June 29, 2025

In the name of one who sets his face towards justice, Jesus Christ, please be seated.

At the very beginning of my seminary experience, which I enjoyed with our Reverend Lisa today (we were classmates, separated a little bit in time by one year, but it was a joy to be with Lisa and to have her back today with us), I had a dream, a very vivid dream. I was going to seminary in the dream, and it was at Columbia University where I had done my previous graduate work. It was all men. There was a guy with a new white pickup truck. He took us from our dorm to the classroom, dropped us off in front of the building, and we were all nervous, walked in. I got lost and lost and lost and deeper and deeper and deeper. You know that you've had a dream like that before. And before I knew it, I was in Brooklyn. I had walked so far. And people kept coming up to me and talking to me and wanting things. And I couldn't get back. I was trying to get back. Finally, there was a female police officer who pointed me to the subway. And I got back to the seminary that evening. When I went outside to the place where I had been dropped off, that same guy was there, arms crossed, leaning against the pickup, and a slight smile, waiting for me. I was so happy and relieved. God bless him for remembering me, for waiting, and for having the faith that I would eventually return.

I didn't think much about that dream, except I did relay it to my spiritual director. And she asked, "Now who do you think that guy was with the white truck?" Because it was so obvious, but I hadn't put it together, and I had to laugh. Certainly, that's a thing Jesus would do. Jesus would remember us, wait faithfully for us to make that change, take that step, until we got our act together and finally showed up. The reason I'm telling you this story is that I think it represents how God waits for us to make the move towards him. And God is very faithful and present and patient and persistent. Now, I'm not talking about making a move to seminary. That's not necessary. It's any move that brings us closer to God, any statement or change in which we confirm that we are in. Whenever we say, like the disciple in the gospel today, "I will follow you, Lord." Martin Smith is a beloved teacher and priest in our tradition, and he tells a story about a little boy who goes to church for the first time. During the service, he hears a new word, and he gets the hang of it. So at the end of every prayer, he shouts out, "I'm in." He thought they were saying "I'm in" when they were saying "Amen." So instead of "Amen," I want us to think about "I'm in." And that's the kind of change we're talking about. We know that the "I'm in" sometimes can cost us.

There are theories about faith formation, and some posit that there are stages an individual and a church go through. As with any system of changes, we're not to judge others. All stages are good. One doesn't have to move from stage to stage. Probably it's not even a linear thing. The model is just helpful as a roadmap in understanding the process better. And they teach it to us in seminary. It's a way to get us to understand it. So according to the model, it starts with hospitality and welcome. Here, the emphasis is on social events that build friendships over time and allow parishioners to get to know each other, forming a loving and supportive community.

The second part moves to questioning. People begin to ask questions about faith and articulate their doubts. You know, this Nicene thing we say, Nicene Creed that we say every week. Maybe they're in a crisis and they're seeking clarity and deeper understanding. Now at some point, sometimes people leave the church at that point. They don't like the answers they receive. But for the ones that stay, there's another step towards greater acceptance and commitment. Maybe adding more spiritual activities and deeper spiritual practices that result in a desire to give to others. For example, as a ministry leader.

And the final stage is being made whole. Complete immersion in the Spirit includes release of ego, giving oneself to Christ, resulting in a deep presence, peace, stillness, clarity, natural flow, a letting go of tensions that we may have stored for lifetimes. People think and act in the world with clarity but are not so attached or affected by the world. Worship feels fresh and alive, like light passing through clear water.

And so we turn to Paul's letter to the Galatians, which might be the key that unlocks all of this. It starts out, "For freedom Christ has set you free." Later in today's reading, Paul also makes two lists, the famous lists that preachers hate. Well, we hate the first one. You heard them in the reading. The first list is sinful traits: "Sexual immorality, impurity, debauchery, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these." So, we all have at least some of these. A history of them, at least. We recognize how we, in our ignorance, did our best at the time. We admit now that these remedies for our wounds were unskillful, and we subject ourselves to the patient practice of having our desires remade.

I love the line actually from Paul about the gifts of being spiritual. The fruit of the Spirit is "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control." Each of these qualities can be cultivated intentionally, or they can also just arise spontaneously with spiritual practice. And the Spirit shapes us to be the kind of people to whom this fruit tastes sweet. Desiring the fruits and shaping our desires through them finds completion only when we reach that last stage when we're made whole, that last stage of faith formation.

So, if today's gospel reading from Luke left you feeling uncomfortable, I'm right there with you. Jesus says some harsh words. My rector at St. Margaret's called these the words of cranky Jesus. There's a book that is a boon for every preacher in this situation. It's called The Difficult Words of Jesus. It's by Amy Jill Levine. She's a theologian and a rabbi. Her gift to Christianity is that she writes about Jesus through the lens of his being a Jewish teacher. So it's very insightful. It's a real gift to us.

You heard it. First, Jesus is entering a Samaritan village. Recall that Jews and Samaritans were bitter enemies, and he's refused. Jesus' followers, James and John, are angry. We understand this response because we do not like it when we are rejected, when our offer of help is rejected. The apostles want revenge on the village, but Jesus says no. Elsewhere, Jesus instructs his disciples, "whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, turn, wipe the dust from your feet, and leave." It's probably a good lesson to move away from those reluctant or distrusting of us and clean ourselves of that interaction by wiping off their very dust. There are enough people who do welcome us to worry about the people who don't welcome us.

In the passage, Jesus continues to instruct his would-be followers. He warns one potential follower that it will not be easy to follow Jesus. Jesus complains that he, the Son of Man, has no place to rest his head. He's penniless. To another potential disciple, he said, "follow me." But the chosen one objected that he had to first go bury his father. It was considered a crucial role in those days, as it is now. Jesus said, "let the dead bury the dead." That seems awfully cruel thing to say to a grieving son. And he was saying, really, "let those spiritually dead do that work." But still, I don't like it. I can't abide that sentiment, honestly. Third, a follower asked to delay so that he could say goodbye to his family. And Jesus said, "no one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God." So as for the plowing metaphor, you're plowing and you want to go straight ahead and make a straight row. And if you turn to look back, then you're going to curve your plow and you make a crooked row. And you're going to get distracted and lost, and you might end up in Brooklyn like I did.

Jesus wants to express urgency to join the kingdom of God. But still, these sayings, for a man who preached love, they don't sound very warm, do they? So Rabbi Levine says that Jesus used shocking statements to emphasize that following him and spreading his message is a higher priority than worldly obligations. It's a big one. Only by using this strident language with its visceral negative implications (and that might be my negative implication, I have to examine that) can he show how urgent the call to the kingdom of God is. Jesus' demand for loyalty is that strong, that singular in focus, and the best way he can express it is to speak in these exaggerated terms. Now, I don't really think he means those lines literally. There are plenty of verses in the Bible that teach us to be compassionate, honor our parents. This Jesus is not offering comfort in the traditional sense. He's offering liberation, and liberation always comes at a cost. I like to think that Jesus said those harsh words kind of like the guy at the truck, you know, with a smile, like he was being sardonic and almost ironic to his followers. So you could go back and read them and imagine Jesus going with a little smile, "let the dead bury the dead." I don't know if it works for you

So Richard Rohr, theologian and priest, explains, as humans, we have a toxic attraction to that negative. Maybe Jesus knew that and he was using that. It could be a situation at work, a bit of incriminating gossip that you heard, a dangerous development in global politics. We're just all on, you know, we're just all watching that TV. This habit can be debilitating for an individual and for a group. True freedom from this tendency is rare because we are controlled by automatic responses most of the time. And Paul tells us one way to increase authentic spirituality is to deliberately practice actually enjoying the positive.

So from the very beginning, faith, hope, and love are planted deep in our nature. We need to draw on this as the absolute source. Our saying "yes" to the implanted faith, hope, and love plays a crucial role in the divine equation that human freedom matters. Mary's "yes" is essential to the Incarnation, inviting our own "yes." God does not come uninvited. God and grace cannot enter without an opening from our side. And God seems willing to wait, cajole, and entice. We have freedom, including the freedom to fail. In other words, we matter, we must trust in our discernment.

Father Richard said that the soul's very foundation is built on hope, faith, and love. Faith is a trust in inner coherence itself, that it all means something. Hope is a trust that this coherence is positive and going somewhere good. As Christians, we have to believe that, no matter how bad the world gets. Love is trust that this coherence includes me and defines me. This healing must be done first at an individual level before it can be achieved at a church level or even a societal level. For our world to move forward, we must rely on an inherent, original goodness and a universally shared dignity.

And discipleship, real Jesus-shaped discipleship, costs something. And sometimes what it costs is our comfort, our neutrality, our ability to sit quietly while bombs fall. The kingdom of God is not in the past. It is ahead. It is breaking in even now. And we, you, me, this community, are called to walk towards it with eyes open and hearts on fire. In the name of Christ who leads the way, and like the little boy, let's say, "Amen."

June 22, 2025 Sermon

Anna is a wonderful traveler. She's excellent when it comes to being on the road, going and having adventures, and I absolutely love it because it's an opportunity for me to take her places and to experience the world anew through her.

A little while back, she and I had the opportunity to take a day trip to New York City where she got to see the big buildings and all the kind of bright lights and shiny things that she's seen in movies and books and other things. And then this past week for the Juneteenth holiday on Thursday, we had an opportunity to be with some friends at their beach house in Ocean City, Maryland.

And these two trips are connected because being Anna, being the age that she is, everything is kind of stereotyped now. When I asked her what things she wanted to do in New York City, her worldview was shaped by the imagination she's developed through these books. So we had to go get a pretzel from a pretzel cart. And we took a ride in a yellow taxi, and we went to Central Park and walked around, and we took the Staten Island Ferry so we could go past the Statue of Liberty.

And when we went to Ocean City, we, of course, had to get Fisher's popcorn, and we walked the boardwalk, and we did all the things that you kind of expect to do. And I was thinking about that this week because there's kind of a fun joy in experiencing the world through those stereotypes and seeing her experience of them. But there's also kind of a shadow side to stereotypes as well. Those times when we can get stuck in what we expect the world to look like or what we think the world could look like. And we get mired in our own obsessive clinging to these ideals.

The context, geographically and historically, of our gospel passage today is really interesting. This whole region around the Sea of Galilee, both... in its geographical location, which was the western side of the Sea of Galilee, and this region on the opposite side of the Gerasenes, this whole area was called the Decapolis. There were ten Hellenistic Greco-Roman cities, that's the Deca there in the Decapolis, that were scattered throughout that region, made it a place of intermingling. It was a... bridge between East and West. It was a region that was very, very involved in international trade and commerce. There were multiple people from multiple places and this huge melting pot of identities and cultures and traditions.

But it's not that everyone in that region experienced life in that way. There were many pockets of places that kind of clung heavy-handedly, strong-fistedly to particular ways of living, particular ways of being. And we know this, not just because of examples that we have in the narrative stories like this. community that was so resistant to what Jesus was doing in the gospel today, but we also have it in the material, archaeological evidence. There were communities, and actually, Nazareth in Galilee, where Jesus was raised, was one of these, where even though they were right next to your metropolitan center, all of the physical artifacts that we have from that community were explicitly Jewish, were explicitly connected to Jerusalem.

And just like today where we can look at certain stylistic elements of the plates that we own or the drinkware that we own or the ways that we design our houses. historians and archaeologists can look at the material remains and say ah it's noticeable that there aren't a variety of cultural artifacts in this community it's limited to this very narrow experience this very narrow culture Indicating that they were clinging on to a certain identity, a certain way of life. They were kind of standing as a bastion against this diversity that they saw around them.

And that's one evidence of this happening. But another is, like I say, the story we have today. We have this community that has a certain way of being. A certain way of thinking. a certain way of interacting with the world around them. And the moment that gets upset and flipped on its head, they get scared and fearful, and they want nothing to do with it. But they're not the only ones who are scared and fearful.

We have three communities, or at least three examples. of fearfulness in this narrative today. We have the community that this poor man lived in, the one that lacked compassion for him, the community that kept him at arm's length, not only that kept him at arm's length, but shackled him, kept him within bonds in order to prevent him from being more fully a part of the community. They showed no effort to help heal him. They just wanted him to go away and stop bothering them.

Then you have a second fearful community. If we pay close attention, there's the community of these demons living within this man. They don't want to go back to where they came from. They don't want to be sent back to the pits of shale. They would rather be destroyed. Then return. They too fear. And in that fear they consume this man's life. And then you have the one stuck. Stuck between all of these oppressive forces. The one caught in the middle. The one most powerless.

And what do we do with all of that? Well I think. What we see in the outcome is the power of transformation, the power of living differently, the power of witnessing to the goodness that God can bring out of even the most devastating of circumstances. But we also have a witness to openness. A witness to compassion. A witness to changing hearts and minds.

This man is living in fearfulness, quite reasonably so, if we look at where his life has taken him. But when Jesus heals him, when he is back in his right mind, His first response is to stay in that place of fear. He asks Jesus to let him depart with him. I have been healed. I am a new person. I want to get as far away from these people who have mistreated me as I possibly can. And oh, what a human reaction that is. How many times I have enjoyed and my own friends who have left oppressive circumstances for better climates, better communities, more supportive places.

But Jesus says no. He says go back. Go back into this difficult circumstance and proclaim what has happened to you. Proclaim the goodness of transformation. And I have to admit, that's a really challenging prospect for me. I would never in a million years want to tell someone who has suffered so significantly under the weight of such an oppressive community to return to it. To stay in it. To be in that place of challenge. But this man goes forward and does exactly that. He returns and proclaims. He stays and transforms.

And I want us... To really sit with that today. This continues, this developing theme that I'm working on and inviting us into over the course of this year. Of really, deeply, intentionally discerning what it means to be community. How being the community of Christ. How being the church in this day and age is a process of being witnesses and proclaimers of uncomfortable truths, of preaching transformation when society and the world around us is more and more tightly clinging to certainty. Conservatism not in a political sense, but a sense of resisting change, resisting being pulled, being stretched, growing anew into new realities.

Every day. Seems to present a new opportunity. A new impulse to circle the wagons. We're seeing that just in the last 24 hours. With this increasing anxiety over further military conflict. And yet, there's a place. There's a place. peace and resiliency that Christ offers us in reorienting us not to the struggle, but to the transformation. As my colleague, Father Robert Hendrickson, who I've quoted before, observed last night, it is possible to hold that war is terrible, that there aren't good faith actors involved in tension, with the knowledge that bad options are sometimes the sad payment we pay to forestall worse ones. This is why we are to put little hope in the powers of this world and to pray for a peace that passes human understanding.

So often, it is so easy to just get fixated. on all of the problems that the world is presenting us, to get mired in all of those difficulties. And yet our invitation today, always, is to hold those things gently. Not to shy away from them. Not to ignore the realities of the world. but to preach the transformed life, to show the better way ahead.

G.K. Chesterton, in probably his most famous poem, which has been set time and again to music as a hymn, says in this very first stanza, "O God of earth and altar, bow down and hear our cry. Our earthly rulers falter, our people drift and die. The walls of gold entomb us, the swords of scorn divide. Take not thy thunder from us, but take away our pride." And that was over a hundred years ago that he penned that, and yet how prescient it is for us today.

In this season, of being stretched and pulled, of growing anew. May we, in preaching that transformation, ultimately find this great wellspring of humility that is so much a part of our faith, setting aside those places of pride, those places of anxiety, those places of fear in which we hold on to things so tightly. that we have fists to fight instead of open arms to embrace. And may we, as we are shaped and reformed today in this moment, be people of compassion and love, communities of openness and growth. May we be proclaimers of the truth of transformation that Christ offers. And in that, may we more fully and completely embrace the love and the presence of our God, who even now is transforming and breaking in anew to the realities and difficulties of the world around us. May we be healed of our demons of resistance, and may we be proclaimers of the transformation of new life. that we find in this place and always. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.