Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Proper 25, Year A
October 25, 2020

Listen to me.  Listen to me. 
 
We called him the big Mahaph.  I am not sure why, but he was a large man with a large voice and plenty of passion.  He was my best friend, James’s father.  The Big Mahaph was a pediatric research doctor and professor at the Medical College of Georgia.  He rose through the ranks of medical school, residency, and fellowships treating complicated cases.  Trauma was a constant in his work.
 
I spent a lot of time at James’s house, especially on college breaks.  And whenever we would leave to go to the road trip, go out on the town, go play golf, or just go to the store, the Big Mahaph would chase after us saying: “Listen to me.  Listen to me.” And then he would tell us how careful we needed to be, regaling us with a trauma story.  He had stories about how kids got hurt in every way imaginable, and he did not spare us the gory details.  One time, when we were going to get some school supplies, he told us about a kid who fell down at school and stabbed a pencil through his hand.  For Christmas that year, James and I got him 100 pencils with the words “Listen to me! Listen to me!” printed on them.
 
While we knew they were coming, we always stopped and listened to the Big Mahaph’s cautionary tales.  It was best not to try to sneak off or get away.  He would just chase after us.  If we laughed, he would lengthen the story.  And in the end, he would say “Listen to me.  Listen to me, because I love you.”
 
Listen.  Listen.  As a culture, we are not all that good at listening.  Listening is an art that requires intentionality.  There is plenty of talking going on out there.  Technology has brought more talking to our ears than ever.  News noise is particularly loud right now, and rather than listening for deeper understanding, we are delivered the news noise that marketing algorithms determine what we want to hear.  Thus, we are hearing, but not really listening.
 
The gospel we hear today takes us back to Jesus in the Temple where there is a lot pf talking going on.  He is being grilled and tested yet again.  “Which commandment is the greatest.”  This is a popular intellectual parlor game for the Pharisees.  They have extrapolated the law to include 613 particular commands and argue endlessly about each of them.  There are a thousand things Jesus could say.  Where will his plant his flag?
 
Rather play the game and argue for one particular rule or regulation, he says speaks the content of their most sacred prayer.  “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind (and) You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”  They know this as the Shema.  It is the prayer they speak to their loved ones as they rise and before they sleep.  Once again, Jesus does not answer their question directly, going, instead, for a deeper and most fulsome response.  But there is a statement buried in this answer too.  The know the Shema by heart, and the Shema is so named for the first word of the prayer, the first word of the command, and the centering utterance of the statement.  Shema means listen and hear.
 
There has been so much noise around Jesus.  Noise from the Romans who see him and his followers as a rebellious threat.  Noise from the religious elites who see him as a threat to their authority, purity, and control.  Even Jesus’ disciples make noise, jockeying for position, seeking a place in the plan, and hoping they will gain special blessings and powers.  But Jesus stops them all dead in their tracks.  Shema.  Yes.  Listen.  Hear.
 
This was a perfect revelation for those around Jesus.  He calls them back to the heart of who he is, who God is, and who we are for ourselves and one another.  This is a perfect revelation for us right now.  With the world spinning at a maddening pace in its polarities and politicization of everything, Jesus helps us get above and beyond our wallowing in details and points us to the heart of faith.
 
There is so much of God in the world for us to hear.  The natural rhythms of winds in the trees, the rustling of leaves, and even the falling acorns.  There is running water and crashing waves. There are the squeals of children and deep belly laughter.  There are cries of pain and joy.  If we listen beyond the noise, the world is so alive with God that we cannot help but see and love God with all of it: heart, mind, soul and strength.  And if God gives us all of this, we must love us too, because we are awash in God.
 
The great theologian and author, Frederick Buechner puts it this way: “Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. In the boredom and pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it, because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.”
 
After this, they stop asking Jesus questions.  If they want to know who God is, they can see Jesus right in front of them.  Even as they send him to the cross, he will not give up on them.  The time for talking is over.  The command to listen is dropped like a pebble in still water, rippling out for all to see.
 
Above all of the noise, the fear, the anger, the blame, and trauma of what we do to one another, Jesus calls us home.  Listen to me, he says.  Listen to me, because I love you.  Amen.

​Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Proper 24, Year A
October 18, 2020
 
Whose face is on the money?  Of course, that depends which coin or bill.  But whose face is on the standard of unit of our money?  That would be George Washington.  I had to think about it for a minute.  Funny how we chase it relentlessly, create particular vessels to hold it, take serious measures to protect it but almost never keep it as cash, at least not for long.
 
It is worth reading a dollar bill now and again.  It is a Federal Reserve Note, printed at one of two facilities and then issued at one of the Reserve’s banks. It is six inches long, given a specific serial number, covered with symbols and imagery including the statement that “This note is legal tender for all debts, public and private,” and the words “in God we trust.”   Each note is particular and specialized in its printing so it is nearly impossible to counterfeit.
 
Each bill of succeeding denominations has a similar, but particular design, and a different face.  It is a big honor to make it on the money.  That is true not only in our nation, but around the world.  We love good old George Washington: the honest and brave general of the American Revolution, father of our country, first president, and all that.  It makes sense that he makes it on the primary unit of American money.
 
Of course, we do not believe George Washington, or any other of our national leaders to be holy, righteous, and blameless all of the time – certainly not to be divine.  There have been a number recent kerfuffles lately as to the beliefs and actions of those whom history has tended to lionize.  Some of that is warranted.  Some of that has become a purity test that no one could pass, if we are honest.  Even Mother Theresa had her hot-tempered moments.  Many have passionate views on the subject, and that is not what this is about.  What it is about is that we take money seriously and the images we engrave on it makes a statement of importance.
 
When Jesus is in the Temple, he is asked about money directly.  It comes in the form of a gotcha question about the lawfulness of paying taxes to the occupying emperor.  The Herodians and the Pharisees, who are not even friends, get together to try and trap Jesus in either religious heresy or Roman rebellion.  They start out with lavish compliments about his credentials, acting as if they are friends and admirers.  They are neither, and Jesus knows it.  The controversy is about the money itself and the practice of paying taxes.  The Pharisees do not wish to support Rome.  They believe taxes should be paid to the temple.  The Herodians support Rome and comply with their taxation.
 
Jesus asks them to produce a denarius.  A denarius is standard monetary unit for Rome.  Someone produces one for him and he asks whose picture is on it.  He uses the word icon – a word we used to use for an image that points beyond itself as a window into deeper truth.  Nowadays, an icon has become a little image upon which we click to get into a computer application, program, or file.
The icon, they say, is of Emperor Tiberius.  Further, the inscription calls him the son of Divine Augustus, which is quite a claim.  Everyone gasps.  It is not kosher even to have such a graven image in the Temple, so Jesus is on dangerous ground.  But then he diffuses the whole thing, saying, “give to the emperor what is the emperor’s and give to God what is God’s.”
 
Jesus is not talking about the separation of church and state and some have opined.  He is talking about the reality of all creation.  Nobody asked what is the emperor’s and what is God’s because that answer is really self-evident.  Everything is God’s creation, thus everything is God’s.  Our lives are a pass through.  We bring nothing in, and we take nothing out.
 
Even so, money is a very real symbol for us and it is really important to us.  Almost every culture and civilization has developed money of some kind.  Jesus never says that money does not matter.  If fact, he says quite the opposite.  Even his little community of followers keeps a purse to feed and clothe themselves.  But Jesus tells us is that money itself is an icon, a symbol pointing to something beyond itself to a deeper truth.  It may not be able to buy me love as the Beatles remind us, but money does give us choices, and the power to make choices.  We work for that power, we esteem that power, and yes, in this critical season, we vote according to what we believe about the part we play in directing that power.
 
Far from trying to take us to some pie in the sky utopian world without money, Jesus gets down in it with us.  He knows that we think about and contend with money as a matter of human interaction and survival.  Most likely, we think and worry about money as much as anything else.  And if we are honest, one of our biggest concerns is if there will be enough: enough to provide for our families, enough for education, enough for retirement, enough to have choices about where we live, what we do, and where we are able to go.
 
Jesus comes to it from a different angle.  Over and over he points to the earth and all that is in it as God’s.  He sees this life as only a part of larger life.  He preaches and teaches and shows abundance in love, mercy, and forgiveness.  Not only do we have enough, we are enough and we are filled with possibility for being God’s hands, feet, and heart for this world.  Money, then, is a tool and a symbol of how and where we choose to thrive.  What we do with it tells us who we are, and what we value.  When we work out of abundance and not scarcity, we chase away the worry and welcome the opportunity.  That is easy to say and hard to do.  It is a spiritual challenge.
 
Seasonally, this is stewardship time in the Church.  We are all crafting a budgets for 2021.  I am suspicious – no, I am sure -- that the lectionary committee, the people who plan and select the thematic readings for each Sunday, plant this lesson here to help out the cause.  In reality, stewardship is not a season but an everyday practice of taking what we are given, everything we are given, and using it to value what matters to us.  Given our history and practice, you all really value Emmanuel and our work as the local Jesus Movement.  The place, the people, the hopes and dreams of God we encounter here really matter to us.  As we do the right things, money will follow.  There will be opportunities in this season to think, pray, and make a commitment. 
 
One of the devotionals I read offered me this, a great reflection on this lesson:
 
“Where is God’s impression in the coinage of my daily life?”  It is a lovely question and it cuts to the heart of how and what we give in this life.  If we are there, thinking, praying, and acting as God’s beloved vessels, no matter what, we are on the money.  Amen. 

​Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Proper 23, Year A
October 11, 2020
 
Four years ago, a series came out on NBC called “The Good Place.”  It featured some A list actors and garnered critical praise.  The show was based in the afterlife, where people who had achieved a high-level moral score in their mortal life got to live in a utopian “Good Place,” presumably, heaven.  It is a nice enough and all of the people are just lovely, if not a little bland.  Others, we are told, are consigned to the “Bad Place,” about which we learn very little.  The whole plot takes a turn when the main protagonist and her only friend in the “Good Place” begin to believe that they have slipped through by mistake.  Both of them are not all that nice and they find the rest of the people there really boring, too good, and uninteresting.  The head “Good Place” guy senses her discomfort, denies that there could have been an error, and assigns them moral coaches to help their experience.
 
Eventually, the main characters discover that really, they are in the “Bad Place” and they have been thrust into a fake “Good Place” as punishment and reproof, and the so-called moral coaches are really punishing demons   After that, I confess that I tuned out.  It was a good idea, but it ran its course.  I did learn that in the final season, they were given the chance to return to their earthly life.  Their memories of the afterlife were erased, and they are given a chance for an earthly do over.  Then, the show was cancelled.  Probably, that was best.
 
Good places and bad places are front and center in all of our lessons for today.  In Exodus, we hear of the whole golden calf caper in which the people, fearing that Moses has left them, and God has abandoned them, revert to some old pagan ways, melting down their gold and crafting an image of a god that they can worship as a thing, requiring no real relationship or commitment.  In a frenzy, they forgot all that had been done for them, lost faith, and took themselves to a bad place.  In the Ten Commandments movie, that scene was scandalously reviewed as lewd and provocatively costumed.  It was a crude caricature of hedonistic pleasure seeking that did not end well.  The people looked silly.  It could have ended poorly, but God had mercy on their foolishness, and got them back on track.  It is cautionary tale for us to remember the God’s blessing even when we feel lost or confused.
 
Matthew’s gospel offers yet another perplexing parable in which a king throws a wedding feast and the guests cannot be bothered to accept his largess.  After exacting a violent revenge, the king then sends his servants out into the streets to gather whoever is there to be his celebratory guests.  One poor soul, apparently clueless, turns up without the proper attire, and he is summarily thrown out into the outer darkness.  Then we get the stern line that “many are called, but few are chosen.”  It identifies the bad place as outer darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.  If you have ever perseverated in the night and ground your teeth, you get the picture.  It is a hell of our own making. 
 
Far from a complete metaphor for God’s grace, the parable introduces the themes of judgement and exclusion from the God’s kingdom.  It is meant as a swipe at the religious elites.  It is a scandalous exposé.  It might leave us wondering and nervous about how we are clothed and whether we are destined for the “Good Place” at all.  Fortunately, that is not the end of the story, but the parable leaves us hanging.  It is not a bad idea to consider our role in owning God’s goodness and love, even if our destiny is not all up to us.  
 
The ideas heaven and hell are so various and so laden with human contrivances that it is really hard to accept or understand how or why a God of love would set us up to fail.  We are left wondering about the calculus of salvation but, looking deeply at the whole of the story, it seems that the bad places are places of our own creation.  As we build and adhere to structures of materialism, envy, avarice, exclusion, and separation, we establish hellish ways doing life.  Cutting ourselves off from grace, love, forgiveness, and community, we attempt to go it all alone: us against them, might as right, and above all, me first, we get lost and more alone than ever.
 
I almost wish we could have read from Paul’s letter to the Philippians after the difficult Gospel.  In the midst of our confusion and wonder, Paul sends a love letter of encouragement.  Certainly, if St. Paul had a greatest hits album, these verses would be on it:
 
“Rejoice in the Lord always; again, I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
 
He offers a guide to living in a good place.  Instead of seeing the Kingdom of God as something to be realized in the future, he offers a way to be kingdom people in the here and now.  It is a tall order to rejoice always, not to worry, and to live in constant prayer, but the last line offers a peace which is pure grace.  He asks us to practice the presence of God rather than waiting for some future reckoning.  The good place is breaking in, here, now.
 
He goes on: “Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you.”
 
Notice that he says the God of peace will be with you, not might be with you.  The truth is that we can see good and bad places in our lives, in our world, and we can speculate and worry if we so choose.  We are plenty capable of consigning ourselves to bad places.
 
Ultimately, living our faith is not about us attaining or reaching the “Good Place” where everything is perfect.  The future is all in God‘s hands.  Ultimately, living our faith is about positioning, listening, and believing that we are always in God’s good hands, and that is a really good place to be.  Amen. 

Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Proper 22, Year A
October 4, 2020
 
When we moved into our house a little over a year ago, our master bath came equipped with one of those special kind of mirrors that pulls out from the wall and gives you a really magnified view of your face.  I have never been one to stare at myself in the mirror.  I give it glance as I brush my teeth and hair, but that is about it.  But this special mirror captured me - and scared me a little.  It is like being at the fun house at a carnival.  While the image is not distorted, it is so magnified beyond what I can see in a regular mirror. Wrinkles are like canyons. Pores are look like moon craters.  Eyebrows look like strands of pasta.  I prefer to see myself at a safe distance, so I do not use that mirror on my side of the vanity.
 
Even so, the close-up mirror has proven useful.  Looking at a spot on my nose, I decided it needed to be seen by someone who knows about skin, and sure enough it was cancerous and had to be removed.  Now, I can find my little scar in that close-up mirror, and admire the handiwork of a skilled surgeon.  It is a visible receipt of good health insurance.   
 
Perhaps you can see where this is going.  Pun intended.  The whole progression of today’s lessons is meant to give us a clear look at ourselves in relationship with God.  The ten commandments, as presented give us law to follow: a clue of basic behavior standards from being in community with God and one another.  If you have seen the movie, you may remember Charlton Heston as Moses, and coming down from Sinai with a super red face, and wigged out hair as representation of him having seen God.
 
St. Paul’s letter to the faithful in Philippi reminds them of the law but tells them that knowing and following Jesus is deeper and more life giving than external actions.  It is not about having the right pedigree, the right denominational affiliation, or the right political affiliation.  Instead of establishing credentials, he encourages them, and us, to go deeper, to make a leap of faith that moves us from intellectual or practical assent, to full fledged lose-yourself-in-it relationship with God in the person and work of Jesus.
 
Finally, Jesus tells a parable.  The story is like a complete review of the history of people in relationship to God.  The landowner plants a vineyard.  He knows what he is doing.  He fences it in, sets it up to make wine, and builds a little look-out tower so folks could see the whole thing in all its glory.  This is creation: the earth and all that is in it.  And it is a marvelous, nourishing, and sustaining creation.
 
Then the landowner (God) leaves it in the hands of tenants to care for it and help it thrive and produce good stuff.  When the time comes for the landowner to enjoy the benefits of his good design and fruitful harvest, he sends his people to collect the bounty.  Much to his chagrin, the tenants beat up one guy, kill the next guy, and stone the last guy.  Seeing their disrespect for what they have been given and their refusal to honor the one that gave them the place to tend in the first place, he sends his own son to straighten them out.  But the tenants still refuse to do the right thing.  The throw the son out of creation and kill him.
 
Remember that Jesus is in the Temple and he is speaking to the Pharisees.  Pharisees are the religious leaders, scholars, and uptight score keepers.  Jesus asks them what that landowner should do, and their response is sharp and direct.  An eye for an eye.  The landowner should kill them and get some honest folks to do his work.
 
Then comes the twist.  Jesus points them past their notion some sort of redemptive violence.  Instead of all that, he holds up the mirror, tells them that they are the wicked tenants.  He tells them that the Kingdom of God will be given to folks who embrace the one they reject – Him.  Instead of giving them what they deserve, he tells them that what is deeper than all of their laws and competitive piety is a loving and fruitful relationship with God.
 
Naturally, they are upset.  Jesus challenges their self-styled superiority, opening the door for them folks to drop their preconceived notions, break up their exclusive club, and get right with the generous and loving One who includes, accepts, and welcomes all comers. Rotten Pharisees, boy, does Jesus expose them for who they are.
 
Not so fast.  A parable is a picture.  Like any picture we are given, we must look for where we are in the scene.  How do we look?  Are we busted for assuming that we have everything right?  Are we busted for thinking of creation as something we possess?  Are we really going to labor under the assumption that we have what we have because we earned it?  Creation is given.  Whatever we make of it, we make out of what we have been given.  Even the scientific record affirms that out of nothing, everything came into being.  It is the Creator’s gift.  We are all tenants.  What will we do with what we are given? 
 
Today, whether we like it or not, Jesus holds up the magnifying mirror.  And if we look carefully, honestly, and faithfully, there are plenty of blots and blemishes.  God knows that about us.  It is good for us to see that as clearly as possible.  What Jesus shows us is that God doesn’t throw us out because we flop and fail.  Instead, God takes the broken pieces that we are, and builds something new and beautiful.  Creation is not finished.
 
Here is the challenge.  It is so easy for us to look past the magnifying mirror of ourselves and find what is wrong about others.  There is no shortage of opinion, vitriol, violence, and corruption in the bigger and wider pictures we see, share, and create.  And we are almost hard wired to fight back when challenged or threatened. 
 
Here is the opportunity.  If we listen deeply to Jesus parable, and gaze at the picture he develops, we see how to breaking the cycle of reactive destruction.  Ideas, positions and policies can be discussed and evaluated with respect and, even, disagreement.  The worth and value of each and person is not up for discussion.  The worth and value of each and every person is a given.  When we start there, we live the Way of Love.
 
Look in the mirror.  See that even up close, we are wonderfully made.  All that is in us is a miraculous blend of systems and senses.  Creation is amazing and it keeps happening.  Skin has a remarkable way of telling a story.  See the lines, folds, scars, and spots as well-earned experience.  Look in the mirror and see the person God loves and cherishes.  Looking in the mirror we see the only person we can change.   Get the picture?  Amen.

Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Proper 19, Year A
September 13, 2020
 
It is wonderfully comforting and inspiring to be part of something really big and positive.
 
As many of you know, I grew up in Athens, Georgia, the son of a professor at the University of Georgia.  Athens is a lot, like Charlottesville, except it is bigger.  Whereas UVA has 21 thousand students, Georgia has 38 thousand.  When school is in session, the town is electric.
 
Then, there is football season.  On seven fall Saturdays a year, it seems like the whole world comes to Athens.  Georgians are rabid about their football fandom.  They call themselves the Bulldog Nation.  The stadium seats more than 93 thousand fans and there are an equal number of folks are tailgating out on lawns and in parking lots within a mile or so of the stadium.  Everyone cheers for the dogs.  Everyone wears red and black.  Everyone shares a language and speaks in a common voice: “Go dogs.”  Depending on your provenance, you can spell dogs normally, or with a w in there, and for emphasis you can add a “woof, woof.”
 
“Go dogs” is not just a cheer.  It is a statement of belonging, of hope, and of commitment.  One speaks it as a greeting.  One speaks it as a farewell.  It is intoned on the streets as greeting among intimate friends and hospitality for complete strangers.  It is spoken in the school carpool line, in the check-out line, and, even, at the end of prayer.
 
All are welcome in the Bulldog Nation.  All you have to do is proclaim that you belong and you are in.  I did not attend the University of Georgia, but it is no matter, I pull for the dogs and that is the only passport needed. 
 
Being in the stadium on gameday is a nothing else like it experience.  There is ritual, tradition, pageantry, special music, and lots of full-throated screaming.  Go dogs.  C’mon dogs.  Sic ‘em dogs. Hold ‘em dogs.  How ‘bout them dawgs.  I know of few places where people gather from countless ethnic backgrounds, divergent perspectives, the broad swath of political persuasions, and people of all ages and stages in life, united around one event, pulling in the same direction.   It is a modern sociological miracle.
 
I will leave the arguments about the massive amounts of money involved, the really expensive single use facilities, and the distractions from true academic pursuits to others.   What we experience on gameday is rare, needed, and fulsome unity.  And that is in short supply these days.  The experience is a lot like church – or really, a spirit filled revival in a massive outdoor cathedral.
 
The metaphor between fandom and faith is not exact, and both can be idolatrous when taken to extremes, but it is not a bad lens for the world Jesus seeks to build through today’s gospel.
 
Once again Peter plays the straight man, asking how many times he should forgive a fellow member of the church.  This is a big statement as the church is a new idea and membership is wide open to all who follow, so really, Peter is asking about how much we should accept and allow from others.  He lobs up a big number: “seven times?”  And Jesus says nope, seventy times that – really a number beyond counting.  Then, he tells a completely hyperbolic tale of a king who forgives a slave of an enormous debt that he could never pay in a thousand lifetimes.  Afterall, he is a slave.  But the slave goes and demands repayment from someone who owes him a relatively small sum: a few hundred bucks.  And he will not let it go.  The king is outraged.  How could one who was forgiven of so much, not, out of sheer gratitude, forgive as he has been forgiven.  It does not end well for the slave.
 
It is an unusual and fantastical story told to drive home an essential message.  We are all beneficiaries of a generous, loving, creative, and forgiving God.  We are not perfect.  We fall short.  We are capable of so much destruction and division, but we are capable of so much love as we lean into belonging with God.
 
Forgiveness is difficult, especially when wounds fester and memories of being done wrong linger.  Resentments are hard to carry and they are heavy burdens for the one who is harmed.  In AA, it is said that a carrying resentment is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.  The story Jesus tells gives us perspective.  It gives us direction.  It gives us a way forward.  Rather than hanging on to when and how we have been done wrong, we can pivot completely and focus on where we are done right, which is large.
 
Jesus shows us and tells us that we are beloved.  We belong to the immensity of God.  We are beautiful, and capable, and plenty enough for this world.  So often we are clear about what we are against, and that gives us fellowship with like minds or experiences.  But the pivot we need is to come together on what we are for.  What Jesus asks is that we suit up, show up, and pull for Team God.  We have ritual, tradition, pageantry, stories, songs, prayers.  More importantly, we have the power of the Holy Spirit to draw us together, across all man-made divides, to heal our resentments, and to show us exactly who and what we are for:  the love of God in Jesus Christ. 
 
It is wonderfully comforting and inspiring to be part of something that big and that positive.   The good news is that are all on the same team.  It is gameday. Everyday.  Go God!
 

Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Proper 17, Year A
August 30, 2020
 
If Matthew’s gospel was made into a Netflix series, this week would be Season 3, Episode 2. 
 
The first season was short, but packed with imagery and foreshadowing included a little background of Jesus historical connection to King David, the oddly romantic, but hard to understand Joseph and Mary story, and a miraculous birth story.  Then, there is an exotic, international twist with sages coming from the far east to visit the infant whom they foretell will become great leader and shepherd of his people.  Herod plays the villain in season one, seeing this baby as a threat to his power, and the season closes with the holy family escaping to Egypt.
 
In season two, we meet Jesus as a grown man and we follow the beginning of his ministry.  We meet John the Baptist at the riverside.  We meet the disciples one by one as they are compelled to follow Jesus.  We then see Jesus laying down the foundations of proclaiming God’s power and presence even in this little, out of the way, occupied territory.  He encounters doubters and hecklers.  He runs afoul of the religious establishment, but never stops his encouragement of faith in higher and greater love that they have ever known.  He teaches not with erudite theology, but with earthly parables about seeds and soil.  He speaks of eternal treasure in simple things.  And as we near the end of the season, he finds his miraculous gift for feeding, helping, and physical healing.  In the last episode, Jesus walks on water, calms a storm, and then travels across physical, social, and religious boundaries, helping desperate young mother in healing her child.  His mission is expanding outside of his tight circle.
 
Now we come to Season 3.  There is an abrupt scene change as it opens in Caesarea Philippi.  Caesarea Philippi is a grand city, a resort kind of place, where idols to pagan gods enshrined and worshipped, alongside the Roman Emperor.  In that setting, Peter, who has become an attractive costar in the series, identifies Jesus as “Messiah.”  “Messiah” is a term his people have used for centuries of hopeful anticipation.  The Messiah is expected to come into history and reconcile the world to God, establish permanent rule over all people, and set everything to its rightful place in the divine creation.  In a moment of profound revelation, Jesus accepts that mantel, that role, that divine identity, as God made human.  He confirms what has been suspected ever since Season 1.
 
Today we come to Matthew’s Season 3, Episode 2.  We get a quick preview of last week’s big proclamation, but then the plot takes a major twist.  Jesus begins to explain that though he is the promised messiah, not all of the lore about what he will do is accurate.  He says his love will be met with resistance.  He tells them he will suffer.  He tells them that he will go to the cross and be executed.  Even when he says that will not be the end of the story, the disciples get more than very uneasy.  They signed on to follow this great leader.  They are planning to be in the inner circle of the new regime, wherein God will lay waste to their enemies and reward them greatly.  Their spokesperson, Peter, calls foul.  He tells Jesus that they will not let the authorities get their hands on him.
 
Whereas last week, Peter was the divine seer and the episode hero, this week is a different story.  Jesus rebukes his close friend.  Jesus talks of taking up the cross, and losing life as we would shape it, in order to gain new life, as God will make it.  This is a perplexing shocker.  He is reframing traditional expectations, redefining power over against the common perception that power that this world offers and embraces.  From now on, we are going to find out what God in human person will do to upend misaligned values, show radical and sacrificial love, and confound even death’s perceived finality.  There is much more to come this season.  Still, it is crucial to the story that we see the difference between God’s plan for us rather than our plans for God.  Sticking with Jesus will be more and more challenging as it gets personal.
 
This is a hard thing to hear, especially when we face difficult times.  We are divided and hurting.  We are not the first to suffer, to be challenged, or to be divided.  This has happened throughout history and is repeating itself of late. It is not that we lack resolve or that we lack passion, it is that we too often lose our way.  We buy into false narratives about goodness and greatness.  We fail to see of humanity as God sees us.  We become consumed with self-centeredness and the whole industry of self-actualization.  Like Peter, we like Jesus being there with and for us, but we resist his call to deeper love and service.  It is hard to know where to start.
 
If we look to politics to be the savior, we will be disappointed.  If we believe that a catchy slogan makes us right, or assign a label to what makes others wrong, we miss the point of being in communion with God and one another.  While we need to follow our conscience in advocating justice and equity, we do well to approach such things with humility and open hearts.
 
What we hear today is that the power that we need, the power that saves, the power that lasts is God’s.  All the rest is playing around the edges.  God’s love is our true north, our bedrock, our only salvation.  In this episode, we see that following Jesus leads us away from chaos, mess, and hatred that vexes our interconnectedness.  Our times are really challenging.  Our opportunity is to break the cycle of self- centered or self-actualized notions of power.  Our moment invites us to be together as a way of finding our way in God’s way.
 
The story is getting wild and interesting.  We need to be prepared for what is to come.  We have a part to play in God’s holy history.  As we tune in for the rest of the story, we do well to pray as St. Francis encouraged:
 
Lord, make us instruments of your peace
Where there is hatred, let us sow love
Where there is injury, pardon
Where there is doubt, faith
Where there is despair, hope
Where there is darkness, light
And where there is sadness, joy
O Divine Master, grant that we may
Not so much seek to be consoled as to console
To be understood, as to understand
To be loved, as to love
For it is in giving that we receive
And it's in pardoning that we are pardoned
And it's in dying that we are born to Eternal Life


This is what real power is, and it will save us all.
 
Amen

Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Proper 16, Year A
August 23, 2020
 
“It is raining in the watershed!”  That one phrase brought such great joy and anticipation back when I was a whitewater raft guide and kayaker.  As the summer progressed, rain tended to be scarcer, and without rain, we were doomed to dragging rubber rafts across rocks, repairing the tears, and providing less of an exciting experience for our customers.  One August was so dry, we had to cancel our trips, meaning we did not get paid or tipped.  But when it rained, it was like sweet salvation.  The boats flowed freely and faster, the waves got bigger, and there was much more excitement for all of us.  “It is raining in the watershed!”  That proclamation is the whitewater enthusiast’s equivalent of “Alleluia.”
 
Rushing water has always been a sound of solace and comfort ever since my younger adult days.  The smells of wet moss, mountain laurel, and rhododendrons take me to the riverside.  I have been known to set out in the midst of a rainstorm to see the waters come alive.  Even when was little, my brother and I would go out and race sticks down the street gutters until they washed into the drains.
 
As I grew older and put myself in to river running boats, I did learn to be respectful of water’s momentous power.  As soon as I was able, I ran the entire Colorado River through the Grand Canyon, and saw how It shaped the land and moved enormous boulders in real time.  I learned to work with the current, to read the water, and find the safest passage. I learned always to watch downstream for dangerous ledges or strainers.  In raft guide training, we were taught that deep river knowledge meant respecting its power.  You never beat the river; you only work with it.
 
All of that power comes into being in the watershed.  While we were always focused on where we were and where we were going, there was that unseen dynamic upstream that made what we experienced happen.  I could go on about watershed protection as essential for the ecosystem, but these natural lessons, learned early in life, have translated into both practical and theological guideposts for much of my life.  As a teacher and parent of adolescent children, I was adamant and, possibly, annoying, insisting that they look downstream of their attitudes and actions, believing that small decisions can shape larger outcomes, impacting them, others, and the world they hope to help form.  And as a Christ follower, I have come to believe that the waters of baptism flow from the source, from Jesus, the ground of all love, health, and wholeness.
 
Where all of this is going is that the stories of God and God’s people that we tell today are, truly, watershed moments fin faith.  In Moses birth and life-saving story, we see the contrast between what everyone supposes is powerful, and what ends up being truly powerful.  The King of Egypt is afraid of the Israelites and out of that fear, he commands all of the newborn males to be killed.  As the King, his commands are absolute.  But compassion and love find another way.  The midwives cannot and will not bring themselves to carry out orders. In her own defiance, Moses’s mother hides him for three months, finally, putting him in a basket, to float him downstream to safety.  The King’s daughter finds the babe, which she should have reported, but her compassion leads her to name the child, and provide or his survival.  The king’s command may be law, but through these women, these life bringers, these life savers, the greater power of love prevails.  Thank God they did what they did, because downstream, that child, Moses, will lead the people out of slavery and into a future of promise.
 
Then we hear Matthew tell us of Jesus, going to Caesarea Philippi.  Caesarea Philippi is a sort of Roman retreat center, a place to the north at the base of Mount Hermon, at the headwaters of the Jordan river.  The geography of the place is no accident to its significance.  A sort of Las Vegas of the Greco-Roman world, it was a place where everything goes, where polytheistic pagan cults supported worship of Emperor Augustus, himself.  And this is the place where Jesus takes his disciples to see what secular power thinks of itself.
 
With all the idol statuary, and cultic craziness, Jesus asks his followers who people think he is in that setting.  They say that some think of him as a prophet, a sort of patriarch, or one of so many mystic characters from Israel’s history.  “But who do you say that I am” he asks.  And good ole Peter.  The first to speak and the last to measure his words, says the Jesus is the Messiah, the one sent to save the world.  This event is called the confession of Peter, it is the watershed of the church’s beginnings, and it is a turning point as to what God is doing in Christ.  If we know anything about Peter, we know that he stumbles upon this truth, not through his innate brightness, but as the divine speaks through him.
 
As a preacher and theologian, I tend to point at all of the biblical narrative as a vehicle through which we are shown who God is and told about what God does.  In doing so, I hold what we call a low anthropology, that is, a view of humanity that is at best a supporting role in the bigger picture.  Such as view is long on grace and suspicious of good works as a way of righteousness.
 
And yet, the players in the stories we tell today do have a substantial role.  While they may be responding to what has been revealed, or what is given them in creation, they are part of the watershed that enables the story to flow downstream. 
 
The theologian, Richard Rohr puts it this way:
 
“If you want to see the future of Christianity as a great spiritual migration, don’t look at a church building. Go look in the mirror and look at your neighbor. God’s message of love is sent into the world in human envelopes. If you want to see a great spiritual migration begin, then let it start right in your body. Let your life be a foothold of liberation.”
 
We find ourselves in a time of some tribulation.  You all know the deep divisions, the great challenges, and the helplessness we often face and feel.  But if our story tells us anything today, it is that we may not powerful, but we love and serve a God who is.  If we look at what is floating past us on the river, we are apt just to react and respond.  But if we want to seek the will of God, if we trust that God is not finished with us, if we are to be hope, help and be those human envelopes of God’s message, we need to look to the watershed: the person and work of Jesus.
 
So much of what consumes us is what is in front of us and what is downstream.  Will we be safe, healthy, prosperous and happy?  But what feeds that outcome, what informs our actions, what washes over us as baptized people, is the source, the ground, the being of God in and for us.  There is so much love upstream ready to flow through us.  It is raining in that watershed.  Alleluia.    
   

Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Proper 15, Year A
August 16, 2020
 
These things happen.  It is nothing new.  It is not really that surprising because nobody is perfect.  Last week, Jerry Falwell, Junior posted a rather suggestive picture on Instagram.  He is now on an indefinite leave of absence from being Chancellor and President of Liberty University.  Those two facts were not connected in the announcement, but clearly, they are related.  That is big news in this region.
 
I drove by Liberty last week when taking my son back to college.  It looks like their mascot is the construction crane.  The place has grown and continues to grow tremendously.  They have some 15,000 students on campus and another 95,000 online.  Liberty was doing distance learning before distance learning was a necessity, and they have kept tuition reasonably low in comparison with other colleges and universities.  While I do not choose their particular take on Christianity, it is hard to doubt their commitment to service and ministry as integral in education, and admire their forward thinking model for making education accessible. 
 
Falwell has had a number of public gaffes, but this latest photo, mostly because if he were enrolled as a student at Liberty, he could have been fined, sanctioned, or expelled according to their published standards of conduct.  He is not the first leader to hold high standards only to fall short of them himself.  He is just one of the latest ones.  There is plenty of room for repentance and redemption in our faith.
 
Having grown up in Georgia, I always cringe when a wacky news story comes out of that state.  I feel the same way about particularly prominent professing Christians who reveal some sort of hypocrisy or dishonesty.  It is not a good look all of us – and ought to be a cautionary tale for all of us to remain humble and aware of our own shortcomings. 
 
The gospel for today pounds that point home with a one two punch.  The first section takes on the exceptionally strict Jewish purity laws.  Jesus disciples warn him that he is making the Pharisees mad, but he keeps at it, saying that following strict rules does not result in more authentic faith or righteousness.  As Garrison Keillor puts it a bit differently: “Going to church does not make me a Christian any more than sleeping in the garage makes me a car.”
 
After that, there is an immediate location change to Tyre and Sidon which is modern day Lebanon.  After dropping his criticism on the religious elites, Jesus makes a 40-mile journey to a region completely outside of their influence.  Word must have spread about Jesus because just as he arrives, a local woman chases after him, pleading with him to heal her daughter.  This is culturally wrong on so many levels.  The Jews of Israel look down on those folks, and those folks look down on Jews.  Their rivalry makes Virginia and Duke seem cordial.  As a woman in that time and place, she was never to speak publicly, especially to a man.  So, this woman is so out of bounds, so outside of cultural standards, so loud, and so persistent. 
Though they are particularly scruffy, even the disciples are shocked at her forward behavior, asking Jesus to send her away.  And at first, Jesus goes along.  But her response shocks even Jesus.  She settles down, she kneels and bows before him, and in complete, surrender of dignity and decorum, acknowledges his power and presence, and begs for healing on her daughter’s behalf.  Such desperation is something the parent of any sick child can understand easily.
 
This woman, this stranger, this outsider, this marginalized person shocks even Jesus.  Her humility and kindness shake his own very human assumptions.  Praising her pure humility in recognition of God’s very presence in him, Jesus grants her request for healing, immediately.  Matthew recounts this story right after Jesus encounter with the Pharisees as it is a groundbreaking shift in Jesus ministry and message.  God’s love and saving grace is not reserved for any particular group, sect, sex, heritage, class, or race.  Jesus comes to the world, revealing God - to and for - all creation.
 
The event is unsettling for the disciples.  It is scandalous for the Jewish authorities.  It ought to convict us as well.  While we may think of ourselves as open minded, tolerant, and accepting, there lurks in all of us some deep distrust, some enmity, some disdain for those whose ways, thoughts, traditions, or practices may be foreign to ours. We have labels for whole swaths of our fellow humans that we use to lump people into categories.  We call them illegal, alien, conservative, liberal, white, black, brown, gay, straight.  It is natural and to recognize difference, and it is appropriate to celebrate diversity, but Jesus challenges us to recognize sameness as much as difference.  The woman in our Gospel breaks through the barriers and boundaries as she is seen, heard, and loved: human, worthy, a child of God, like us.
 
Despite our particularly polarized perspectives, most people really want the same things: to love and be loved, to be safe, seen, heard, and valued, to be healthy, and to find joy.  While we may disagree on how to get there collectively, humans are not as different as we make them out to be.  Our faith challenges us be more creative than destructive, more together than separate, and more forgiving than aggrieved.  If we set ourselves up to be more righteous, more important, or more deserving of God’s love, we put ourselves farther from the heart of God, but never outside of God’s love.
 
If today’s Gospel does not make us a little uncomfortable and a little more self-aware, then we are not listening carefully.  The great circle of God’s grace is ever expanding.  As the poet, Edwin Markham, wrote:
 
“He drew a circle that shut me out-
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle and took him In!”
 
We are all a work in progress, and perfection is not something we attain this side of heaven.  We have all been extended such grace through God in Christ.  We have not been done wrong in this life.  When we take the long view, we see that we have been done so right.  Thus, when we flop and fail, when we fall short and flounder in our humanity, God’s grace is sufficient to pick us up dust us off, and help us to extend that grace to others.  All of them are us.  Amen.