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Sermon Blog
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Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Proper 13, Year B August 1, 2021 My first full sentence was this: “I want more beans.” Lest you believe I started out life as legume loving vegetarian, I am sure these were Great Grandmother Swope’s recipe, cooked to death beans with onion and a ham hock. Our son, Sam’s, first sentence was “I want a donut, now.” Our parish church at the time had fresh, hot donuts every week, and we had a robust children’s program. Coincidence? I think not. Our daughter, Emily’s, first sentence was “No, no I do it myself.” Clearly, we had some work to do on subject and verb agreement. Janice is the last of six children, and with all of that noise, nobody heard her first sentence, hence her enthusiastic extroversion is well developed. I am fascinated with developmental milestones in the life of children. As an educator and teacher, I studied a lot on how people learn what they learn and know what they know. As a priest, I remain fascinate with how all God’s children come to believe what we believe. No two stories about that are the same. What I do know is that as children grow and develop, they do what experts call: individuation. Gradually, they move from dependence to independence, and an expert once said in a lecture that “adolescence happens when children become aware that they have something to hide.” Hence there is the push me pull you relationship with so-called adults. It is no picnic for the adolescent or the adult. As I consider the first sentences of my family, I see how that individuation begins. With words, we are able to express preferences, speak up for our wants and needs, and claim our personal power and space. However, we have to get along in this world, so the first lesson in the sandbox is all about sharing shovels and buckets. Those who are not good at that have a hard way to go… as senators and members of congress. Occasionally we get it right, and good things happen when we do. As humans we dance between asserting our will, and belonging to that which is great than ourselves. This requires practice. And speaking of human nature, the lessons of this week begin with some pretty unvarnished truth about the Israelites. They are in the desert, finally free after more than 200 years of being enslaved. They get hot, tired, and hungry and resort to whining. “Moses, where there not enough graves in Egypt? Why bring us here to die?” Never mind the miracles of deliverance, the Red Sea parting, the pillar of fire to lead them, and when they get thirsty, they are led to fresh cool water flowing from a rock. God provides for them every step of the way. And yet, the whiny Israelites say yeah, great, but what has God done for us lately. In response, we hear of the abundant provision of bread in the morning and quail in the evening. Even then, they become picky eaters – “Moses, what is this manna stuff?” --and quail in the evening. “Oy,” Moses says, “it is bread from God, enough to sustain you very well.” They do not like being dependent. They do not stop complaining for another 40 years. Moses is a patient. It is a good thing that God is too. Fast forward to Jesus at Capernaum. The day before, Jesus fed five thousand folks with five loaves and two fish. He walked on water and calmed a storm. Prior to that he has healed and helped and loved on everyone he meets on his way through all of Galilee. And the people, ancestors of the Israelites, come to him with this: “What must we do to perform the works of God?” Jesus answered them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.” Simple, nuanced, but clear. And then, we get their yeah, but… “What sign are you going to give us then, so that we may see it and believe you? What work are you performing?” Good grief, these folks never stop nit picking. What complete whiners? But then, they are us. While the Gospel is revelation, it is also a mirror. We want to believe, but we want to believe on our own terms. We want to will of God to be done, so long as it matches up with our will. Wwe want to serve God, but mostly in an advisory capacity. In his epic work called Confessions, Saint Augustine, writes “Lord give me chastity and self-control - but not yet.” The question of the day is what is holding us back? Where are we expecting God to do more and better for us, and in the process, forgetting everything God has done and is doing for us? The reason I am fascinated with babies and child development is that they show us how to be dependent, spontaneously joyful, and content in being part of something large they do not understand. It is wonderful when they can dress and potty and walk on their own, but there is a loss there too. Those first words tell that story. Perhaps that is why there are second children. Islam has a beautiful teaching about sin called “the forgetting.” They articulate that we know how to be dependent on God, we just get out in the world and forget. This drives me to a Mary Oliver poem, encouraging us to remember. It is called 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 happened 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.” Remember: in our telling of God’s story, in the beginning there was a formless and desolate void. God’s first words are “Let there be light.” God sees that light is good, and God keeps on creating and creating and creating. God still does. Deep in the basement of time, at all moments of creation, and even now, God’s Word echoes. Let there be… light, life, love, forgiveness, grace. Can we be God’s children, lean in, and silence our own noise and to hear that? What God done has for us lately is… Everything. To believe is to begin. That is the first full sentence of faith. Comments are closed.
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AuthorThe Rev. John Thomas is Rector of Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood Archives
October 2024
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