been foisted upon us by people who make themselves God or deny God’s existence. My prayer for us is that we would take Jesus’ words to heart and be emboldened by them—not discouraged.  That we would see the hard work that Jesus calls us to do, and not shy away from it.  Thank you, Jesus, for naming how hard this might be.  Thanks for loving us enough to tell us the truth.  Because burning it down may be easier, but the fruits of the Spirit are worth staying in relationship for.  May we do the hard work of coming together for the sake of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.  The kingdom of God is near.  Amen.

I’m writing this while listening to the joyful sounds of Week of Wonder children playing games outside my window.  I’m writing from my kitchen counter with a KN95 mask on because half my household has tested positive for Covid and the other half (myself included) is trying to stay healthy.  The mix of joy and wonder with loss and frustration is often “heard” or felt from my kitchen.  Living on the Cathedral campus means that I hear the funeral bells toll while simultaneously hearing the preschoolers squeal with delight on the playground.  It means I hear beautiful singing on the labyrinth while also hearing sirens responding to an emergency.  I imagine you can hear the contrasting sounds of paradox in your home as well.

One paradox I have been pondering this week comes from a text my mother sent me, suggesting that perhaps introverts often feel like they are “not enough” and extroverts often feel like they are “too much.”  My mother is an introvert and I am an extrovert—hence her text.  But it made me think of the class Canon Cathy Zappa and I have led twice now, exploring some of the unhealthy ways we try to measure our enoughness. 

There are so many measurements we can (mis)use—smart enough, healthy enough, busy enough, creative enough… a good enough child, good enough parent, good enough partner, good enough employee or boss, good enough student… and even good enough Christian. 

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with the desire to be good.  It’s the enoughness that can sometimes trip us up.  What is our measuring stick?  Is anything less than perfect enough?

And yes, some of us also struggle with the feeling of being too much—too loud, taking up too much space or too much energy, too emotional, too curious.  Feeling like too much is a different side of the same coin.

I confess the pendulum swings both ways for me—I often struggle with feeling like I’m too much and not enough.  It is unmooring and exhausting.  The antidote for me is prayer.  When I pray I feel a certain centeredness.  I may still feel the tug of enoughness or too muchness, but if God is at the center and I’m drawing close to God in prayer, then I find myself grounded in that center place of love.

I am reminded of the lyrics to a Chris Tomlin song we used to sing in my praise-band days: All of You is more than enough for all of me/For every thirst and every need/You satisfy me with Your love/And all I have in You is more than enough. When I draw close to God in prayer and let God’s love for me and for this broken world be the “enough” I seek, I discover that I still don’t have all the answers, but I have what I need for today.  And knowing that truth may be the only answer I need.

A favorite writer of mine, Kate Bowler, has a new-ish book out called “Good Enough.” Kate is a professor of the history of Christianity at Duke Divinity School.  She is one smart cookie.  And she is living with incurable cancer, which was diagnosed shortly after giving birth to her young son.  Her faith is made of real stuff, and she articulates it beautifully.  Kate often writes blessings to share with the world—this one is from the introduction to her new book:

Blessed are you

who realize there is simply not enough

–time, money, resources.

Blessed are you

who are tired of pretending

that raw effort is the secret to perfection.

It’s not.  And you know that now.

Blessed are you

who need a gentle reminder that

even now, even today,

God is here,

and somehow,

that is good enough.

Wherever you are on the spectrum of not enough and too much, receive this blessing.  God is here.  So draw close to the heart of God and discover the heart of God in you.  God in you is enough and never too much.

Preached at The Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta

Easter 5, Year C

Did anyone else listen to today’s lesson from Revelation and think: Amen—come Lord Jesus! It’s a reading we often hear at funerals, which in our tradition are Easter liturgies of resurrection and hope. “See, I am making all things new.”  With the news being what it has been around the world and in our own backyard, I am longing for God to dwell with us and wipe away our tears.  I am longing for a time when death and mourning and crying and pain will be no more.  I am longing for Jesus to make all things new in me and in the world around me.  Amen—come Lord Jesus!

Come and be with us.  Come and be near us.  Come and be present.

Today we recognize our young people who have been preparing to receive the Holy Eucharist with a deeper understanding of the mystery of Jesus’ presence among us.  Of course, the Eucharist is available to anyone at any age in this place—because we believe that the Real Presence of Jesus is in and among the bread and the wine that we receive, and we believe that Jesus makes himself accessible to all people again and again in our scripture and tradition.  Jesus wants to be present with us, so at this altar, Jesus is available to all.  And yet we recognize that there is something very special about embracing this mystery in a new way, having studied alongside our young peers, paying attention to the words of the Eucharistic Prayer, asking questions, listening to one another’s stories and thoughts about Jesus.  So for our young friends who are receiving the Holy Eucharist today—whether it is for the first time or the 100^th time—know that God is doing something new in you.  And for our older friends!  Good news!  God is doing something new in you too.

Together we are about to make the presence of Jesus REAL in this bread and this wine—we are about to receive the body of Christ, and become the body of Christ.  And even though we may understand this sacrament a little better this week than the weeks before, we still get to be in awe of the mystery that we receive and become the body of Christ.

But what about on the days when we’re not in church and we’re not coming to the altar to receive Jesus in this special way? What about tomorrow when we’re back at school or work or home or play? What about when we have big feelings about what’s going on at school or work or home or far away? Where is Jesus then? 

Take a look at our gospel story today.  Jesus is with his friends, eating and talking and teaching.  His friend Judas has just left the table and is preparing to betray Jesus.  His friend Peter is about to deny they are friends at all.  And right there in the middle of these heartaches, Jesus says this to the friends around him: By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.

Friends—this is how we make Jesus’ presence real in any given moment.  No matter where we are or who we are with or if we are all alone—Jesus is real and present when we love one another.

Now some kinds of love can be pretty easy.  And some kinds of love can be pretty hard.  Jesus was really good at all kinds of love, so we have lots of good examples.  And the example that we pay special attention to in the Easter season is that of Jesus’ death and resurrection.  It’s an example of how Jesus willingly gave up some of his power to ensure everyone would have access to a new heaven and a new earth—to eternal life and eternal love—to the Real Presence of God in the here and now.

So friends, as you come forward today to receive the mystery of Christ’s Real Presence in this bread and this wine, consider how you might make Christ’s presence real in the world around us.  Because I am convinced that God is making things new—even and especially in the face of suffering and sin.  God is making all things new.  And God needs you and your love to make that new thing real.

And they’ll know we are Christians by our love, by our love. Yes they’ll know we are Christians by our love.

Amen.