​Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Proper 21, Year B
September 26, 2021
 
One of the great things about the Episcopal Church is that we are bound together under a big tent.  What I mean by that is that while center tends to hold, there are spaces and places for varied expressions of worship, divergent points of view, and worship spaces ranging from large gothic cathedrals to store front start-ups.
 
For more doctrinal folks, asking what Episcopalians believe meets with a puzzling answer: it depends of the Episcopalian.  That said, we are best defined in looking at our Book of Common Prayer.  There is a lot there: the three-legged stool of faith supported by scripture, tradition, and reason.
 
On September 12, one of our particular church characters, The Rt. Rev. Jack Spong, retired Bishop of Newark, well-known author, and provocateur died peacefully and quietly.  To put it mildly, Spong was a controversial character who ministered under our tent.  He pushed for the ordination of women in the 1970s.  He pushed for full inclusion and ordination for LGBTQ folks in the 1980’s.  In 1992, he wrote a book, Rescuing the Bible from Fundamentalism.   Biblical literalists went crazy and his perspective riled up the so-called moral majority that was gaining cultural and political influence.  His book was bestseller, and gained him even more notice, which he enjoyed for sure.  He was so polarizing that he received death threats – Christian death threats – someone needs to explain that oxymoron.
 
When I was in seminary, Bishop Spong came as a visiting lecturer.  Some of my fellow students refused to attend.  If you wanted to start a heated theological argument in those days, all you had to do was say “Spong.”  In person, Spong was not the fiery heretic many imagined him to be.  He was generous, welcoming, and curious.  He was human and had an ego for sure.  Yet, he applied great scholarly investigation, imagination, and creativity in exploring Biblical texts, which was, sometimes, quite a stretch for many.
 
Spong served in this diocese as rector of St. Paul’s, Richmond, from 1969-1976. St. Paul’s is a downtown parish right next to our state capitol.  When folks used to refer to Virginia Episcopalians as God’s frozen chosen, St. Paul’s would have been the headquarters.  Spong shook it up.  He started a feeding ministry for the poor and homeless.  He challenged Christian complacency.  Some fled to other parishes.  Richmond rumbled.  One might think this was a disaster.  It was not.  Spong helped folks to disagree, without being disagreeable.  Those who took the time to get to know Spong, loved him, even if they muttered “bless his heart”under their breath now and again.
 
When I read of Jesus saying “Salt is good,” and, the same day, I read Spong’s obituary in the New York Times, a light went on.  Spong was salt.  For sure he was salty.  We might not want a church full of Spongs, but if we are to have salt in ourselves, as Jesus says, we need those who push and prod us even if that is uncomfortable.  As the old adage goes: Jesus came to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.
 
Sometimes the lessons for Sunday are like an arrow moving toward a target.  Other times, like today, the lessons are more like a big pot of stew.  If we dip into the pot, we can draw up nuggets of nourishment, but there is a lot in there and we cannot consume it all at once. 
 
We started with the story of Esther.  What was read is chopped up (Veggies?) and if you do not know the story, it would be helpful to have a program with the cast of characters.  The legend is the stuff of pageants and feasting in the Jewish faith.  Basically, it is a salvation story.  The Israelites in exile faced a genocidal plot, and Esther saved the day currying favor with the king.  The bottom line is that God works through people to deliver us from destruction.
 
The lesson from James is a letter to a fragmented and contentious church.  He urges them claim their faith in helping the suffering, praying, confessing their sin, and forgiving others. (Broth?)  He urges them to do this to bring those wandering away from the faith back under the tent of the church.  Again, the bottom line is that God uses people, even sinners like us, to bring people together.
 
By the time we get to Mark’s gospel, the stew gets even more meaty (Protein?).  The disciples are upset that someone is out there casting out demons in Jesus’ name, and they tried to stop him because he was not following them.  Not following them?  So now they make healing and helping about some sort of credentialing, like they own the franchise on ministry?  Jesus sets them straight, setting them and all of us free from any illusion that we are not smart enough, good enough, righteous enough, or worthy enough to be the hands and feet of God’s love for the world.
 
The scriptural stew on the table today is a feast of welcome, nourishment, encouragement, and clarity. Maybe that stew needs a little salt or spice from us.  Maybe we need to hear how God has used others and will use us, not just to be nice to people like us, but to be good to people we may not know or understand. 
 
In his analysis of this stew of Holy Scripture, Bishop Spong said many provocative things.
He questioned that which many refuse to question.  He pushed the church toward authenticity and honesty – even in disagreement.  But then, he wrote:
 
“Even understanding these things, I am still attracted to this Jesus and I will pursue him both relentlessly and passionately. I will not surrender the truth I believe I find in him either to those who seek to defend the indefensible, or to those who want to be freed finally from ideas that no longer make sense… I prepare for death by living.”
 
If we are hungry for truth, the church is a good place to be.  We are here to provide food for the journey, but we gather as church to point beyond church.  We are about Jesus and the seeking, searching, and saving work of giving up our well-worn, self-centered ways and live for God.  The psalmist says: “Taste and see that God is good.”  Indeed, but sometimes, we need to add salt.  Amen.

​Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Proper 20, Year B
September 19, 2021
 
I follow a feed called the Good News Movement on Instagram.  It is not overtly religious, rather, it features images and stories of ordinary people, going about their lives, and doing extraordinarily good things.  It a breath of fresh air from social media.  As September is National Suicide Prevention Month, I received a picture in my Good News feed that grabbed my heart and soul.
 
The photo shows a man, standing outside a bridge railing over a highway.  He is facing inward balanced on a precarious ledge.  According to the story, he intended to end his life, but when he climbed over the railing, several passersby jumped into action, reaching out and put their arms around him.  One has his chest, one his waist, and another has his legs, all of them in a hugging embrace.  There is even a small length of rope securing him to the railing.  These people were complete strangers to one another, but all of them huddled together, staying with the man, and holding him close, comforting him in his despair.  They told him he was loved.  They told they would stay with him as long as he needed them.  Wherever they needed to be on that bustling work day had to wait.  All of them remained there for two hours, holding a stranger, saving a life.  This is greatness.
 
Speaking of greatness, on the way back to Capernaum, winding up a long road trip with Jesus, the disciples had been debating amongst themselves.  They were talking about what roles they would get in the new regime, after Jesus takes out the Romans and becomes King of Israel.  James wanted to be Chief of Staff, John, Secretary of State, and Peter, Director of Communications.  Ok, that may be a stretch, but we get the idea.  They are jockeying for position, extolling their own merits, seeking fame and fortune.
 
Even though Jesus repeats himself, telling them that his being the Messiah is not what they envision, they are hard headed, and a little dense.  They are not about this business of suffering even unto death, they are into rising: rising up and taking charge.   That is what they believe makes for greatness.
 
It is hard to blame the disciples.  What they see is the powerful are the rich and well-armed Romans.  The powerful are the elite Scribes and Pharisees luxuriating in fine robes, well financed through the temple taxes and kickbacks from the sale of sacrificial animals.   In their experience, blessings of health, wealth and security come from power and power is what makes greatness.
 
It may be easy for us to think of the disciples as dupes.  Mark sets them up for criticism in just about every encounter with Jesus.  And yet, what kind of Messiah do we expect Jesus to be?  Do we bargain convenient good works for blessings?  Are we more than a little impressed with wealth and celebrity?  Might we believe the following “our” messiah makes us better than all those godless and unrepentant secular folks?  We might think that if we were in charge, we would fix them for sure.
 
There is a great song all about this by the Who, Won’t get fooled again that puts it this way:
 
We'll be fighting in the streets
With our children at our feet
And the morals that they worship will be gone
And the men who spurred us on
Sit in judgement of all wrong
They decide and the shotgun sings the song…
And I get on my knees and pray, we won’t get fooled again
 
And the last line is this:  Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.  Yeah.
 
At the dinner table back in Capernaum, Jesus asks the disciples what they had been arguing about on the road.  They do not answer as they do not want another fiery lecture on dying to self in order to rise in glory.  Being Jesus, we must believe that he knows all about their conversations and their will to power, and ours too.
 
Jesus, then, takes a child onto his lap.  And as the text says, he put it among them.  It?  This tells us about what they thought of children.  Likely this child was running around with lots of other children, scruffy, snotty, and raggedy.  Child mortality was staggering.  They were the poorest of the poor, living precariously, only of value when they grew up to work and contribute.  But not for Jesus, he wraps his arms around this squirmy little girl, holding her, saying, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”  In that moment, Jesus shows that he will break the cycle.  His power is not material, it comes through sacrifice.  His way is not about domination, his blessings come from love, not stuff.
 
I would love to say that the disciples got it once and for all.  I would love to say that all humanity immediately followed Jesus’ way.  I would love to say the human will to power flipped over to become the will to service and self-emptying love.   The disciples did not get it, at least not until Easter happened to them.  We don’t get it until, in moments of clarity and grace, we give up on the old boss or the new boss, and follow the real boss.
 
Jesus wraps his arms around a child to change the picture of power and blessing.  At a moment of clarity and grace, a bunch of perfect strangers, on a typical work day, put their arms around a fellow child of God with saving him with power and blessing.  They were not going to let go.  Whatever despair or pain or grief or loss we know, Jesus tells us that God is there.  He is there as God in all of us too.  We are here because we need that Good News in our feed.  We need to see real pictures of greatness to lose ourselves in love and save our lives.

​Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Proper 19, Year B
September 12, 2021
 
In August of 2020, retired pastor from Oklahoma, Steve Epp, began walking through North Dakota as part of his seven-year, 4000-mile journey across every state in the union.  Not your typical thru hiker, Epps carries a 35-pound cross with wheels on the back, hooked to a trailer with food, water, and clothing.  I know about this because, as he passed through towns and cities, lots of local of news outlets reported his story. 
 
He tells folks that when he retired, he got depressed, and sought God’s guidance to do something new to spread the message of Jesus’ love.  The vision he received was one of sacrifice and simple service: walk across the country, carry the cross, pray with and for people he meets along the way.  Epps says “The main thing I’m trying to do is give hope. We’re living in a time where people just don’t have a lot of hope.”  On his Facebook page, he says that many hurting people are not coming to church, so “I go out and find them.”  It is as crazy and simple as that.
 
When we scratch the surface, Brother Epps comes from an intense theological place.  He has some fire and brimstone and turn or burn theology in his preaching.  There is some Christian nationalism in there too.  He saves that for when he is preaching to the converted, and only when he is invited to do so.  That can be distracting, but let’s not dismiss the guy.  Nobody is perfect.  We all have our blind spots.  The letter of James we read today acknowledges that and urges us to be careful what we say.  And yet, God is using this guy to draw notice, attention, and connection to our God of love.  He puts that first, and rightly so.  Epps has prayed with and for thousands of people along the way.  He has met soldiers, bankers, lawyers, addicts, and outlaws, all on an equal footing, right there by the side of the road.
 
Today’s Gospel takes us on the road with Jesus and his disciples in Caesarea Philippi.  It is a grand place where King Herod, a Jewish puppet of the Roman Empire has built an immense temple.  Being a political conniver, he names the place for Caesar.  Herod knows where his bread is buttered.  Up to this point, Jesus has been an itinerant healer and preacher for the Kingdom of God, so when he rolls into this monument to the Kingdom of Empire, he stands at odds with what he sees.  Jesus asks the disciples who folks say he is.  Some say he is a reincarnated John the Baptist, Elijah, or one of the prophets. Good ole Peter, who jumps in and says he is the “Messiah.”
 
When we hear that we might think Peter is right on the money, and he is, …sort of.  The Jewish hope for a messiah had long been foretold and longed for, but the kind of messiah they imagine is a warrior and conqueror; one who will rally the troops, cast out the Romans and reestablish Israel as a mighty kingdom.   When Jesus says that his messiahship is about confronting earthly power systems, and acknowledging suffering and death, they cannot get his hearts and minds around that.  And there is a showdown.  Peter says, say it is not so, and he gets the “get behind me, Satan rebuke.
 
Here in the middle of Mark’s Gospel, we are at a crossroad.  It is a place where Jesus clarifies the mission.  What the disciples hear is defeat, shame, and death.  After all, that is what the cross represents to them.  Far from being an adorned symbol of hope, they see crosses as hangman’s gallows.  Crosses are stand all over the place, warning everyone not to cross the those in charge.  Their crosses stand as signs of real and violent domination.
 
The part they miss is where Jesus says, yes, there will be rejection, suffering and death, and, and that is a big AND, after three days, he will rise again.  All of Jesus’ talk about denying self, taking up their cross and following tells them that they are made for rising, not dying.  Letting go of the world’s temporary and empty power creates a new reality, a kingdom not of empires and dominance, but a Kingdom of Love.  Jesus goes there to show all of us that God does not leave us, run away, or give us ammunition to fight.  Jesus goes there to change the rules, to transform this sign and symbol of death, into a sign of bigger, deeper, and forever life.  He does not go in with fists clenched and swords drawn.  He goes in with open hands and a generous heart.
 
One of my mentors often says that the central symbol of our faith is not an easy chair, it is the cross.  Suffering happens.  Letting go of our self-centered, and self-motivated devices and desires is not easy.  What Jesus shows is that as we do so, holiness happens, neighbors are loved, God gets God’s Word, edgewise, into the noise of earthly banter.
 
Lord knows we are seeing a large measure of suffering in our world.  We do not have an historical distance from Rome and its machinations.  Empires are rising and falling all over the place.  The poor are getting poorer and the proliferation of natural disasters makes things worse.  Let’s face it, there are so many preventable outflows of human selfishness.  The world’s noise is mostly about who to blame and who to fear.  All of that is wielded as emotional leverage to secure some power or platform to dominate and control the spin, closing fists instead of opening hands.
 
At Caesarea Philippi, Jesus calls the foul.  Politicians and partisans may cloak their will to power with religious language, but life is not about them or us, our bravado, or rallies for adulation or affirmation.  The Messiah is Almighty, but not as we might think of almighty.  Bringing the Kingdom of Love to the world is not about right religion, it is about changing what we encourage and esteem to work in a completely different set of physics: an economy where losing is gaining, and falling brings about rising.  We are built to rise.  We miss that.  We need Jesus to remind us.
 
The cross carrying Pastor Epps is not the first to do something provocative.  He will not be the last.  He seems to be mixture of crazy and holy, just like the rest of us.  We may not go to the literal extreme of taking up a 35-pound cross, but seeing one do so is an apt challenge for us to consider how and where we might carry the message of unconditional love, especially when doing so challenges us to be remade in Jesus’ Way of love. 
 
God can and will use us, sometimes in spite of ourselves.  The good news is that we cannot, and will not, save ourselves.   It is not about us. The true Messiah saves all at the cross.   There, he invites us to take the white knuckled, clenched fist of fear or blame, and open it wide as generous in loving, serving, and caring for all of God’s people.  Amen.