Sermon Blog
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Sermon Blog
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Do not be afraid?
Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia Last Epiphany, Year A February 23, 2020 The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas “Don’t be afraid, this won’t hurt a bit.” How many of you heard that as a child just before you got a shot or had blood drawn? I know I did. Nobody was fooling anyone, because the received tradition of transferred wisdom from older siblings and good friends had already warned us that the “this won’t hurt a bit” business was all a ruse – a code word – for ‘this is going to hurt but I don’t want to tell you,’ or ‘I believe you will believe me the medical person as an authority figure and live in blissful denial of impending agony or blood-letting just because I say it won’t hurt a bit.’ Maybe if they call it booster, they thought, kids would not know what was coming. But kids are not so easily fooled. Back in the day, I am not sure that medical folks gave much thought the inner workings of childhood anxiety, anticipation, or their basic intelligence. All I know is that, thankfully, from my time to the time our children went to the doctor for immunizations and check-ups, some progress has been made. As you may know, I live with one who is on the front lines of pediatric medicine. She gives lots of shots and draws lots of blood in her line of work. And because she has been known to bring the flu shot home for me, I know her to be a pretty good shot giver. Through more thoughtful training and intuitive compassion, she goes about the whole process carefully. First, they focus on telling them about all they are doing to help them be well. They only focus on what they are doing at the moment because anticipated pain can be much worse than that momentary stick that is over one it is felt. And if the child asks, they tell the truth, but go about it quickly and carefully. It helps that there is an ice cream store next to the office and the promise of reward, with the parent’s permission, is really helpful. One of the realities of modern life is that we receive and process more information than ever. Technology has given us many gifts, but its shadow side is that we are on the receiving end of all that might go wrong, thus, our consciousness is flooded with threat assessments: to our health, our safety, our way of life, and our future. There is nothing wrong with being informed and making good decisions for our health and safety, but for sure, anxiety, depression, and worry is as bad of an epidemic as all of those external threats. Thankfully, we are learning more and more about how connected our emotional and mental health are to our overall well-being. The stigmas surrounding such disorders and diseases are fading as we appreciate and realize that most of us are directly or indirectly affected. The anxiety and depression spiral has been part of my own landscape and I am grateful for the help I get, and have gotten, to name it and work with it as but one of life’s challenges. “Do not be afraid, Jesus tells his disciples.” He does this more than once, in fact, he says it 33 times in his life and ministry. It always gets my attention, because there has to be more, and there always is because he is always responding to something that is deeply troubling or difficult. If we take the one line, it rings hollow as something akin to ‘this won’t hurt a bit.’ But Jesus never says it as a stand-alone panacea or a shallow advice to distract or deny pain or struggle. Today’s delivery of “do not be afraid” happens as he has withdrawn to a mountain, retreating from the grueling tour of teaching, feeding, healing, helping, and then, being threatened with bodily harm from those who he troubles and upsets. Even Jesus needs a break, so he leads them to a place apart – a mountaintop. Mountaintops are important places all over the Bible. They tend to symbolize a time and place of closeness to God. Moses got the ten commandments on Mount Sinai, the prophet, Elijah is taken up to God in a whirlwind. In this encounter, God is not some far off mist or thunderous wind. Here, God’s light and image is infused in Jesus himself. Moses and Elijah are there too. And the words that come from heaven “This is my Son, the beloved, listen to him” are the same words that came at Jesus’ baptism. What they see is that Jesus is not just as god as the biggies, Moses and Elijah, he is One with God. The disciples fall on their faces in fear, because in all of holy history, it is not good to see God directly. “Get up and do not be afraid,” Jesus tells them. In effect he says you can see God because you see me. And with that, the whole cosmology, the whole picture, the whole image of God changes. God is Jesus for us to know, to love, and to follow. This whole business is called transfiguration: a re-figuring, a re-calculation of how we see, know, and understand God. As they return to their work in the world, Jesus tells them not to tell people about all of this until he is raised from the dead. Why? Because Jesus is in this for the long game. He knows that in the short term, it will look like he is defeated and that God’s love will be overcome through the machinations of human fear, hate, and recrimination. And he knows that there will be pain and anxiety and confusion for those he loves. When Jesus says do not be afraid, he never stops there. And he never says this will not hurt. As human, he knows how it feels. As God, he knows that pain is only temporary and joy is never far from the horizon. To be honest, we have lots of fears. We have lots of worries. We are not in control. The reason we look to Jesus and the reason we come to Church is to remind ourselves and to remember that we are always in God’s presence, to remember that we are always part of God’s wider picture of life, and that even when pain happens, it is not going to last forever. As we go on our way, I close with the words of a Mary Oliver poem. Don’t Hesitate If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb. Amen. Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia Epiphany VI, Year A February 16, 2020 The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas Can you believe they did it? I mean, they have no regard for history. They went about it unilaterally too. They just abused their power and authority and did it. Never mind that it has international ramifications. The rest of the world looks to us for guidance and stability – for standards of fairness and due process. They know that fully half of us cannot abide by their actions, but they went and did it anyway. Can you believe they did it? They did. In 1973, Major League baseball allowed for the American league to apply the designated hitter rule whereby one player from the field can substitute a batter, making it possible for pitchers, in most cases, never to have to step up to the plate and bat. Can you believe they did it? And then, they did it again, with no respect for history. This time, they were more clever and more devious, trotting out a bait and switch kind of trial period. But there were international ramifications. Others look to us for good order and continuity. When they did it, they risked scrutiny and scorn and deep division. Never mind all of that. In 1979, they changed the Book of Common Prayer in the Episcopal Church. Can you believe they did it? Of course, I am exaggerating outrage to make a point and sometimes a story is the best vehicle to soften the blow of truth when it lands in the room. And I could go on to minimize the upset and acknowledge that baseball has continued in all of its peculiar glory with a compromise of the designated hitter rule. I could also point out that the old chestnut of the 1928 Book of Common Prayer in the Episcopal Church was preceded but the first in 1552, with substantial revisions in 1559, 1604, and 1662. And, somehow, the Church has managed worship, grow, and weather all kinds of changes. My father likes to say that nostalgia is not what it used to be. Nevertheless, the hard truth has landed on us in the exclamation point of our lessons for the day. To deny their heft or skirt their direct application to our common circumstances would be safer, but doing so would miss the point entirely. We continue to have a serious problem with them. In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus goes straight at them: murderers, arguers, adulterers, divorced people, false witnesses, and those who swear profanely. St. Paul goes after them: the jealous, the judgmental, the quarrelsome and those who are smug and self-satisfied. Even Moses goes after them: the hard of heart, the hard of hearing, and those who serve the myriad of false gods the world sets up as superior to the One God. Clearly, they are lost. Clearly, they do not know what is right and what is wrong. Clearly, they are headed for deep trouble – unless they amend their ways. For those who are paying attention, it is painfully clear that our nation, our culture, and our whole system of public discourse is fragile and fractured. They have substituted labels, soundbites, and tweets for face to face collaboration. They have given into division, fear, and hatred as tools for building support and rallying their followers. They have sidestepped all of the traditional and normative habits of respect and decorum, sinking to defiance and derision to signify their power and influence. The problem of today’s texts is that we have to read them whole. We have to listen to what else is said and what else is implied in them. For sure, murders are wrong, but Jesus reminds us that we have murderous rage at times. For sure adultery is sinful, but we have unruly wills and affections, even if they do not come to action. For sure, we can bend the truth toward our own liking. We love to pass judgment to make ourselves feel better than others, and let’s be honest about the false gods of beauty, wealth, power, and status that we chase like my dogs chase squirrels. We have a problem alright. And it is this: they are us. They. are. us. Somewhere in our souls, we have allowed our vision, our understanding, and our feelings to become bifurcated. It is not new, but it has become more strident as problems to be solved, and issues to be debated are more and more complicated and nuanced. So, it goes this way. We identify with a tribe. We champion loyalty to the tribe. We dismiss all those who are not in the tribe. We allow a double standard that makes it ok for the leaders and the voices of the tribe to say and do things we would find unconscionable if those outside the tribe do or say such things. And then, we insulate ourselves from the others, seeking comfort in echo chambers of information and like-minded indignation. If we get to thinking yeah, they do that. If we are thinking yeah, that is their problem, we are, suddenly, part of the problem. There is a solution. It is really difficult. But it is not out of reach. Moses puts it this way: “Choose life.” St. Paul puts it this way: “you are God’s field, God’s building” in this world. Jesus makes it personal: “first, be reconciled with your brother or sister and come to terms with him or her before you get to the place of judgement.” The way of Christ is the way of love, and love overcomes division every day of the week. We do not have to play by tribal rules. In Christ, there is only one family and nation: that of God. They are us and we are them. As David Zahl says in his book, Seculosity: "We always lose when we keep score. No one wins when we play the blame game. Whatever cliché you prefer, the truth is plain: self-justification and love don’t mix, not over the long haul. Love, at its core, transcends emotional bartering. It cannot flourish when one or both parties feel like they’re always playing catch-up or in danger of getting fired." When I consider the value and witness of Jesus people in this time and place in our world, I believe with all of my heart that we are the people with the language of love, the heart for reconciliation, and the umbrella of grace to counter the current tide of anger and division. It may be true that some will continue shouting, but they will lose their voice if we do not respond. It may be that others continue in tribal warfare, but we can opt out of that worldview and render it inert. We can come side by side and should to shoulder in confessing that we are not perfect or purely righteous, but we have a clue as to how to love even when it is hard. What the Church offers the world is this: our witness to the Truth. The Truth is love in action, and in that action, nobody loses. Wouldn’t it be great if the world would look upon the Church and say: Can you believe they did it? They showed us the way of love, and it saved us. All of us. Can you believe it? Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Epiphany V, Year A February 9, 2020 The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas Upon deep reflection and with the benefit of hindsight, it was not a really good decision for me. At the ripe old age of eight, I wanted to head way up North, to the mountains of North Georgia, and spend a whole month at Y camp. My older brother had gone and reported it to be alright; better than staying home, cutting the grass, weeding the tomato garden, and sweating out the summer heat in a home where my father did not really believe in air conditioning. Nobody made me go. I asked to go, and my best friend, Cole Barks, wanted to go with me. So, with all of my belongings neatly packed in an old army trunk, and my name sewn into the back of every stitch of clothing, I joined the pioneers of Cabin 2 for great summer camp adventure. Soon after arrival, I learned that the brochure was not completely accurate. Yes, we did sleep in cabins with mountain breezes wafting about, but really, they were just screen porches stacked floor to ceiling with triple decker bunk beds. 18 little smelly boys were stacked into Cabin 2 like cord wood. Yes, we did have campfires and sing songs. Some were about Jesus. Most were about the size of the mosquitoes and other camp miseries. Yes, we did eat family style in a big dining hall, but we had to try and eat everything, including cream chipped beef on toast and piles of mealy and tasteless black-eyed peas. As it turned out, Y Camp was not one of those tony resort kind of camps. It was more like boot camp as we woke to a clanging bell at sunrise, reported for calisthenics, cleaned the cabins for inspection, and engaged in athletic competition all afternoon with other cabins for the privilege of having a scoop of ice cream for desert. Losers got nothing. What was purported to be a community rooted in the Lord of Life was more like Lord of the Flies, at least for me. We were there to get tough and become men. What I became was more spiritual. I prayed often and earnestly – for deliverance. In the family archives, my letters home have been preserved. There is one in particular that stands out, not doubt because of my tidy eight-year-old handwriting and my eloquent prose. It reads: Dear Mom and Dad. They made me write this postcard before they would let me eat supper. Love, John. P.S. I hate camp. I had a few good times and made some friends at Y camp, but mostly, I remember the scourge of homesickness. Perhaps I learned some resilience, and clearly, I did not starve to death. But when I did come home, I never ever not once ever complained about cutting the grass, weeding the tomato garden, or the anything about the sweltering heat. I learned that home was good and boredom could be cured more easily than homesickness. Fast forward five years and I was becoming a dorky teenager. I had joined the boy scouts and gone on some campouts, and I was part of the church youth group, where the fellowship was loving and helpful in navigating the vicissitudes my adolescent quest for identity. I did go to camp again in North Georgia, only this one was kinder, gentler, and coed. The camp I attended was my diocesan church camp, Camp Mikell. It changed my life. It was grounded in a life of Grace where the worth and dignity of each child was celebrated. We called the place one step closer to heaven. Even the food was good. I went on to work there as a volunteer counselor for several sessions. I spent two summers working at another diocesan camp in West Virginia. The summer before I went to seminary, I worked for Shrine Mont here in Virginia and found other members of the same loving family. To this day, many of my best and most enduring friendships trace back to camp friends. Upon deep reflection and the benefit of hindsight, it was a really good decision for me to give camp another chance. We celebrate Shrine Mont Sunday here and all over our diocese today to support and encourage its critical ministry. While some see it as a retreat to a place apart, I believe time spent there is a journey into being exactly who we are, and a space to delight being together. With a mix of praising God, playing for the joy of it, and reveling in creation, camp gives balance to being, and helps us learn to see God at work in the world. As soon as Jesus had gathered his disciples, mostly fishermen and other earthy folks, he sat them down and told them how God sees them. “You are salt,” he says, given for the world to bring life flavor and zest. “You are light,” he says, to reflect the light of God even in the dark places. Jesus’ followers are not to be sniveling and groveling sycophants, they are empowered immediately to be bold and belonging in God outright. Notice that Jesus does not say “You could be salt if you were just a little better person.” Or, “you might be light if you get your act together be more missional.” The lesson is a declaration. The disciples are already beloved, chosen, and sent, just because they are children of God. Imagine, knowing all of our preexisting conditions in being human, God choses to love us and calls us to be our deepest and most authentic selves for the sake of the world. What Jesus says is that God uses you you and will use you as you are, for the sake of the kingdom You are more than enough. In a world that holds up all kinds of false idols of beauty, status, and power, it is essential that we claim and own Jesus’ counter cultural voice, seeing every human as beloved, worthy, and precious. And because there persist voices of shame, fear, blame, and because messages of our inadequacy and not enoughness are so prevalent, we need spaces and places where we and our children can be and become where all of those worldly lies are pushed to the side in favor of grace. If we are serious about formation in faith, we need to provide home base, a touchstone for what is really real, and promote community that walks the way of love intentionally. I love that the Church holds up camp as it does. It is one of the most authentic things we do and for sure, it has lasting and powerful impact in shaping lives. It is salt. It is light. It is God’s grace packed into powerful experience. And in a twist of really great timing, today, we do one of the other things we do that have lasting impact. Today, we baptize Florence Margaret Oborne, holding her up as beloved. Claiming the Church as her home base as well as ours, and we remind ourselves of the basics of seeking and serving Christ in all persons, loving her, loving ourselves, and loving one another, just as God does. So, to get us ready, we pray the Shrine Mont camp prayer. They shout it in call and response. I invite us to give it a go. God loves the world! (God loves the world!) God loves us! (God loves us!) God loves you! (God loves you!) I love you! (I love you!) God loves me! (God loves me!) I love me! (I love me!) Thanks be to God! (Thanks be to God!) Amen! (Amen!) Aaaamen! (Aaaamen!) Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
The Presentation of Jesus in the Temple February 2, 2020 The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas Last Sunday was big. It was big because Steve Bragaw brought us the Word from the pulpit, big because it was the annual meeting and we were able to report some pretty good news, and big because we had two hundred pieces of chicken they were either devoured or sent home in baggies to make for the second best meal of the week. Last Sunday was really big because we welcomed John Savage home again from an extended set of surgeries and recovery that kept him from his beloved role as verger. In talking about his recovery, John said that he loved being at Emmanuel Church so much, that things did not seem really right until he could get back here – his spiritual home. I treasured John’s love for us and for the Church. I treasured his advice and encouragement. When we faced a challenge or need, John always said: “Just ask for help. We are here for you.” With all the talk of shrinking mainline congregations and the erosion of Sunday morning as a sacrosanct time slot in busy lives, it is important to remember the particularity of the gift we have in being here – in belonging here. All week, Emmanuel did the work of the Church at its best in palpable prayers, and an outpouring of love and support. People checked on Doris, on one another, and, even, on me as we began to internalize the rough news of John’s passing. “Just ask for help. We are here for you.” I could not get that out of my mind, even, as the long tentacles of connection reached back from former clergy, diocesan leaders, and other friends from far away. I am not sure how people handle the big challenges in life without church. It is not that church provides all the answers, just that we have the capacity and inclination to sit with each other in challenging times. As my first clinical chaplaincy mentor said “don’t just do something, stand there.” Sometimes we are bound together through scriptures, and in the sacraments, and other times we do it with coffee and casseroles. An old Lutheran pastor friend calls Campbell’s cream of chicken soup the pastoral glue of Church. When things get tough, belonging to this rag tag assembly of good folks is pure healing balm. Perhaps it is not coincidental that the gospel for today is about Jesus’ family showing up at the Temple: their Church. It was the Jewish custom that 40 days after birth, the mother and child turned up for ritual prayers: the presentation of the child, and the mother’s rejoining of the faith community, having been at home with her newborn for that set period. For all kinds of reasons, that made sense for them. Mother and child were stronger and more healthy, ready to show off the child to the wider community, and give thanks for a safe delivery. Sometimes we forget that Jesus belonged to his own version of church – the local synagogue. There, he engaged in rites of passage, celebrated holy days, and went to Torah school to learn of God and God’s story with his people. That was his first community. He did not conjure images of a loving, Creator God out of nothing. He came from a lived tradition of faith. And this passage is the pretty much all we hear of Jesus until he is fully adult, about 30 years old. Somewhere in there he came to know his saving role in being one with God. What we do know is that right out of the chute, he was recognized as one set apart: fully human and fully God all in one. When Jesus was presented, old man Simeon was hanging around the Temple with a particular eye toward the full union of God and humanity. The long-held belief that the Messiah, the Savior God, would come was lodged deep in Simeon’s heart. Likewise, 84 year-old Anna was there too, perhaps she was the original church lady, never leaving the temple, but praying constantly for God to come to her people. We do not know what they saw or what God revealed in the child, but they were convinced immediately that this Jesus was the One for whom they waited, and change was coming for sure. Luke tells this story because he knows that it is prudent to listen to the wise and faith-filled elders, because they have enough history and closeness to God to call things like they see them. Mary and Joseph knew Jesus’ identity in God. The Wise men saw it too. Now, Simeon and Anna join the list. Their realization is enough mystical and spontaneous and intuitive to have the ring of a holy happening. We come to Church to discover and rediscover that the ancients saw and knew: that God is near and never stagnant. God’s love affair with the world is always unfolding. The life, death, and resurrection of Jesus was not a one and done event in a faraway place. The dynamic continues as Jesus life infuses ours. The tragedy of his death is played out as we subvert anything that is good and of God, and the resurrection, that is an ongoing thing too, as God redeems what is broken, and gives us loving companionship and help in finding our home base. Sometimes it is not easy to see God at work, or make sense of what befalls us in this life. Other times we receive a holy happening, an “aha,” an epiphany, where loose ends connect and, like Simeon and Anna, we get it, even if only in a brief moment of clarity. At the moment Simeon saw Jesus for the first time, Luke records his song. Lord, you now have set your servant free to go in peace as you have promised; For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior, whom you have prepared for all the world to see: A Light to enlighten the nations, and the glory of your people Israel. It is a song that has been set to music. It is a prayer we use in Evening Prayer and Compline services. It is sourced in deep faith and hopeful revelation, comforting to us who can weary of the chances and changes of this life, helping us see over the horizon of now and into the eternal life of God. You all knew John. You know, without a doubt, that he loves us and loves the Church, even now. Can’t you see him joining the communion of saints, singing Simeon’s song as he goes to the light, only looking back to remind us: “Just ask for help. We are here for you.” Amen. |
AuthorThe Rev. John Thomas is Rector of Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood Archives
October 2024
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