Gospel | lauren laughs

#blessed

First weekday sermon at Trinity Wall Street, New York City
Ephesians 4:32-5:2 and Luke 6:17-23
Remembering Thomas A Kempis

Weekday services at Trinity are special because they are intimate gatherings of dedicated Christians mixed with a smattering of tourists from various faith traditions who happen to stop by. On Thursdays the “New Beginnings” group of retired parishioners is always present, sitting in the front pews. I was one lucky lady to preach on a Thursday with a group of strong women sending me love and encouragement! While I did not preach from this script, it is what I wrote to prepare.

Since beginning my work at Trinity less than a month ago, my commute has quadrupled. I’ve gone from living, studying, eating and worshiping on the same small seminary campus—where forgetting my umbrella on a day like yesterday would might mean a few raindrops on my head walking from the classroom or chapel to my home—to forty minutes of walking and riding the train—where forgetting my umbrella means certain drenching.

With my new commute comes new routines. One of them is to read the New York Times—or the AM New York if I grab one—on the train.

I’ve always considered myself a fairly informed and aware person, but now that I’m really taking the time to read the news each day, I confess I feel like I’m watching the world fall apart.

Today’s Gospel echoes that same desperation.

Jesus is talking to people from Jerusalem, Judea, Tyre and Sidon. Did you know Jerusalem is about the same distance from Gaza as this church is from Croton Harmon or Mt. Kisco? That would be considered a normal commute for many New Yorkers. And Tyre and Sidon are coastal towns. The Gaza strip follows the same coast.

We hear in our reading that everyone is trying to get closer to Jesus—close enough to touch him. Pressing in on him, hoping for healing and change. Desperate.

And Jesus says: Blessed are the poor. Blessed are the hungry. Blessed are the weeping. Blessed are the marginalized.

Blessed.

Reading these words today with our colloquial notions of “blessed,” these words could sound trite.

Well, bless his heart—as I grew up hearing in the South.

Or an instagram pic of an ice cream cone on a hot day with the hashtag #blessed.

Hmm.

If Jesus’ words sound trite or empty, it’s because we have misused them.

It’s not about feeling blessed—but being blessed.

And so it’s when we feel the least blessed that Jesus reminds us that we ARE indeed blessed. And it’s the people who appear the least blessed that Jesus points to and says—THIS—this person is blessed.

When Jesus says, blessed are the poor, the hungry, the crying and marginalized—he’s not speaking words of consolation. These words are a call to action. This truth of not feeling—but being—blessed—it’s a truth that challenges us.

And we can look to today’s Epistle to understand just what it is Jesus is calling us to: kindness, forgiveness, love and sacrifice—a life that imitates Christ.

In a war-torn world such as ours—a world where civilians, children even, are victim to political, economic, religious and cultural conflict—these aren’t wimpy words—they are powerful. Kindness and forgiveness are not signs of weakness, but of strength. Love and sacrifice are not signs of compromise, but conviction.

If we listen to Jesus’ words and take them to heart—if we believe that the marginalized are blessed and live lives that proclaim this truth with the same love and sacrifice Jesus taught—we can be the change we want to see in the world. We can proclaim and embody the Gospel as imitators of Christ.

When Father Benjamin started today’s service in prayer, he mentioned a name—Thomas A Kempis. Thomas was a priest, monk and writer. He enjoyed solitude. But he used the quiet time he had to write one of the most published and widely read books in Christian literature: The Imitation of Christ. In it, Thomas talks about how to love God—by imitating the life of Christ with kindness, forgiveness, love and sacrifice.

How can you imitate Christ in your own life? Are you a quiet person like Thomas? Perhaps you can spend 30 minutes of your day praying for the needs of our community and for peace in the world. Are you a live-out-loud type? Maybe you can be like the woman I saw at the Fulton stop this morning singing, “What a friend we have in Jesus, take it to the Lord in prayer.” Are you a social person? Maybe you can help us pack brown-bag lunches on Sundays, or help us share the lunches with our neighbors on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Or maybe you like to keep to yourself, but have $17 to spare to share your compassion with the school children in our community by donating to our “Totes for Teachers” program.

I feel like the news these days brings out our differences more than anything. And it’s true that each of us is different, one from another. But we can, each in our own unique way, be imitators of Christ. We all have a capacity for kindness, forgiveness, love and sacrifice because we all are blessed.

It’s time to claim our blessedness and be a blessing.

Beware of Bushels

Preached on Epiphany 5 at St. Matthew & St. Timothy Church, New York

Isaiah 58:1-9; Psalm 112:1-9; 1 Corinthians 2:1-12; Matthew 5:13-20

After much encouragement from Mother Carla, this was my first “off the cuff” sermon in English and again in Spanish at SMST. As such, I only have notes on points I wanted to cover, but no text. Still, here’s the gist of what was preached that day–and I have to say that preaching without a text in Spanish was a hugely liberating and spirit-filled experience for me!

I love this text and I’ve preached it before, focusing on salt and light.

It was my senior sermon, and some of you were there.

But today I’m going to focus on bushels.

Jesus says you ARE the light of the world. You ARE the salt of the earth. As in now.

Saltiness and light are not something to achieve, but what we are.

Unless we’re hiding our light.

Under a bushel.

What is a bushel anyway? It’s not a bushel of apples snuffing our light out.

A bushel is more like a basket—something that covers our light without extinguishing it.

So the light is still there—you are the light of the world.

The question is: Are you letting your light shine?

Take a look at the reading from Isaiah:

“Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn…”

What does fasting have to do with shining?

Soon we’ll be in Lent—a season of fasting for many.

For the Israelites and maybe us too, fasting is about righteousness.

It’s about doing what is right before God.

But sometimes righteousness becomes self-righteousness.

Sometimes our spiritual life or our following the law gets focused on this inner life—cultivating our light to shine in our own life.

Jesus calls us the light of the world.

Keeping the law and working on our spiritual life isn’t about us, it’s about our neighbor.

It’s not just an inward journey, but an outward breaking forth of light.

The prophet Isaiah describes righteousness as what we do for others.

So this question of letting your light shine boils down to two things:

1. What is it you can do for others? (ie: name your light)

2. What keeps you from doing it? (ie: name your bushel)

Let’s start with the first question: what does it look like for your light to shine?

What can you do for others?

>Check in on people—call them or send them cards to let them know you care.

>Bake something or bring someone a meal.

>Invite people to church or events.

>Tutor or coach students or adults—what are you skills and how can you share them?

>Shovel out your neighbor’s car.

>Pray for someone—let them know you’re praying.

>Forgive someone if you’re holding a grudge.

>Stand up for someone being bullied.

>Be an advocate for the oppressed.

And the question that follows: what are the bushels that hide your light?

What keeps you from doing the things we named help our neighbor?

>Fear of rejection.

>Fear of failure.

>Fear of change or discomfort.

>Lack of concern, lack of awareness.

>Greed or pride.

>Lack of communication.

>Poor prioritizing.

>Comparing ourselves to others.

>Romanticizing the past and clinging to it.

>Unrealistic expectations—over or underestimating ourselves.

“No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

We come to church and to this table to light our lamps.

We come here week after week to keep our lamps lit.

What happens when we leave here?

Do we hide that lamp under a basket? Or put it on the lampstand?

The light of the world is not for itself.

The light of the world is to be shared.

You are the light of the world.

Discover what that light is—what it is you can do for others to shine.

It doesn’t have to be something huge.

You can start with something small and battle your bushels a bit at a time.

But let your light shine.

This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine.

Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

Hide it under a bushel, NO! I’m gonna let it shine.

Let it shine, let it sine, let it shine.

lauren laughs

proverbs 31:25 says, "strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the time to come." well… at least i've got the laughing part down.

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#blessed

Beware of Bushels