The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas
A reasonable facsimile of what was preached on Sunday: always a reflection on the Word, but never the final word.
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Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Advent 2, Year A December 8, 2019 The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas As the sunlight faded on the Friday after Thanksgiving, a few of us were here preparing for a David and Arline’s wedding. As we discussed details, four young people came in the front door of the church. I assumed that they were coming for the wedding, but they were not dressed for it. As they entered, I greeted them and introduced myself. One of them said “We saw the lights on, and this beautiful church, and decided to stop. Is it ok if we come in and look around?” “Of course,” I said, and then asked them about themselves. It turns out they had met up in Charlottesville to carpool back to college at American University in DC. What struck me was how at ease they were together and in talking with me, a perfect stranger, in a collar. Not only that, they looked like a poster for the United Nations. One was white and blonde, another was black, another was Asian, and another was Hispanic. I inquired further and they said they were all friends from school and of different faiths. And finally, I asked, “What made you stop here?” “Well,” one of them said, “we were are headed back to school to take exams, we have been with our families for several days, and we all agreed that we needed to seek a little peace.” At that, I told them to seek away and left them to wander. They came up front and looked back at the organ. They walked up to the altar and looked up, wide eyed, and out the window. They stood silently for a time and then talked quietly among themselves, and after a few minutes they thanked me for the welcome. I walked them outside and paused with them to ask a prayer for God’s peace and blessing on their journey and they headed back to college. Now, I am not much of a magical thinker, but I am just mystic enough to believe God sends us messengers on our journey of faith. After I had spent the week before reading somewhat dismal Pew Research statistics on young people and their relative disaffiliation with faith, in come these really diverse young people seeking peace – in church! Reflecting back, I was reminded that Church really does have something crucial to offer our fragmented culture. We make spaces for reflection, reconnection, and aspiration. We offer a message of love, reconciliation, healing, and helping in a far too callous and sound bit pattern of public discourse. For some good reason, the Spirit intervened in these young people’s lives and brought them here -- to receive a message of peace, but also to remind me of its sticking power and importance. In making this journey through Advent, we hover in the already but not yet-ness of God’s interaction with the world. The reason we slow it down is to listen. And this week’s lessons are all about listening to some of God’s messengers. Isaiah talks about a shoot or sprout coming out of the long left for dead legacy of the great King David. St. Paul echoes the Isaiah text and gives the persecuted church in Rome a pep talk on believing in the future even if things seem dark and difficult. And then we get to John the Baptist crying out in the wilderness. He is not the kind of guy you want at your family dinner party as lays waste to anyone who believes their family, tribe, nation, or particularized theology guarantees them a spot on God’s good side, automatically. John’s rant sets up a future where the world to come is turned inside out and upside down. He is right about the radical thing God will do in sending Jesus. But the Holy One he predicts we will come to know is not exactly what he portends. John is a little harsh about that God’s judgment and notably short of God’s grace, but hey, he is on a roll, and he gets everyone’s attention. He is a messenger, but he is not the message. When I was an undergraduate college student at the University of the South, we had this crusty old athletic trainer that had been there for at least 60 years. He was not of the modern sports medicine ilk of athletic trainer, he was of the rub your ankle, tape you up tight, and put you back in the fight kind of athletic trainer. He was more like a combat medic than anything. Nevertheless, he was legendary. He had recalled when our little division three college was a football powerhouse in the South (In 1899, Sewanee went 12 and 0, beating Texas A&M, Texas, Tulane, LSU, and Ole Miss in the span of six days… and as the story goes, on the seventh day, they rested). As much as our trainer took care of athletes, he was also a teller of stories and a keeper of history. Inevitably, sportswriters and students would ask the trainer about the most important game the University ever played. With an encyclopedic knowledge of the past, eyewitness experience, and generations of contests he had seen, without hesitation he would say; “The most important game for the University is the one coming up.” He may have been nostalgic, but he was also practical. Every season, on just about every team, that message was delivered like a mantra. The most important challenge we face is the one coming up. It is not a long leap to apply this to the messengers of Advent. While they are rooted in a rich and deep tradition of covenant worship of the living God, they tell us that God is about to do a new thing. In the person and work of Jesus, God grabs hold of us, showing us different ways to think about power, different ways to live in faith, and challenging ways to be people of love. We worship in a parish that began meeting in 1860. The buildings were built over time, and renovated over more time. There have been 19 rectors. Some stayed only a few years because the money was not there. Others stayed for many years and ministered through generations of people. Even though they have long since moved on Marston and LaRue and are folks many of our people remember. I feel a kinship with them already as I have read their stores and memoirs. Together with Mulally and Garcia, they are part of our story and part of our history. And that is just the clergy. George Ellinger is 106 years old and living in Waynesboro. He was a local realtor and Senior Warden in 1942… and about 30 years after that! This was before term limits. The messengers of Advent: the young people who came here seeking peace last weekend, the prophets of old, the gospel of now – all of them urge us to a deeper and most important purpose. Our mission is to seek, serve, and glorify God in Christ in the world that is now and the world that is to come. With past as prologue, we are the people God has at Emmanuel Episcopal Church in Greenwood, Virginia. Our message is that of peace, healing, and help for a broken world so desperately in need of God’s grace. It is good work. It is God’s work. It is our work too. Amen. Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Advent 1, Year A December 1, 2019 The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas For a number of years, we lived in Sewanee, Tennessee. Sewanee is an interesting place. It is a mix of Appalachia and academia with an Episcopal boarding school, an Episcopal liberal arts college, and an Episcopal seminary, all on top of a plateau in an impressive collection of gothic sandstone buildings. The “Chapel” there rivals most cathedrals in its beauty. The whole rhythm of the place flows the church year as much as the academic calendar. I refer to it as the nations only Episcopal theme park. It is almost too much at times. While I was head of the prep school, we lived in this tight little community among undergraduates, professors, seminarians, and a reputable group of biblical and theological scholars. Among them was the legendary The Rev. Dr. Robert Hughes, an immensely tall man with an Abe Lincoln beard and a stern visage. Hughes taught New testament Bible and Preaching, but everyone there knew him as the chief of the Advent police force. A little background: Advent is our season before Christmas wherein we light candles and hear lessons of waiting and anticipation. Unlike much of the culture, we do not do Christmas before Christmas. We do simple greenery. We keep it quiet and reflective. Dr. Hughes, the chief of the Advent police in Sewanee was deadly serious about observing Advent. Our gospel lesson for today, Jesus warns “you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.” If you were an unsuspecting seminarian in Sewanee, you may be waiting for Jesus, but you would also be watching for Dr. Hughes. That’s right, he drove around in seminary housing village, and if he saw the slightest little twinkly light, a red bow, or, God forbid, a Christmas tree, he would knock on the door and shout “Advent before Christmas. ABC.” Sometimes the second and third years would hide that fact from first year seminarians just to witness the spectacle. I guess that is what passes for hazing in a seminary. On this first Sunday of Advent, I am sure that many disciples of Dr. Hughes inhabit pulpits all across the Church, insisting that their congregations remember that Advent is a season of preparation and that Christmas is a 12 day season beginning on December 25 at the stroke of midnight. I have colleagues who will not be putting up a tree until Christmas eve, and who will lambast those who do as cultural sell outs, claiming some Anglican high ground of liturgical and theological purity. The basic point is a good one. Advent is a reminder for us not to buy in, literally, to the hype, the noise, and all of the glittery sentimentality Hallmark has to sell us. The way we observe the season is to slow it down, light a candle, pray expectant prayers, and make room in our lives for Jesus to be born anew. That being the case, the Church’s voice should not be one of shame and rebuke. We observe Advent with all due respect, anticipation, watching and waiting, but this is a great moment for us, Church folks, to welcome the culture that yearns for what we have to offer not just in this season, but for the whole year. If the wider world recognizes that selfless giving is a virtue, this is a good thing. If people want to crowd into our pews and take our usual places on Christmas Eve, it stands as our opportunity to be welcoming and loving and encouraging. A recent Pew Research study finds that more people than ever do not identify themselves as Christian. Given the way some Christians judge, exclude, and act hypocritically, this is understandable. I suspect that this survey reveals that more loosely affiliated folks are willing to admit their skepticism where they might not have before, and that is not such a bad thing. As a thinking person’s Church, we have an amazing opportunity in this season. With the searching, serving, and saving life and work of Jesus to proclaim and emulate, we have a great gift to offer a self-centered, callous, and cynical culture. Wielding all manner of technology that is supposed to bring us together, we are more and more isolated and anonymous feeling than ever. But what we do here is a profoundly low-tech antidote as we gather, love, pray, and care for one another. In our inaugural Advent collect today we prayed: “Almighty God give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light.” Those are powerful words that stand the test of time and stand out as a clarion call for us. In this season where the physical darkness is longer and darker, in a time when dark deeds and motives are as part of the daily news cycle, and in a season where the darkness of depression and anxiety is most prevalent, twinkly lights are a nice reminder that all of the darkness there ever was cannot stand against the light of God’s grace. If you are of the purist Episcopractice and hold fast to a strict Advent observance, go ahead and you be you. But for God’s sake, let our message to the world not be one of scorn or indifference to those who seek to come in from the cold. Because Jesus birth brings us joy, we will tell that story. Because God chooses to come among us a human, we can know God and live closer and closer to God’s will for our lives. As a young man, I was a Boy Scout. And one of the adventures my troop made was to spend two days caving in the Cumberland Mountains of Tennessee. For two whole days, we were enveloped in total darkness, squeezing through caverns and listening to the dripping sounds of water as the only background noise. As an anxious and somewhat paranoid youth, I was deathly afraid of the dark and of cramped spaces, but part of being a scout was making tackling such fears in the company of others. I will never forget waking up in the middle of the night, unable to see anything with my eyes wide open. But when I switched on my tiny penlight, it pierced the darkness and chased away most of my fears. Light has that power. And we are sent to be light and life for the world in the name of Jesus. And so we begin our Advent again. Don’t tell Dr. Hughes and the Advent Police on this priest, but as for me and my house, we are putting up some twinkly lights this afternoon – casting away the works of darkness and putting on the armor of light. Amen. Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Feast of Christ the King November 24, 2019 The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas After a gospel like that, the normal response is silence. When we read that on Good Friday, we don’t even try and respond. The two thieves on Jesus’ left and right at the crucifixion are bit players in a large drama, but in just one brief exchange, they reveal the gambit of human responses to God, and reveal less of an explanation of how salvation works than they do the pure grace that is Jesus personified. Today is called Christ the King Sunday. And those who have a problem with the relativism of monarchy, monarchical language, patriarchy, and all the worldly baggage that comes with kingship or kinghood call it The Reign of Christ Sunday. Whatever, of all of the traditions we observe on the churchy calendar, this one is a relative newbie. One of the Popes Pious claimed this focal point in 1925. It is the end of the Church year. We start over in telling the story of Jesus with Advent that starts next Sunday. I know, who has time for Advent when we are busy getting ready for Christmas, but that is next week’s conversation. Back in 1925, good old Pope Pious the wateverth, observed that we had seen plenty of the mess that the principalities and powers of the world had wrought on humanity. In the Great War, we had seen such great advances in technology that we had more and more effective ways to destroy humanity quickly and efficiently. We had seen nationalism provide people with great reasons to hate whoever was not on their team. We saw particular ethnic and religious groups being singled out as the cause of all problems. We saw a fragile peace, born of idealism, crumble and disintegrate in the economic and territorial power grab that forged unholy alliances. What started in the Roman Catholic Church caught on across the faith spectrum. For sure, it was time to come home, as it were, and acknowledge that there must be a higher order of loyalty and priority. Rather than running to kindred, tribe, and nation, we were pointed to the eternal Truth of Jesus as the one and only unity for humanity. And because we are loath to get that, we return again to Jesus at the cross, blowing up whatever earthly images of power and glory we misappropriate as celebrity and authority. It is a brief snapshot of Jesus’ last hour. The bit players are thieves: one on the right and one on the left. Various traditions have named them Dismas and Demas, but that is unimportant. What matters is their very human reactions to meeting God in a moment of desperation. The first says: “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us.” He raises a good point, recognizing that Jesus has the power to work wonders. But he wants a temporary magical savior, one that leverages his God powers to give him what he wants. We have all been there. We ask God to get us out of a jam, to prove that God is on our side, and alleviate our immediate need. We call those arrow prayers, shot to heaven to fix whatever vexes us. Such prayers tend to reveal more about us than God. Before Jesus can respond, the other thief snaps back. Recognizing that they are being duly punished for their crimes, he commends Jesus complete innocence, only asking to be remembered when he comes into his kingdom. Tradition calls him the honest thief. Anyone else recognize the irony in that moniker? Nevertheless, he is the one who owns his own fate and sees Jesus for who he is: an innocent, suffering servant. His prayer is not for earthly goodies, rather for belonging with the one who is pure love. Jesus replies: “Truly, I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” Lots of folks assume he is speaking to the one “honest thief,” – the one who repents, or at least confesses his guilt. But in reality, Jesus is speaking to the both of them, to everyone the cross, and through time and sacred memory, to us. What makes Jesus King of all is not that he hands out golden tickets to heaven only to those who say the right things, say all of the right things, or follow all the right signs. His words and his embrace are wider and deeper than that. What he shows and tells in this crucial moment is that we are with him forever in paradise -- not because of who we are, what we do, or what we say, but because of who Jesus is for all of us. We can show him to door, slam the door on him over and over, and even nail him to the door, but he will not leave us for dead. Good old Pope Pious thought we needed to remember that one and central fact regularly, so he slid in this observance as a reminder. Given the events of the past week, as our various elected officials scratch and claw at scions of earthly power, a good hard look at purity, true love in person, is important and formative. If we place our faith in whatever governors we believe or support, if we plow our energy into backing flawed humanity as salvific, we are bound to be disappointed. As we look to the Lord, the King, the Servant of All, none of the power titles really fit completely, but the person and work of Jesus is does: as real authority, true goodness, and all grace embodied. As we go to the Thanksgiving tables of our homes and families, may we keep Jesus in mind in our gratitude. We worship and celebrate our belonging not to a particular clan, but to a God of all: One who is crazy about us and for us. We are, all together, and bound for Glory. Then we sang this as traveling music…. Precious Lord, take my hand, Lead me on, let me stand, I am tired, I am weak, I am worn; Through the storm, through the night, Lead me on to the light: Take my hand, precious Lord, Lead me home. Amen. The following is a reflection from ME Via, our longtime Diocesan Convention representative on our experience this past week.
Good morning! It was my pleasure to represent Emmanuel at the 225th Annual Convention this weekend with Anne Dagner (Convention alternate), John Savage (the Chair of the Committee on Budget) and our Reverend JT Thomas. The theme of this year’s convention was “Wonder in All”. As in years past, there were many shared “Stories of the Diocese”. We have a lot of wonderful things happening here and all around us. For that I am thankful and grateful. There were also many reports and opportunities to learn about things that have happened in the diocese in the past year, as well as things that are still in progress. I am offering here an abridged version of the highlights. All the information will be posted on the Diocesan website – www.thediocese.net. Continuing with the “Wonder in All” theme, Bishop Goff’s pastoral address highlighted the wonder in light, life and joy. It also included a special video message from Presiding Bishop Curry. Wonder in Light Bishop Goff reminded us that Jesus said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” He lights up our way. In the light of Jesus, we are loved and his light shines on us - and on our wounds. This helps with reconciliation. There is a lot of reconciliation that is indeed happening, and there is more that is needed. Jesus also said “You are the light of the world.” Bishop Curry reminds us that we are light. How are you using your light in the world? Wonder in Life Highlighting the wonder in life, John 10:10 says “I have come in the name of life so that you may have it abundantly”. We are privileged to live in an area that has a lot of abundance – the beauty of God’s creation is everywhere. Our church family is all around us. Jesus shows us the wonder of life in seeds, water, and laborers who make things grow. Things we are privileged to watch in the agricultural regions around us. We must remain good stewards to make sure all resources are used wisely. This was also highlighted in Resolution 1 that requests discontinuing the use of single use plastics and foam as well as single use bottled water at diocesan churches and facilities. We have been given true abundance. Bishop Curry says that we know life and challenges us with the question “How do you share life abundant?” Wonder in Joy John 15:11 says “These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.” Our wonder in joy comes from things like meals with friends. Coffee hours. Shrine Mont family retreats. Helping at Bread Fund. Simple things in life. Our gorgeous earth and all its wonders. As we discover joy, we can face obstacles, disappointments and whatever happens in life. The church is the living, breathing body of Christ. He gives us joy to face changes - making joy the antidote to fear. As Bishop Curry says, we share joy. How do you know joy in Christ? Wonder in All There were many workshops that discussed a wide variety of topics and many helped highlight the Wonder in All: Planned giving. Communicating clearly. Engaging Parish property. Roles and responsibilities in a Changing World. Leading from Within. A commitment to follow Jesus thru The Way of Love. Rural Ministry and Language Diversity. We also had an opportunity to hear from Brian Sellers-Petersen and a discussion of his book Harvesting Abundance: Local Initiatives of Food and Faith. John 15:2 says “Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit.” Jesus wants us to love others as he loves us – abundantly. Be the light, have joy so the world can see Jesus’s love and joy in you. Also during Bishop Goff’s address, she announced that she will call for the election of the 14th Bishop of the Diocese of Virginia in November 2020, with an election happening in spring of 2022, followed by the Consecration later that summer. This will overlap with Bishop Goff for a while until her retirement in 2023. Bishop Jennifer Brooke-Davidson was also introduced and welcomed into our Diocese. The bishops that have been helping to serve our diocese were all thanked for their hard work and dedication. Bishop Goff will work to appoint a third part time bishop to live in Northern Virginia. The three other resolutions this year included the following.
There were three amended Canons:
I respectfully ask that you show your love. Share your light; share your abundant life; and, share your joy. Amen Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
November 10, 2019 The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas It all started when I climbed up on the step stool in front of the hot stove. Grandmother Taliaferro gave me an oversized apron, a long handled wooden spoon, and put me in charge of stirring the gravy. She kept it on low, and while she cubed loaves of white bread and chopped celery and onions, I stood sentinel, assuring that the simmering brown goodness thickened, but did not stick to the bottom or sides of the pan. Even talking about it brings back the smell of memory. Her kitchen was spotless and efficient and I loved that I was the only one allowed in her domain. That started a life-long love of cooking that I have nurtured and studied ever since childhood. My mother says the cooking gene skipped a generation, and through the passing of generations, I have become the marshal of our Thomas family feasts. What this means in this season is that requests for the Thanksgiving menu have started to come my way. With a vegetarian daughter, a brussels sprouts loving wife, a corn pudding loving son, an oyster dressing loving mother, and a growing guest list of attendees from all corners of our tradition, the planning requires careful allocation of casserole dish assets, precious oven time, and the age-old question as to how to and when to cook the turkey. Brine and baste? Deep fry and crisp the skin? Stuffing or dressing? And then, there is the procurement and preparation of the best Virginia ham (and that is another whole sermon). The one unifying and absolute constant is my grandmother Thomas’s icebox yeast rolls. While everyone has their favorite dish, the rolls bring it all together. And that smell, that heavenly scent, is the perfect harbinger, the sweet incense of all kinds of goodness and memory. And yet, the rolls are the biggest challenge. We use the recipe from the stained and spotted index card written in her own hand. It calls for a ball of shortening about the size of an egg, sugar, warm water, yeast, and flour. The exact proportions, proving, and cooking times are a matter of constant debate and experimentation. The quest to get as close to what she produced with such ease and regularity throughout her life is illusive at best. Her light arthritic touch may have had as much to do with the perfect product as anything. We can imitate, and get pretty darn close, but we will never duplicate exactly the perfect browning of the outside and fluffy light insides. Be that as it may, no one requests biscuits or cornbread. Remembering is a key feature of this approaching season. Like all families, we are complicated and evolving, but the steady stream of sweet yeasty memories is like glue that attaches us across time. Like so many memories, the arguments and tensions of growing up and apart fade into the constants of a table gathering. So, we strike out again this year with hope and anticipation in quest for a more perfect yeast roll despite our distances and differences. When we gather here each week, we do much of the same things to bring constancy and steadiness to the vicissitudes of our lives. We tell connected parts of God’s story in relationship to all of us through time and space. And today we opened with a peculiar and odd ancient tale: back in the second year of King Darius, in the seventh month, on the twenty-first day of the month, when the word of the Lord came through the prophet Haggai. Haggai is not a prophet we know so well. His book is really short and stuck near the end of the Old Testament. For context: the great and glorious Temple had been destroyed, they had been carried off into slavery and exile in Babylon, and generations later, they have been allowed to return to their land and have sought to rebuild and reshape their common lives and faith. It would be like coming home after years to find your old home place in ashes and rubble with only a few charred objects to remember former greatness. In this setting, Haggai delivers an important pep talk. He them that God is still their God and that same God of their remembered glory is on the move among them. Haggai tells them not to dwell on the past with mournful regret, but to expect God to do a powerful new thing among them. In hindsight, we cannot help but hear this as foreshadowing the living God in Jesus Christ who is to come, and will transform the power and presence of God from being confined and located in a particular time and place, like a Temple, to a living and powerful force of love and grace that transcends time and space. That is a lot for an ancient Israelite to get their minds around, but there it is. The lesson is paired with a psalm of praise and hope, again, envisioning God acting in ways we cannot predict, contain, or, even, comprehend fully. The clear message is that we are not completely and fully equipped to understand God and God’s ways of constant and persistent creation. All we can do is watch and wonder. When the Psalmist tells us that God’s ways are not our ways and our ways are not God’s ways, it is an understatement. And while we would like to understand and know as God knows, that was never part of the guarantee. It is often said that life is lived looking forward, but better understood looking backward. The lessons for today from Haggai, from St. Paul, and in Luke’s gospel are all about that. When the Sadducees challenge Jesus about the woman who was married seven times and ask whose husband she will be in heaven, they are trying to play the game of applying earthly standards to a completely different plane of existence. Their literal demand is a trick question and stands in the way of their embrace of mystery and promise. Naturally, Jesus points to God being a God of the living: a living that extends beyond what we see and experience in the here and now, into what ancient Christian mystics called “the cloud of unknowing.[1]” All of these texts are the stuff of memory. They represent encounters with big questions at key moments, none of which make sense to those standing at the edges of something completely new and different. When we look back on them, we see a bit more clearly, but not completely. As we consider our own place and circumstance in history, it helps to look back to help make sense of what might be and what is to be revealed in time. Remembering is at the heart of sacramental living. As faithful people, we gather around the table of the Lord and affirm the feast of life. We tell the story of sacrificial, self-giving love that unites us in the ongoing life of Jesus among us. What we do is more than memory, though. In holding on to the essentials, the biggest of the big picture is affirmed. It is impossible for us to know completely what the present means and what God will do with what is happening now, but we know from looking back that God is always making things new, and God is always at work in God’s faithful people. Once again, we remember. We get around the table. We break the bread. We pass the cup. We do this to affirm the present presence of God, to quiet our fears of unknowing, and lift up our lives to hope. Amen. [1] Thomas Aquinas has a lot to say about this in his Summa Theologica and I commend his exploration of embracing what we cannot know as a lens to deeper relationship with God. Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
November 3, 2019 The Feast of All Saints The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas Today is a day for hagiography. You know, hagiography. Ok, well, it is sort of like biography, telling the story of a life, but in specific, the lives of saints. Hagiographers are those who write and tell of great good people through whom God’s light has shined brightly. Today we transfer and celebrate the Feast of All Saints, it is a good time for some hagiographizing (I think I just made up that word). We can all name some saints, I am sure: St. Paul, he is a biggie and we read from his epistles most every week. He was a former persecutor of Jews who was knocked off is high horse, literally, and blinded by a great light. As his story goes, Jesus spoke directly to him and transformed him from professional persecutor to chief promoter of following Christ’s Way. St. Francis, we remember, came from a rich Italian family and just when established forms of money and property ownership were being codified, he renounced all of it and formed a group of folks to live together, serve the poor, and as legend has it, even the animals recognized his pure goodness. St. Nicholas, of course, is Nicholas of Myra, another rich man who gave it all away was rumored to have put money in the shoes of poor young women so they would have enough dowry to marry. That story is just a legend as the real Nicholas was an imprisoned and persecuted bishop in the mid-300s, but he is remembered for personal generosity, and that spawned a tradition we carry forward as stocking stuffing. In a cultural mash up, with help from the Dutch, an American poet, and Coca Cola, we get Santa Claus, the jolly elf we are already see in store blow ups and commercial advertisements for months to come. Almost all of the old school saints got to be called saints just because people remembered them and told their stories long before the printing press. The Church being the Church, felt the need to codify saint making around the 10th century. All of a sudden, a saint had to become a saint through someone making application, verifying something miraculous that set the person apart, and then there was an investigation and hearing and the final saint making decision was reserved for the Pope’s final approval. Then, over the years, the Church set aside specific days for remembering each saint until the calendar ran out of days, and then books of saints were compiled and the list grew and grew. The more superstitious iterations of Church used to hold on to relics of saints believing that they held some sort of physical connection to holiness. Thus, bodies were displayed, bones and organs were preserved and embedded into church architecture, and all kinds rites of prayers and remembrance were developed to honor their legacies. This is where we get patron and matron saint of this and that: Simon and Jude for lost causes, Anthony for lost items, Joseph if you want to sell your house, Fiocre for gardeners, Amand for bartenders… the list is long. Catholic Online lists 1,776 of them. Prayers to and through saints resides mostly in Roman Catholic Theology and when the Reformation came about, Protestants eschewed such practice as excessive and tending toward idol worship, believing that prayer to God in Christ is all sufficient and a more direct line anyway. Even so, if you want to sell your house, you can purchase a little statue of Joseph online complete with directions as to where to bury him in your yard for luck. The Episcopal Church, being both Catholic and Protestant takes a middle way with respect to saint making and honoring such people. We do have a process and a way to lift up lives well lived for remembering. We have a book called Lesser Feasts and Fasts with some great stories and prayers. The official line is this: Christ makes it possible for us to be saints as we share his life. We are washed, sanctified, and justified "in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God" (1 Cor 6:11). On this Feast of All Saints, we dig into this, and recognize that all people, all of us, are saints in the making. It is good to remember particular examples and thank God for them, but really, we are all a mixed bag of holiness and messiness and it is not a bad idea to affirm and celebrate when some of us get it right. However well intended the saint making process is, the practice of hagiography, saint story telling is such a better idea. Rob McSwain, a friend of mine who is a priest and professional theologian has just written a book called Human Holiness as Divine Evidence: The Hagiological Argument for the Existence of God. That is a mouthful, but made more simple, he argues this: The fact that people can do great and good things in God’s name shows us that God is real and present. While we make much or sin and its ravages, and while most of the news we consume is about chicanery and misdeeds, we honor God as we tell the other side of the news and recognize God’s light shining, even through the cracks of our own brokenness. God is breaking into the world in such moving and life-giving ways all of the time. The fact that we have to process saint making shows that we can be a little slow in taking notice. I have come to appreciate the last segment on NBC’s evening news broadcast because it is, generally positive. They call that last report “For what it’s worth.” I watch that news show precisely because that last word somehow helps redeem all of the mess that gets reported before it and give a little hope in humanity. In that broadcast and others like it, I remember the young boy whose classmate had cancer and lost his hair to chemotherapy, so he and his buddies shaved their heads so he would not feel so weird. I remember a woman named Osceola McCarty who took in washing for most of her life and managed to save $150,000 which she, in turn, gave to the University of Southern Mississippi to fund minority scholarships. I remember 94-year-old Shirley Batchelder from Franklin, Tennessee who saved up all of her bingo winnings and bought five seconds of network television air time to say three words: “Love one another.” And, she said it fast enough to be able to say it twice. “Love one another.” This past week I began listening to a new podcast about Dolly Parton. The series is called Dolly Parton’s America and I commend it to your listening. There I have come to know her genius, her generosity, and amazing capacity to forgive while succeeding in the cutthroat music industry. Did you know that her song, “I will always love you,” has been a number one hit in each of the past three decades? Did you also know that Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library provides free books, one a year, to children from birth to age five? To date she has distributed more than 126 million books. So, Dolly now goes on my list too and she centers herself on a deep faith to boot. Mark Twain once said: “I am a great and sublime fool. But then I am God's fool, and all His works must be contemplated with respect.” This is an apt reflection for this day. We may not be perfect, but we are being made perfect in the One who creates us, redeems, and makes us holy. God’s great art is creation and created humanity has such capacity for beauty and love and creativity. If we seek God, we might want to do some hagiography. When we doubt God, we should do more hagiography. In the end, we cannot prove that God exists, but we can tell stories, and that is more than enough to believe. Amen. Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
October 27, 2019 Proper 25, Year C The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas Anusha was one of my high school students many years ago when I was an Episcopal School Chaplain. She was a second generation Iranian-American as her family had fled a fundamentalist Islamic regime after the fall of the Shah of Iran. Her family was highly suspicious of all religion, having seen its darkest side swallow their country, and deal harshly with any moderates or dissenters. Nevertheless, they enrolled her in an Episcopal school because they liked our academic program and inclusive atmosphere. When she came to my first Theology class, she told me she was not religious, certainly did not need a Chaplain, but would do whatever she had to do to make a good grade. This was my favorite kind of student. Pretty soon, she was a leader in class discussion, a keen critic of theological inconsistencies, and a regular hanger outer after class. I remember Anusha being so forthright in her estimation of Christianity’s embrace of weakness, and so suspicious of any purpose or point in Jesus’ death. All the while, she began to trust me because I affirmed her doubt as honesty and did not try to convert her. And, over time, she shared some personal struggles with her family’s high expectations and her friendships that were so very high school. She would always say: “I don’t get you Rev, but I like you ok.” In the Spring semester of that year, Anusha signed up for a school exchange trip to South Africa, mostly, she said, to spend a month somewhere far away from her parents, and to get her community service credits. Our school partnered with a struggling school in an all black township outside of Johannesburg. It was an incredibly poor sprawling community, underdeveloped through decades of Apartheid. The school provided a path out dire poverty through education and job training where unemployment was over 75 percent. The way they raised money was in forming partnerships like ours, traveling to the US to perform their own traditional songs of faith, telling their personal and inspiring stories of struggle and hope. It is so Episcopal School for an Iranian American Atheist to go to make friends and forge connections with Christian South African blacks and see what happens. When Anusha returned, she bounded into my office, saying, “I get it Rev.” “Get what” I asked. And in an incredible outpouring of self, she told me that she had expected to go there and help these poor people become more like us, seeking success and affluence through achievement. Then she explained that over the course of her visit, she found he counterparts to be so joyful in loving one another and working together, that she left wanting to be more like them. During the visit, Anusha and her fellow students joined in the singing and storytelling, and in that shared rhythm, found kinship and communion. What she got was that we are all connected and that when everyone thrives, we all thrive. What she got was the power of love, pure and simple. When Jesus tells parables of God’s Kingdom, I do not think of large mega churches full of like-minded people that look like a segmented consumer focus group as much as anything. Rather, I think about my former students in South Africa singing new songs. I think of them working shoulder to shoulder, building homes with people far less advantaged but much more joyful. I think of places and opportunities where divisions among people dissipate and community is made. Today’s Gospel comes from the Kingdom parable section of Luke’s storytelling. It is a parable of obvious tension. There is the one Pharisee who comes to the Temple to pray. By all counts, he is a good man. He follows the rules, fasting twice a week and giving a tenth of his income. It is hard to deny his commitment. The Church needs folks like him. We might even seek to be like him ourselves. But the judgment of others… not so much. And then there is the other guy: the tax collector. He is a traitor to his people and a sell out to the Romans. He doesn’t even come inside the Temple; rather, he is on the fringe, looking down, and asking God to be merciful to his sorry self. Jesus uses this example to say that the tax collector is the more honest and humble in seeking God. We need to remember that it is religious zealots that are trying to bring Jesus down, and this is a cautionary tale of misplaced piety and self-assuredness. We do not fast or tithe to be better than others, we fast or tithe because it makes us more humble. This is not a conversion story. The tax collector does not get a new job and forsake his ways. The Pharisee does not have that “I get it” moment in seeing that he is in need of God’s mercy just like his fellow human, cowering in the shadows. This is just a portrait of two extremes to drive home to point that all of us fall short and all in need of grace: the unmerited yet abundant and ever present love of God. Like many of you, I followed the celebrations Representative Elijah Cummings’s life and the various tributes made this past week. As the son of sharecroppers and a tireless worker for dignity and equality under the law, he was the first ever African-American lawmaker to lie in state. While there were a few bad actors, as humans are wont to be, by and large, it was a time of affirmation for the best of our communal aspirations. Even bitter political rivals praised Cummings’s integrity and humility. The reason they came together is because in the end, they knew one another as fellow humans: friends, and colleagues. We need more mutual affection in this world. We need more humanity and less dismissive labeling. None are righteous, none are pure, and all are in need of mercy. If we seek good news in this fallen world, we saw a glimmer this week and celebrating a life well lived. This is not a political thing. This is a Jesus thing. As our Presiding Bishop says over and over: “The way of Jesus is the Way of Love. And the Way of Love can change the world.” Anusha is still out there, finding her way as a young adult now. We saw one another at a wedding not long ago and she still struggles with faith like the rest of us. Together, we laughed and told stories and remembered her flash of kingdom love some years back. Memories are good for finding our way forward. As we seek God and a deeper life with God, we do well to find the flashes of goodness breaking in all around us. Where divisions fall away, friendships deepen, and joy abounds, God’s kingdom is at hand. Thanks to Anusha, Elijah, and so many others, sometimes, we get it. Amen. Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
October 13, 2019 Proper 23, Year C The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas Self-help is big business these days. Google it and you will get four billion results in less than one second. Four billion. And that is just a listing of articles, books, seminars, programs, quotations, and tips. Searching the term “self-help industry” and you get another 536 million results in less than a second. Back in the days of the old west, there were salesmen who went from town to town peddling various oils and potions to help with everything from rheumatism to melancholy. The practical and pragmatic people in of old west learned quickly that these itinerant marketers were mostly frauds and hucksters. They called them snake oil salesmen, and pretty soon, everyone got wise to the medicine show scams. Apparently, the internet has opened up a whole new frontier and snake oil sales are booming. By industry calculations, self-help is a 13 billion-dollar self-help market that is completely unfiltered and unregulated, competing for our affection, attention, and purchasing power. Contrary to their claims, psychological data and qualitative research find more harm than good in so-called self-help as most of it trades on feelings of shame, inadequacy, and quick fixes. This analysis tells us something about ourselves, and I am not sure it is good news. This is not to say that being and becoming better, more whole-hearted people is an unworthy pursuit. This is to say that like the old song goes, we are “looking for love in all the wrong places.” Ten lepers meet Jesus on the road, asking him to ask for help. They beg Jesus to have mercy on them, but Jesus does much better showing mercy. Jesus heals them. Then, he tells them to go and show themselves to the priests. In their day, leprosy and other skin issues were thought to the highly contagious and many were, and only the priest could certify a person with skin diseases to be cured, and therefore, safe to live in the community again. (This is one job I am glad I do not have as priest!) And as the story goes, only one of the healed lepers came back to Jesus to give thanks. This story is an old chestnut with clear implications about how much God does for us, and how daft and inconsiderate we can be, even in the presence of enormous blessing. It has some ethnic tension in there too as the only one who came back was a Samaritan and the Samaritans were seen as uncouth and unclean, yet even a Samaritan, of all people, recognized God’s power in Jesus. All of my googling this week started when I googled the lesson of the ten lepers, searching for a commentary I once read. Instead of that, guess what I found? About half of the hits were all about self-help resources pointing to the benefits of having an #attitudeofgratitude: all one word. That is a thing. On the one hand, it is a positive thing. Even snake oil salesmen can appreciate what is true and good and valuable, but as with most things solely self oriented, it focuses only on the individually resulting happiness in gratitude, and leaves out the absolute value of living, playing, and belonging in community. Part of what we come to Church to re-remember is that we are not in this life alone and that real growth lifts up those we love and serve. When the writer and theologian C. S. Lewis was coming to faith in his later life, he remarked that “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one.’”[1] In knowing that we are not alone, and that are we are not made whole flying solo, we are open to God working in and through our lives. There were ten lepers in the gospel story because they shared the difficulty of disease and isolation together. Rather than wither away alone, they found community, and their best idea of seeking Jesus arose from their common need. That encounter saved their lives. The problem with #attitudeofgratitude movement is that it is thought apart from action. And though the slogan is catchy and rhyming, it is only a place to start. I can have the attitude of being a marathon runner; I can get the right shoes, the best exercise watch, some running magazines, and I can even enter a race. But the only way to run that marathon is to get out there and pound the pavement, practice, and develop the necessary endurance. And even if I fail at marathon running, I can get more fit and closer to the goal than sitting around with all the right gear, reading about it, and cultivating a runner’s attitude. Likewise if we need a doctor or a lawyer or an accountant, we need them not just to have an attitude of being expert, we need them to practice what they profess to know. As we begin our stewardship season, we have to begin at the heart of the thing. It is not hard for all of us to agree that giving to God’s work in the world is a good thing. We have this physical space, this beautiful setting, and the stuff we use in worship because most among us, and those who have gone before us, have been givers of time and ability and money. What we do together going forward depends on that giving to continue and grow. Through I do not know how much people give, or have given in the past, I know how many have done so, and it represents a vast majority us all. People of Emmanuel have shown more than an attitude of generosity, the people of Emmanuel have put that belief into practice through giving. When Janice and I sit down to make our financial pledge to Emmanuel for 2020, we will do so with prayers of gratitude and prayers for God to stretch our horizons. We will consider all of our resources and set a percentage of those resources as our stewardship commitment. Our goal in giving is ten percent. While we are not able to do that, we are practicing to make it so. We will donate to other things as we are able. But what we give for the work of our parish will come first as it is the ground and source of our life in community. While we have not been here all that long, you all are our people and the Church is our extended family. Above all, we trust that giving to Emmanuel is wise, worthy, and helping support its work is our part in loving God’s world in a tangible way. There is a great prayer in our prayer book that begins with this phrase: “Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves.”[2] That is a good one to keep in front of us as we face a world that promises all kinds of self-actualized foolishness. We come to Church to grow up together. We come to Church to touch the mystery that is God. We come to church to know and feel the abundant love God has for all of us, and all creation. The best, most appropriate, and most genuine prayer we can say is “Thank you.” The best, most appropriate, and most genuine thing we can do is practice our thanks. Amen. [1] C. S. Lewis The Four Loves, Harcourt, Brace, 1960. [2] Collect for the Third Sunday in Lent, page 218. Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
October 6, 2019 Proper 22, Year C The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas My bizarre sense of humor has deep familial roots. I will spare you the commentary on by gone generations, but my older brother and I share an odd fascination with the odd, the ironic, and the twisted wherever we find them in life. As we live 2,865 miles and three time zones apart, the ubiquity of texting has fueled our connective sharing with threads reading more like Monty Python skits than communications between family members. When people who know him meet me for the first time, they almost always comment that we have the same weird sense of humor. Christmas and Birthday gifting is always a pleasure in our brotherhood. Mostly, we find random and unique objects from our travels to give: sometimes Elvis themed kitsch, or t-shirts with bizarre college mascots (Like the fighting Okra of Delta State or the Banana Slugs of UC Santa Cruz) or shirts with pithy, if not questionable, slogans. Some of these gifts are not suitable for public display, so we wear them when vacationing together where nobody else knows us. By far, one of my favorites is a shirt he gave me early in my time as an ordained priest of the Church. It shows a church full of spotted dogs sitting in the pews and one dog in vestments at the pulpit saying: “… And He said unto them, bad dogs! No. No.” Underneath reads the caption: “Hellfire and Dalmatians.” I wore that one out. I love that shirt because it pokes fun at the all to human tendency to transfer its own short-lived mercy for others to our miscast image of God. It rolls us back to some bizarre childhood picture of God as angry man with a white beard hurling lightening bolts at hapless sinners. Or, it harkens back to some am radio preacher whose sole motivational theology is built around shame and blame. Only when we put dogs in the pews, do we see how silly it all looks and sounds. “Lord, Increase our faith!” The disciples and followers are seeking special righteousness once again in our Gospel telling. But with the analogy of the tiny mustard see that yields a prolific bush, Jesus sets the straight that they have what they need, they just need to accept, understand, and leverage faith’s power to grow itself. Faith is not a quantifiable store housed thing that puts one person’s amount ahead of another’s. That would make one human inherently better than another simply because of a commodity of faith. In this way, faith is a lived out thing that can and does start with an inkling, a hope, or a promise, growing from there under God’s steam of creation. To drive the point home, Jesus uses the most problematic and troubling example of a slave doing the slave’s duty first because that is what he or she is supposed to do. There is no translation or spin that can rescue this image for modern ears. Its use is more than troubling when considering the human tragedy of American slavery and all of its repercussions. We do well to try and hear it for what it intends to convey rather than explaining it away, or carrying the metaphor beyond the scope of its intent. Nevertheless, it is there, reminding us that we are not the ones with the power in the grand scheme of things. For that we look to an abundantly loving God working in and through us. All of this increased faith seeking is so problematic for an American narrative of lifting ourselves up through deliberate intent and ambitious goal setting. This reality for some is a myth for others because playing fields are not even and inequality of opportunity is more and more prevalent. This is not to say that good old hard work is not a virtue, but that we must be careful not to fall into the trap of the so-called prosperity gospel where God is always on my side, concerned with my goals, and materially favorable to the most righteous among us. If you are on any form of social media; Facebook, Instagram, or the like, you might come to believe that the world is loaded with righteous people (#blessed) who are happy, successful, beautiful, vacationing constantly. While we may try to keep our looks into other people’s lives balanced and realistic, we do compare ourselves to those drinking wine on a tropical island in perfect harmony with their perfectly dressed-all-in-white extended family posing for the family photo. Or we believe the skinny and ageless faces on the covers of those magazines at the checkout are real and unretouched. It is not a giant leap to translate those images to be reflective of some sort of blessedness or wholeness that we seek and desire. But keeping it real and in perspective, nobody puts out pictures of their D- paper, their kid getting cut from the team, or their last day in a job where they have been downsized and let go. I continue to fantasize about starting a news feed called “Realgram” where you are only allowed to show the foibles and fumbles of life: unflattering pictures, burnt casseroles, and the grandkid hitting into a double play. While “Realgram” would crush the illusion of looking ‘just fabulous’ that we seek to cast, it might help us feel a little better and, certainly, more real. What the disciples seek from Jesus today is some secret, some leg up, some way to get ahead. And when we are honest, we would love some of that secret sauce too. If only God would sanctify what I want for me, this would show that my faith is increased. This is a dangerous calculus. It sets us up to believe that if we do not get what we want, God must not be listening, or worse, God doesn’t care. This was never the promise. The Gospel story hinges on the absolute human rejection of love in person, and even at that, God is all about coming back towards us. Nothing depends on us completely. Everything depends what happens next. That is redemption. As mother Thesea once said: “We can do no great things - only small things with great love.” The greatness is God’s. We have to be careful in life not to buy the lie that our story is tragic. Life is hard, then we die. Sin ruins, and death plays for keeps. This is the setting where fear, shame, and blame thrive and consume hope. Instead, our story is the Gospel story. It is all comedy, because in spite of the worst we do to God, God shows up again. God comes back to us gain and again not with vengeance, but with love. We do not need more faith. We need a great and holy sense of the humor and joy in all as God intends. Thus, I propose a new and more appropriate t-shirt than the one my brother gave me. It will read: “And he said unto them Good dogs. Come on home, and I will feed you forever.” Amen Woke to Jesus
Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia September 29, 2019 Proper 21, Year C The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas Are you woke? The call for wokeness traces back to the late sixties and was coined as slang for getting conscious, getting hip, getting aware in that day of the radical racial inequality. The term woke then went to sleep, but its use has made a strong resurgence in the last few years as so many other inequalities have dragged it back into popular parlance. There are so many issues to we are asked to be woke to now. Of course, we need to be woke to classism, racism, and sexism. We need to be woke to climate change, white privilege, and the socioeconomic roots of opportunity and achievement gaps. We need to be woke to cultural hegemony, exclusive language of all kinds, and gender fluidity. Wokeness has also given rise to slogan driven declarations: Black Lives Matter, Blue Lives Matter, Me Too, Pride, and many things LGBTQ+. If our heads spin around all we must learn and appreciate to be so woken, now, some who employed the term originally, calling attention to race issues now resent its more widespread application as a watering down of its singular urgency. So then, we need to be woke about not over appropriating idea of being woke. Warning: we could get so wrapped around human peculiarity and particularity as mediated in such dizzying lingo that we reduce important conversations to dismissive labeling or resent whoever the other is because we feel put down as ignorant or unaware. All of the issues and ideas driving conversations of justice and equality deserve a deeper dive into understanding and appreciation. But when we become overwhelmed and threatened, we tend to shut down, shut out, or just shut up. And yet, as a matter of faith, and a cornerstone of our baptismal covenant, we are to seek and serve Christ in all persons loving our neighbor as ourselves. There is no asterisk there. We are not excused even when doing so is hard, complex, or controversial. We can disagree without being disagreeable. But we cannot look away from the bedrock that is the Gospel of Jesus. Today, we encounter one of those lessons that sends preachers scrambling. In one of many of Luke’s commentaries on the impossibility of serving God and wealth, we hear the story of the rich man in hell and the poor man in heaven. The set-up is stark. The rich man spent his life in purple Gucci and gourmet feasting, while the poor man sat on the floor with dogs licking his sores. When they die, the poor man is carried into healing heaven, and the flames of torment now lick the rich man. As the story goes, he asks father Abraham who is the poor man’s companion in heaven, to have the man bring him a cool sip of water. When Abraham tells him the chasm between them it too great, the man tells him to send the poor man to his five living brothers (to his people) to warn them of their potential fate. And with the foreshadowing of Jesus returning from the grave to bring life for all, Luke’s not so subtle joke and jab at those who do not get it is intense. It is no wonder lectionary preachers all over the Church are trying to put a softer filter on this disturbing picture. If we can speak in more metaphorical terms, perhaps we can get through this stark challenge, and keep our Jesus gentle, meek and mild. Sorry. This image is a two by four hitting us - especially us - between the eyes. While we are a small denomination of Christians, we are among the most affluent in the world. While we are shrinking like all mainline denominations, statistics tell us we are among the most educated, most resourced, and most physically secure of all segments of the world population. This is not to say that most of us are super rich, Gucci laden, senseless consumerists. But we do enjoy safe drinking water, access to decent nutrition and healthcare, and the protection relative peace and opportunity. On the scale of economic reality we are much closer to the rich man than poor Lazarus. If we take Jesus seriously, we have to live with awareness of our position, steward our abundance, and respond to the deep chasm between having much and having little to nothing. In saying all of this, the preacher could be accused of going to meddling: of spouting socialism, communism, or some other form of wealth redistribution. But that is not the point, nor is poverty and wealth gap a simple calculus with an obvious solution that some externally imposed force, tax, or shame can fix. The problem for the rich man is not that he has all of that wealth; it is that he never seizes the chance to leverage his resources to help even the guy sitting under his table. And even when he is fanning the flames of tormented selfishness, his response is to seek relief for himself, and to order Abraham and Lazarus to do his bidding. “Me” and “mine” is the vocabulary that deepens the chasm. “We” and “our” is the language that moves us toward healing and help. Jesus goes on record over and over, reminding us that we are in this life together with all creation. This last week, Netflix released a three-episode documentary about Bill Gates, the world second richest man. While amassing his fortune in the tech boom, Gates was relentless, tireless, and visionary. His business became so dominant that others in that sector dubbed his company, Microsoft, as the evil empire, gobbling up any and all competitors. He was sued for anti-trust violations and shamed in the courts and the media. He could have gone sour. He could have leveraged his immense wealth to exact revenge, buy into other markets, or just floated around on an enormous yacht. But something happened. It is not clear what exactly, but with business stable and prospects abundant, Gates turned over daily operations of the business to someone else. Then, he and entered into another absolutely equal partnership. He and his wife now devote almost all of their time and energy to this mission: “Guided by the belief that every life has equal value, the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation works to help all people lead healthy, productive lives. His billions are working to eradicate polio, develop clean energy running on nuclear waste, and solving the massive problem of converting human waste into clean water and harmless byproducts. Given the events of just this past week, with national and world leaders engaging in the blood sport of division, dissention, and personal and political vendettas, it is good to shift the narrative to something better, the work of those who value every human life. We do not know Bill Gates’s heart or faith, but we can see his effort and energy doing something generative and life giving. We may not have his scale of wealth at our disposal, but we do have resources. We may not have Gates like organizational machines, but we do have minds to think, hands to serve, hearts to love, and our Church’s work to get behind. So again, are you woke? Given all of the divisions that need to be helped and healed, I am not sure it possible to be so thoroughly woke. Life is complicated, and an issue driven existence simply feeds anger, blame, frustration. Folks, what we proclaim here is that we need only one kind of awakening: a grounded identity in Jesus. Looking to God’s eternally creative presence, to Christ’s self-giving love, and the Spirit’s unbounded power guide us, we can tune into the ONE wokeness that covers all of the bases, fulfills our calling, and leads to all peace. Get woke to Jesus, and all else good and right and just will follow. |
AuthorThe Rev. John Thomas is Rector of Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood Archives
December 2019
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