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The problem isn’t that Jesus might be the Messiah; the problem is how he choses to be Messiah (10th Sunday after Pentecost, 8/17/2025)

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Readings (Track 1)

Today’s Gospel reading is downright puzzling. What are its various parts doing? How does it relate to what Luke’s been giving us in the last few chapters? Why—for example—does Jesus address the crowd as “You hypocrites”?

Well, what has Luke been giving us? Arguments between Jesus and the religious leadership, extended teaching about God’s generosity and the folly of greed. The seventy Jesus sent out to announce the Kingdom came back encouraged, but that doesn’t seem to have moved the needle. So today’s text, primarily a call to repentance. (That repentance theme continues into the beginning of the next chapter, which our Lectionary had us reading back in the third week of Lent!) Repent!

But why that strange combination of stories of arguments between Jesus and the religious leadership and teaching about divine generosity and human greed? We encounter one clue when a Pharisee criticizes Jesus’ omitting the ritual handwashing before the meal. Jesus responds: “Now you Pharisees clean the outside of the cup and of the dish, but inside you are full of greed (ἁρπαγή) and wickedness” (Lk. 11:39). Later, as Jesus talks about dealing with opposition from the authorities, there’s that request from the crowd that prompts Jesus’ warning against greed (πλεονεξία; 12:15). Luke wants us to wonder about greed and opposition to Jesus—so let’s wonder!

A few chapters back in Luke:

“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.
Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled.
Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.…
But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.
Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry.
Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep… (Lk. 6:20-26)

Early in the Book of Acts Luke tells us “a great many of the priests became obedient to the faith” (Acts 6:7), so we’re not talking about all the religious leaders here. But for the religious leaders who oppose Jesus and end up seeking his death the logic may have been simple: “yes” to Jesus means no more business as usual: the unending contest for status with its accompanying wealth, readings of the Law that just happen to feather one’s own nest.

In other words, their problem isn’t that Jesus might be the Messiah. Their problem is that Jesus’ way of being Messiah makes it impossible for them to hitch their wagon to his apparently rising star. That had long been the pattern. Whether with the Persians, the Greeks, or the Romans an accommodation was always possible as long as everyone’s greed was taken into account. But Jesus with his “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all” (Mk. 10:43-44) or “And do not keep striving for what you are to eat and what you are to drink, and do not keep worrying” (Lk. 12:29)? Impossible.

Which is why, I think, we hear Jesus’ “You hypocrites!” in today’s Gospel. The problem isn’t that those good at reading the weather can’t read the “present time” (“Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news brought to them.” [Lk. 7:22]). The problem is that they refuse any reading that might disturb the status quo.  No additional signs from Jesus would move the needle because Jesus’ way of being Messiah is simply unacceptable.

This helps us appreciate Jesus’ troubling words “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!” Peace isn’t neutral. Recall the Roman historian Tacitus, who gives us this speech from a British leader—one of Jesus’ contemporaries—prior to battle: “They [the Romans] plunder, they slaughter, and they steal: this they falsely name Empire, and where they make a wasteland, they call it peace.”[1] Would any of us have been happy with Jesus bringing a peace that fit comfortably within the Pax Romana?

That was then; what about now? We might return to Jesus’ word to his disciples: “Beware of the yeast of the Pharisees, that is, their hypocrisy” (Lk. 12:1). As long as Jesus is around, accommodation to the status quo is impossible. Once he’s offstage, possibilities emerge. Paul’s letters: they’d be considerably shorter if their recipients weren’t already trying to merge confession of Jesus with their ongoing pursuit of status and wealth. The Roman Empire, that well-oiled machine of plunder, receives quite unflattering treatment in the Revelation, but by the early fourth century the emperors are Christian.

Over here, we have the prosperity gospel, in which greed pretty much moves from the “vice” to the “virtue” column. And Christian nationalism, in which the image of God is effectively reduced to those of the right skin color and culture.  Yes, “Beware of the yeast of the Pharisees, that is, their hypocrisy.” Beware of the constant temptation to adjust Jesus or “Messiah” so that nothing need change. As our brother Martin Luther put it in the first of his 95 Theses: “When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, ‘Repent’ (Mt 4:17), he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.”

Or, to put it in positive terms, from our reading from Hebrews: “looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith,” or, better, from the Common English Version, “and fix our eyes on Jesus, faith’s pioneer and perfecter.” Fix our eyes, not only because it’s easy to get distracted, but because there remain parts of us that want to get distracted. Jesus doesn’t always tell us what we want to hear: pioneers and perfecters are like that. Sometimes the immediate effect is division, not peace. But Hebrews has it right: “who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.” Jesus would share that joy, so, however the past week has gone, he again invites us to his Table.

“Sanctify us also that we may faithfully receive this holy Sacrament, and serve you in unity, constancy, and peace; and at the last day bring us with all your saints into the joy of your eternal kingdom.”

[1] Cf https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tacitus, accessed 8/6/2025.

Why we want to keep listening to Jesus’ word (6th Sunday after Pentecost, 7/20/2025)

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Readings (Track 2)

In last Sunday’s Gospel we heard the lawyer ask “Who is my neighbor?” and Jesus’ reply, the parable of the Good Samaritan. Luke pairs that with today’s Gospel, Jesus in Martha’s home—with perhaps surprising results. Martha: “About that loving your neighbor command: please tell my sister…” But it doesn’t play out as Martha (or we?) expect. What’s going on?

We might notice how Luke describes Mary’s conduct: “who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying.” Culturally it’s somewhat unexpected: we’d expect men at Jesus’ feet—and we’ll come back to this. It’s Luke’s “listened to his word” that catches the ear, because it’s language we’ve already heard repeatedly: “I will show you what someone is like who comes to me, hears my words, and acts on them” (the parable about building on rock vs. sand [6:47]); “But as for that in the good soil, these are the ones who, when they hear the word, hold it fast in an honest and good heart” (the parable of the sower [8:15]). Mary’s on the right path.

What of Martha? “Martha, Martha, you are worried (μεριμνᾷς) and distracted by many things.” This sounds like Jesus’ description of the seed sown among the thorns: “they are choked by the cares (μεριμνῶν) and riches and pleasures of life” (8:14). Again, there are Martha’s words: “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” Mary is listening to Jesus’ word; Martha assumes what Jesus’ word should be, and—at the moment—Jesus’ role is simply to confirm Martha’s assumptions. There’s more than a whiff of the lawyer’s “But wanting to justify himself” from last Sunday’s reading. Or we might hear Martha’s words as apostolic, in the tradition of “Master, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he does not follow with us” (9:49) or “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” (9:54) Jesus may be Lord, but apparently still needs guidance on how things should be organized.

“Lord.” Throughout the short story it’s “the Lord:” “who sat at the Lord’s feet,” “Lord, do you not care,” “But the Lord answered her.” This is the Lord in the living room for whom five loaves and two fish are more than enough for 5,000 people, and Martha’s letting herself get distracted by “many tasks” in the kitchen?

What’s going on here? It’s not simply that the paired stories (the encounter with the lawyer, Martha’s hospitality) illustrate the importance of loving the neighbor (the Samaritan) and loving God (Mary). It’s that without a continual listening to Jesus’ word even love of neighbor can morph into something disconnected from Jesus’ vision. Hence the chilling warning in Matthew: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven. On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many deeds of power in your name?’ Then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; go away from me, you evildoers’” (Matt. 7:21-23).

At the risk of belaboring the obvious, our vision and Jesus’ vision of what love of neighbor means, how it’s best expressed, are not the same. We assume, for instance, that the more power we have the better we’ll be able to love our neighbor. But here’s Jesus two Sundays ago: “Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. 4 Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals…”

Multiple reasons for continually listening to Jesus’ word. I’ll notice another from our Epistle, another from the Gospels, and then wrap up.

Judging by both Galatians and Colossians it looks like popular religion in Asia Minor assumed the more initiations the better, something like the credit cards in our wallets. The Colossians had been baptized. Great. Now, what was the next initiation they needed to further progress, to better navigate this world filled with gods, goddesses, “things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers”? So we hear Paul trying to explain that it doesn’t work like that. Let’s listen again: “in [Jesus] all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers– all things have been created through [Jesus] and for [Jesus].… in [Jesus] all things hold together. [Jesus] is … the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. For in [Jesus] all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell.” Any other initiations? Superfluous! Any other cards in the wallet? Superfluous. As the heavenly voice at the Transfiguration put it, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” (Lk. 9:35)

But back to the Gospels. There, Jesus has this uncanny ability to come at things differently, to not get trapped by the assumed alternatives.

“’Is it lawful for us to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?’… ‘Show me a denarius. Whose head and whose title does it bear?’ They said, ‘The emperor’s.’ He said to them, ‘Then give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s’” (Lk. 20:22-25).

“Why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders? For they do not wash their hands before they eat.”… “it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles” (Matt. 15:2-11).

Einstein nailed it when he said something like “We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.” But too often “the same thinking” is the order of the day, and we’re told that it’s either this or that. Then along comes Jesus, who regularly come at problems diagonally:

We Christians in this country—and probably others as well—really need to learn how to do that more often. Too often we end up just parroting the talking points from the left or the right—and then appeal to Jesus for support. “Tell [Mary] then to help me.”

What of the ending? “Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” On the one hand, it continues one of Luke’s major themes: “the better part,” hear and obey the word. Elsewhere in Luke: “My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it” (8:21). On the other hand, it’s a landmine. It’s Mary’s choice, not her parents’ or Martha’s or anyone else’s. And proclamations that start “A woman’s place is…”—they shouldn’t look to Jesus for support.

Yes, let us keep learning, keep listening to Jesus.

When Mercy meets “Us & Them” (5th Sunday after Pentecost, 7/13/2025)

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Readings (Track 1)

This morning let’s focus on three elements in today’s Gospel. First, the lawyer’s answer to Jesus’ first question: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” Second, the lawyer’s second question: “And who is my neighbor?” Third, the final interchange: “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” “The one who showed him mercy.” “Go and do likewise.”

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.”

In Matthew and Mark this is Jesus’ answer to the question of which commandment is the most important (Matt 22:36ff; Mk 12:28ff). Perhaps the lawyer had been listening to Jesus! What of Jesus’ reply: “do this, and you will live”? Not because life is some sort of external prize tacked onto this commandment, but because love is at the heart of God’s life. In the first letter of John: “God is love” (4:8). If we want to live with the grain of the universe, it doesn’t get more basic than that. We might view the other two elements that we’ll be dealing with as fleshing out this theme.

“But wanting to justify himself, [the lawyer] asked Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbor?’” “Wanting to justify himself,” for the lawyer, like the rest of us, assumes that there’s “us” and “them” (that’s built into our language), and that “neighbor” is “us” or some subset of “us.”

“Us” and “them.” Mostly this works automatically, starting with language. Word choice, accent: after a few words we’ve slotted the speaker as one of us or them. Clothing, personal space, zip code: so many ways of slotting people into us or them.

Speaking of “us” and “them,” what do we make of the argument reflected in this morning’s psalm? The treatment of the weak, the orphan, the humble, the needy, the poor: is it really unjust? Aren’t these “the takers” (in Mitt Romney’s memorable phrasing in 2012) in contrast to “the makers,” who do deserve to be shown favor? As a nation we’re still in the middle of that argument. The weak, the orphan, the humble, the needy, the poor: how do these map onto our “us” and “them”?

“Who is my neighbor?” So Jesus tells a parable in which “neighbor” cuts across our “us/them” boxes. First, the cast of characters: Priest, Levite, Samaritan. As you recall, the Samaritan was the classic “Other;” “Be a good boy / Eat your vegetables or a Samaritan will…” Second, Jesus’ closing: “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”

As Jesus reads the Torah, “neighbor” relativizes our “us/them” boxes.

Now, if we pull back the camera, there’s an obvious question. A few weeks back we heard Paul say “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” Haven’t we just replaced these us/them contrasts with “Christian and non-Christian” so that we’re back where we started?

A response to that question requires two hands. On the one hand, the NT is clear: saying “yes” to Jesus is fundamental. Last week we heard Paul saying “So then, whenever we have an opportunity, let us work for the good of all, and especially for those of the family of faith” (Gal. 6:10). On the other hand, if that “yes” motivates anything other than love, it’s no longer Jesus to whom I’m saying yes.

Consider the limit case, love of enemies. Jesus’ “love your enemies” isn’t simply one element in his teaching; it captures his Father’s modus operandi throughout the Bible.

His Father’s modus operandi: we meet this in today’s first reading from Amos and repeatedly in the coming weeks with the Old Testament lessons from the 8th & 7th century prophets. The Northern Kingdom (Israel) and Southern Kingdom (Judah) are turning their backs on God, trampling on the vulnerable (Psalm 82 again). Those two actions are two sides of the same coin: I turn my back on God and—surprise—I’m no longer in solidarity with all those who bear God’s image, but only with those who bear my image: same skin color, dialect, etc. Anyhow, Israel and Judah: they have made themselves God’s enemies. So for God all the good and easy options are off the table, and God struggles to find a way to stop the madness and to begin laying the foundation for a better future.

And it captures Jesus’ modus operandi. Two weeks ago we heard James and John offering to call down fire on a Samaritan village that—they thought—had not given Jesus a sufficiently enthusiastic reception. So Jesus finds himself for neither the first nor the last time among his enemies.

Any two-bit god can surround themselves with friends; Jesus’ God is constantly seeking out her enemies.

Our Eucharistic Prayer reminds us of this weekly. For example, Prayer A: “to reconcile us to you, the God and Father of all” or, again, “Sanctify us…and serve you in unity, constancy, and peace.”

To stay with our liturgy for a moment, every week there’s the Confession and Absolution. So the divide between Christians and non-Christians isn’t between friends and enemies of God. On our good days we Christians are allowing God to continue the life-long work of transforming us from enemies into friends.

In sum, that’s one thing the parable is doing. “Neighbor” messes with our notions of “us” and “them.”

“Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” “The one who showed him mercy.” “Go and do likewise.”

Mercy, compassion. In God’s self-description to Moses in the aftermath of the Golden Calf incident, we hear “The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, (  יְהוָ֣ה׀ יְהוָ֔ה אֵ֥ל רַח֖וּם וְחַנּ֑וּן) (Exod. 34:6). It’s worth noticing that that Hebrew word for ‘merciful’ (raḥûm) comes from the word for ‘womb’ (reḥem). And one of the (Greek) verbs for “have compassion” is used in the Gospels exclusively for Jesus and in a couple of Jesus’ parables—like this one, the Samaritan “moved with compassion.”

Compassion, the Gospel writers tell us, is fundamental to how Jesus navigates this world. Like Father, like Son. And this, in turn, shapes the Gospels’ understanding of how we follow Jesus. So, in the parable compassion is the turning point in the story. And if we read the parable as an image of the divine-human history, it is the turning point in that history: this Samaritan God finding us and caring for us on the Jericho road. We hear that turning point in our Eucharistic Prayers. What is the start of Eucharistic Prayer A if not an extended description of compassion?

“Holy and gracious Father: In your infinite love you made us for yourself; and, when we had fallen into sin and become subject to evil and death, you, in your mercy, sent Jesus Christ, your only and eternal Son, to share our human nature, to live and die as one of us, to reconcile us to you, the God and Father of all.”

The lawyer’s answer rightly focuses on ‘compassion’ (using a different Greek word), and Jesus serves it back to him—and us: “Go and do likewise.” We might recall Jesus’ words earlier in the same Gospel: “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful” (Lk. 6:36). Be merciful: a big part of The Dummy’s Guide to Going with the Grain of the Universe.

What this sermon boils down to: an invitation to use Jesus’ parable as a lens through which to view the world we’ll encounter in the coming week. Us and them. Notice how often this gets encouraged, the subtle ways it can distort our identity. Compassion. Notice all that deadens it. Look for opportunities, however small, to practice it, inside and outside the “family of faith.” Recall former Archbishop of Canterbury William Temple’s observation: “The church is the only institution that exists primarily for the benefit of those who are not its members.”

Freedom: A Post-July 4 Conversation with Paul (4th Sunday after Pentecost, 7/6/2025)

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Readings (Track 1)

Last week we heard Paul’s ringing “For freedom Christ has set us free!” and his Flesh/Spirit contrast. The flesh (our humanity curved in on itself) undercuts that freedom; God’s Spirit boosts it. This week he’s still working that Flesh/Spirit contrast. Two days ago we celebrated the 4th of July. So this sermon is mostly a conversation with Paul—in our early 21st century context.

“You reap whatever you sow.” It sounds like it’s already a proverb, which Paul wants to use to keep talking about Flesh and Spirit. Flesh vs. Spirit isn’t the material/immaterial contrast, as though the latter were intrinsically better. It’s not about escaping from the body. Recall the list of the works of the flesh we heard last week: many of the items have nothing to do with the body: “enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy.” Luther often talked about sin as being curved in on oneself, and I find that a helpful way of talking about Paul’s ‘flesh.’ Nothing wrong with flesh per se; the problems start when we treat it as the only reality. And Spirit: not any spirit, but the Spirit that brooded over the waters at creation, the Spirit that enlivened Ezekiel’s valley of bones, the Spirit that arrived at Pentecost.

“You reap whatever you sow.” Why does Paul think he needs to say that? If we think about our own experience, the upside to sowing to the flesh is that the reward is usually immediate. And that can deceive us into forgetting the downside. So, a warning. On the other hand, the downside of sowing to the Spirit is that the reward is often not immediate. It’s easy to “grow weary in doing what is right.” So, encouragement: “we will reap at harvest time, if we do not give up.”

And notice what follows: “So then, whenever we have an opportunity, let us work for the good of all, and especially for those of the family of faith.” As with Paul’s lists of the works of the Flesh and the fruit of the Spirit, the focus is communal, the sowing and reaping that happens in our common life. Paul’s particularly concerned about what happens in the “family of faith”—we might say “the parish.” But the same logic applies outside, and as there’s opportunity, Paul wants us to pay attention to that.

“The good of all.” Back in 2020 the sociologist Robert Putnam published The Upswing: How America Came Together a Century Ago and How We Can Do It Again. Looking at economic, political, social, and cultural indicators, Putnam thinks we were getting “more equal, less contentious, more connected, and more conscious of shared values” in the period 1900-1960, and since then “less equal, more polarized, more fragmented, and more individualistic” (pp.285-86). The “How We Can Do It Again” part is necessarily short on detail: it’s a bottom-up process. Our attention to “the good of all” in and past parish boundaries can contribute to that badly-needed upswing.

“Let us work for the good of all.” Well, how? “I’m doing this for your good” is usually not reassuring. And here today’s Gospel provides one clue. Jesus gives the seventy impressive power, and pairs it with self-imposed weakness: “Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals… Whatever house you enter… Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide… Do not move about from house to house.” The work demands not lording it over these towns, but entering into community with them.

Which brings us—recalling July 4th—to Paul’s “For freedom Christ has set us free.” What do we think freedom is about? The German theologian Moltmann observes that we tend to think of freedom in terms of what we can do or have, which is, he argues, to see freedom as a sort of lordship. “Everyone should be his or her own ruler, his or her own lord, his or her own slaveholder.… Each one sees the other as a competitor in the battle for power and ownership.” This sounds like what Paul was confronting among the Galatians: freedom as license to continue to compete with each other. The alternative? Freedom as community. “I am free and feel myself to be free when I am recognized and accepted by others and when I, for my part, recognize and accept others.…Then the other person is no longer a limitation of my freedom but the completion of it.”[1]

In case freedom as lordship vs community sounds like apples and oranges, the following might help. If I’m thinking of freedom to consume (“What can I get this week?”) lordship works. But if I ask: am I free to play the flute? To gain that freedom I’d need teachers, fellow students for encouragement, folk giving honest feedback… a community. Am I free to speak Japanese? Am I free to live as a human being?

Freedom as lordship or community: the alternatives align pretty closely with Paul’s lists of the works of the flesh and the fruit of the Spirit. They align pretty closely with Jesus’ instructions to the seventy.

Freedom as community invites us to recognize freedom across the status totem pole, as in, for example, our first reading. Consider the folk at the bottom of the totem pole.

First, the little maid, captured in a Syrian raid, and now serving Naaman’s wife. She could easily have kept the information about Elisha to herself, and taken a sort of joy in watching the commander waste away. She could have seen it as a sort of justice, or even as punishment from her God. She’s near the bottom of the totem pole, but she has choices, and she chooses to give Naaman the information that saves him.

Then, Naaman’s servants. Naaman’s response to Elisha’s non-appearance suggests that he had a short fuse, and his servants would have been the first to suffer from that. Never mind whether they thought Elisha’s instructions had any merit: they could have enjoyed watching their master stymied. They’re not much up the totem pole from the little maid, but they have choices, and they chose to deal gently and honorably with their master, to give his indignation an offramp, and he is saved.

Let’s try to pull this together. “For freedom Christ has set us free!” That Paul found it necessary to talk about the Flesh and the Spirit tells us that ‘freedom’ can be ambiguous, and I’ve used Moltmann’s freedom as lordship or community as a way of unpacking that. “Let us work for the good of all.” A necessary exhortation, whether in our parish life or two days out from July 4th. The examples of that servant girl and Naaman’s servants together with Jesus’ instructions remind us that this work isn’t about amassing as much power as possible to impose our solutions.

And, simply for the joy of it, let’s watch all this play out in the verses just after today’s first reading:

“Then [Naaman] returned to the man of God, he and all his company; he came and stood before him and said, ‘Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel; please accept a present from your servant.’ But he said, ‘As the LORD lives, whom I serve, I will accept nothing!’ He urged him to accept, but he refused. Then Naaman said, ‘If not, please let two mule-loads of earth be given to your servant; for your servant will no longer offer burnt offering or sacrifice to any god except the LORD. But may the LORD pardon your servant on one count: when my master goes into the house of Rimmon to worship there, leaning on my arm, and I bow down in the house of Rimmon, when I do bow down in the house of Rimmon, may the LORD pardon your servant on this one count.’”

There are—one might argue—all sorts of things wrong in this request. Elijah and Elisha have spent pretty much their entire careers fighting against idolatry. But this is a foreigner, and Elisha lives in that freedom Paul celebrated. So Elisha says to Naaman: “Go in peace.”

[1] Humanity in God pp. 63-64.

God is Love; The Holy Trinity: The Community of Love (Trinity Sunday, 6/15/2025)

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Readings

Children’s Sermon

Can you play ping pong or tag by yourself? Tell yourself a joke?
Many of the things that give us the greatest joy, that express our humanity, we need to do together. Loving is another of those things.

What we’re celebrating today, Trinity Sunday, is that that joy and love have been at the heart of reality even before God created anything. God is One. God is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, an eternal community of joy and love.

And this God calls out to us: come join the party. That’s the invitation we share with our neighbors.

Adults’ Sermon

What I shared with the children is the core of what I’m sharing with you. Love, like telling a joke or playing tag, demands others. What we celebrate on Trinity Sunday is that the statement “God is Love” did not need to wait for creation to be true. And God, rather than putting up a wall around that community, has been calling out to us from the start: Come on in!

Today’s readings offer different ways of exploring this reality.

Our psalm: “you adorn him with glory and honor.” We heard the psalmist spell that out within the psalm’s horizon. Within the horizon of Scripture as a whole the core of that glory and honor is that divine invitation. We heard it a couple weeks ago in Revelation: “The Spirit and the bride say, ‘Come.’ And let everyone who hears say, ‘Come.’ And let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.” And we heard it in Jesus’ prayer: “The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.” What is any glory or honor our nations can gin up in comparison to being the recipients of this invitation? (So the Doctrine of the Trinity ends up telling us who we are.)

In the Gospel we heard “When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth,” or, as Raymond Brown translates it in his magisterial commentary “he will guide you along the way of all truth.” But here—sorry—we need a brief parenthesis about that word “truth.” We’re used to contrasting it with what’s factually false. But recall its first use in the Gospel to describe Jesus: “full of grace and truth.” We might better translate “abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness,” because John’s citing God’s self-definition at Sinai (Exod. 34:6). That’s who God is; that’s who Jesus is. And the truth in question is as much about being true in relationships (faithful) as being true to the facts.

The Spirit’s work, guiding “along the way of all truth,” is crucial in both senses. Jesus is alive, not dead. The Gentile believers don’t need to be circumcised. But how do the Jewish believers who keep kosher and the Gentile believers who don’t, live faithfully together? That’s equally important, so that the New Testament letters spend a great deal of energy on what truthful/faithful life together means—in the midst of our differences. Turns out there’s nothing automatic about “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another” (Jn. 13:35).

In today’s epistle we heard “and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.” Why doesn’t this hope disappoint us? If we asked Paul to unpack this, I suspect that I would have reminded us that all of this is directed to us in community rather than us as isolated individuals. We’ve received the Holy Spirit, who guides us into more faithful relations with each other. We can put our weight on that hope of sharing the glory of God because we’re getting a foretaste of that glory in what the Holy Spirit’s doing in our relationships in the parish.

We pray for this at every Eucharist. Recall the words from Prayer A: “Sanctify [the bread and wine] to be for your people the Body and Blood of your Son… Sanctify us also that we may faithfully receive this holy Sacrament, and serve you in unity, constancy, and peace.” Make these elements holy; make us holy. We need this holiness to live together in love.

What of wisdom’s words in our reading from Proverbs? They’re probably included because of their historical role in early conversations leading to Doctrine of Trinity. This morning, let’s hear them in context of other readings.

30b and I was daily his delight,
rejoicing before him always,
31 rejoicing in his inhabited world
and delighting in the human race.

What’s surprising about these lines is their contrast with wisdom’s words elsewhere in these first nine chapters. Wisdom has been offering to guide us “along the way of all truth.” But we humans are often a hard—if not hostile—crowd. Nevertheless, wisdom chooses to focus on what brings her delight, so “delighting in the human race.”

(Another quick parenthesis: as the portrait of the accuser—which comes into English as “Satan”—develops in the Old Testament, its core is arguably viewing humanity in the worst possible light: Job’s only serving God from self-interest. Or in the prophet Zechariah the accuser pointing out all the things that are wrong with the high priest. Delighting in or criticizing other folk: regularly choosing the latter—even when it’s more or less justifiable—is satanic.)

Proverbs’ portrait of wisdom participated in the Early Church’s conversations regarding the Trinity because what wisdom does sounds like what the Son or the Spirit do. In the light of our other readings, we can also observe that the Spirit’s guiding us along the way of all truth, strengthening our capacity to hope, also aligns us with wisdom’s stance so that we might echo wisdom’s words. So Trinity Baraboo might aim at:

We are daily God’s delight,
rejoicing before God always,
rejoicing in God’s inhabited world,
delighting in the human race.

Not a bad way to extend our celebration of Trinity Sunday into the rest of the year!

Renewing–not erasing–the face of the earth (Pentecost, 6/8/2025)

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Readings (Genesis 11, Acts 2, John 14)

As a setup for a story of epic proportions it’s hard to beat that brief interchange between Jesus and his disciples at the beginning of the Book of Acts:

So when they had come together, they asked him, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” He replied, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” (Acts 1:6-8)

There’s some quiet humor in it. The apostles are ready to kick back, assuming that the ball’s in Jesus’ court. Jesus parries the question, talks about what they’re going to do: receive power, be Jesus’ witnesses “to the ends of the earth.”

Does anyone else think that sounds like a remarkably bad idea? Recall the stories Luke’s told about these apostles:

On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to make ready for him; but they did not receive him, because his face was set toward Jerusalem. When his disciples James and John saw it, they said, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” (Lk. 9:52b-54)

John [again] “Master, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he does not follow with us.” (Lk. 9:49)

People were bringing even infants to him that he might touch them; and when the disciples saw it, they sternly ordered them not to do it. (Lk. 18:15)

Give this group more power? How’s that going to work?

What’s at stake is captured by that verse in today’s psalm: “You send forth your Spirit, and they are created; / and so you renew the face of the earth.” Renew: how do you renew without erasing? Folk who work at restoring art constantly face this challenge, trying to remove the effects of smoke, dirt, etc. without losing the original creation.

The Day of Pentecost provides one model, in which the Spirit keeps a pretty tight reign on the apostles. “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language?” How indeed? Perhaps the languages of the Parthians, Medes, Elamites, etc. came out of the mouths of the apostles. Perhaps—more likely—the Spirit provided simultaneous translation so that the Parthians etc. heard in their own native language. And even if it’s the former, it’s a one-off event.

“My witnesses… to the ends of the earth.” That’s a vision of frequently crossing cultures, of frequently learning. Recall the crash course the Spirit put Peter through so that he could share the Good News at the gentile Cornelius’ home. First that strange repeated vision of the sheet containing clean and unclean animals. “Get up, Peter; kill and eat.” Then, when Gentile messengers show up at the door the Spirit says“Look, three men are searching for you. Now get up, go down, and go with them without hesitation; for I have sent them.” Later, “While Peter was still speaking, the Holy Spirit fell upon all who heard the word,” and there they are, “speaking in tongues and extolling God.” It’s the conversion of Cornelius and Peter.

Regularly crossing cultures, regularly learning. No passport required, as anyone who’s parented knows: we’re almost constantly learning new languages.

So it’s perhaps no surprise that when Jesus talks about the role of the Spirit in today’s Gospel, the focus is on the Spirit as Teacher: “But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.” And from elsewhere in the same discourse: “When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth” (Jn. 16:13).

Heard in isolation “guide you into all the truth” can sound abstract, even esoteric. Heard alongside the rest of the New Testament, it’s about renewing without erasing. Jesus, not the many Roman gods, is Lord. OK: so in the cities in which the meat markets are temples to these other gods, how do the Christians relate to these markets? Paul, writing to the Corinthians, spends a couple chapters on that question.

How do we renew without erasing? Some years ago a cartoon captured this nicely. All the characters are pigs, and they’re in a hospital waiting room. The doctor comes out smiling, saying to the anxious spouse “Your husband is cured.” Unfortunately, he’s carrying the sort of 10 pound shrink-wrapped package you’d find in the meat department.

How do we renew without erasing? Current arguments about how we steward the environment, how we respond to different experiences of sexuality, how we order our economic life suggest that “guide you into all the truth” still belongs on the front burner. And that—God having a stubborn regard for our freedom—the promise isn’t “coerce you into all the truth.”

So how does the Spirit guide? Three suggestions; perhaps they’ll echo your experience.

From one of my favorite theologians, Mark Twain: “Good decisions come from experience. Experience comes from making bad decisions.” Our Acts reading focused on language, so let’s stay with that. I learn a language by making mistakes. If I try to avoid making mistakes I learn much more slowly. I also learn more slowly—or not at all—if I insist that I’m not making mistakes. Feel free to transpose that to other areas of life.

From one of my favorite crime novelists, Louise Penny: her protagonist Inspector Gamache says this: “There are four things that lead to wisdom.… They are four sentences we learn to say, and mean.…  I don’t know. I need help. I’m sorry. I was wrong.” Four things that lead to wisdom; four things that makes it easier for the Spirit to guide.

Finally, this concern to renew, not erase. It’s at bottom an expression of love, loving the other enough to recognize the difference between renewing and erasing, loving the other enough to do the hard work of getting to know the other enough to begin to have some sense of what renewal might mean, loving the other enough that Gamache’s four sentences work their way into the core of our vocabulary.

God, so the Gospel tells us, “so loved the world.” The Spirit’s guiding us into all the truth is about being infected by that love. And so, in our best moments, we welcome the Day of Pentecost. Come, Holy Spirit.

About that exorcism in Philippi (7th Sunday of Easter, 6/1/2025)

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Readings

I like a good story as much as anyone, so, perhaps predictably, we’ll spend most of our time in Acts, in one of Luke’s more open-ended stories. At the same time, our lectionary invites us to notice connections. On the one hand, this proud Roman colony of Philippi, on the other our Psalm’s celebration of the Lord’s kingship, Revelation’s repeated invitation to “come,” our Lord’s prayer that we all be one: what happens when these two hands meet?

So, to our first reading. We’re still in Philippi, where in last Sunday’s reading we met Lydia, that dealer in exclusive high-end purple cloth, who believed and was baptized. And what gets the story started is a slave girl with a “spirit of divination” who over “many days” follows Paul and Silas, crying out “These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you a way of salvation.”

Luke tells us “But Paul, very much annoyed, turned and said to the spirit, ‘I order you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her.’ And it came out that very hour.” What’s intriguing about the story is Luke’s decision to name Paul’s motivation, and it’s not flattering. Not “Paul, filled with compassion…” or “Paul, recognizing an evangelistic opportunity…” but “Paul, very much annoyed…” That could have been the end of the story, but the slave girl’s owners know how the city operates, and Paul and Silas end up beaten and jailed.

And here’s where Jesus’ prayer that his disciples all be “one,” comes in. In that prison it’s not hard to imagine Silas saying to Paul, “Well done, mate! What were you thinking?” It may have started there, but by about midnight we’re hearing echoes of Jesus’ prayer: Luke: “About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them.”

And whatever the Lord thought of Paul’s impromptu exorcism, the Lord at whose presence “the mountains melt like wax” (so today’s Psalm) is not above throwing in an earthquake. The effects of the earthquake are remarkably focused: it’s “so violent that the foundations of the prison were shaken; and immediately all the doors were opened and everyone’s chains were unfastened.” That pretty much invites Paul and Silas to segue into that bit from Isaiah that Jesus read in the Nazareth synagogue: “he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners.” But no.

As Luke tells us, “When the jailer woke up and saw the prison doors wide open, he drew his sword and was about to kill himself, since he supposed that the prisoners had escaped. But Paul shouted in a loud voice, ‘Do not harm yourself, for we are all here’.”

It looks like Paul has learned from Peter’s experience, and maybe even from the events of the day. A while back Herod had had Peter imprisoned. At night an angel had sprung him, but in the morning, Herod had the guards “examined” and executed (Acts 12:1-19). Thankfully, that’s not repeated; Paul takes the more difficult path: ”Do not harm yourself, for we are all here.” The jailer also enters into Paul’s calculus, for the jailer is also a recipient of Revelation’s invitation to come and drink.

(Parenthetically, Paul’s response is echoed repeatedly in Martin Luther King Jr’s practice of non-violence. From various speeches: “the attack is directed against forces of evil rather than against persons who are caught in those forces… the nonviolent resister does not seek to humiliate or defeat the opponent but to win his friendship and understanding” [A Testament of Hope pp. 8, 12].)

So the story ends, as did last Sunday’s story, with a baptism. Last week, the baptism of Lydia, the dealer in purple cloth, and her household; this Sunday, the baptism of the jailer and his household. Folk near the opposite ends of the social spectrum: Revelation’s invitation to come and drink: Luke’s celebrating that that really is for everyone.

Luke chose to name Paul’s motive in exorcising the slave girl (“very much annoyed”) and that slave girl is the loose end in the story. Exorcised, she’s of less value to her owners, and we would not expect her story to end well. But we don’t know.

Paul’s role in her story is part of that loose end. I wonder about that, what Paul did with that. So I wonder whether, some time later, when Paul encountered the slave Onesimus, he did not recognize the opportunity to do it differently this time. He spent time with Onesimus, discipled him, took the trouble to write to his owner, Philemon, arguing—between the lines—that Philemon’s proper response was to receive Onesimus as a brother, not as a runaway slave.

“The Spirit and the bride say, ‘Come’. And let everyone who hears say, ‘Come’. And let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.” That’s our message. Sometimes we do a decent job of sharing it; sometimes not so much. We, too, are quite capable of sharing our annoyance, quite capable of failing to distinguish between the forces of evil and those caught in those forces. So, in the words of the Eucharistic Prayer we’ve been using this Easter season, “Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal. Let the grace of this Holy Communion make us one body, one spirit in Christ, that we may worthily serve the world in his name.” Or, as the Revelation puts it, “And let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.”

Who is blessed/happy? (6th Sunday after the Epiphany, 2/16/2025)

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Readings

Whether we respond to the readings with “The Word of the Lord” or “Hear what the Spirit is saying to the Church,” I take the readings to set the agenda for the preacher: what might the Spirit want us to hear today in these words of the Lord? That agenda’s in the form of a question, so most of the time the sermon’s an invitation to reflect together. So let’s dive in.

Words like ‘happy’ or ‘blessed’ appear in three of our texts. ‘Happy’ has a broad range of meanings; what are these texts talking about? Well, it looks like they’re part of a long conversation in the Mediterranean world about what counted as a life well-lived. It’s certainly about something more basic than one’s momentary emotional state. ‘Happy’ is the first word in the Book of Psalms, despite many of the psalms assuming situations that have the speakers crying “Help!” In this sense there’s considerable overlap between ‘happy’ in that psalm and Jeremiah’s ‘blessed.’

Both texts talk about two groups, their behavior and the results of that behavior. The Psalm speaks of the righteous and wicked, the behavior of the righteous captured by “Their delight is in the law of the Lord.” Jeremiah speaks of those who trust and those who don’t trust the Lord. Both use the tree image: those who delight in the law, those who trust: they’re like well-watered trees: they endure; they’re fruitful. They’re the ones who are happy (Psalm 1), blessed (Jeremiah). Trees: the image suggests a rather long timeframe. Fruit, or the effects of drought: these take time. The image is hopeful and can nourish our hope. Droughts: they’re a given; we don’t need to fear them.

So these texts are saying that in this life, this world the righteous prosper and the wicked fail? No, for starters because Jeremiah’s career is the antithesis of ‘prosper.’ They are saying that delighting in the law of the Lord, trusting the Lord are life-giving. Notice the careful language with which Psalm 1 closes (and introduces the entire book): “For the Lord knows the way of the righteous, / but the way of the wicked is doomed.”

In other words, whether all this plays out in a satisfactory way in this life, this world is left unanswered. Earlier texts often seem to assume that it does; our latest texts—like Daniel or the Wisdom of Solomon—are sure that it doesn’t. Paul’s words to the Corinthians continue this trajectory: without a resurrection in which each receive their due “we are of all people most to be pitied.”

But returning to Jeremiah and the psalm, notice that while for both of them the Lord’s torah (law, or, more broadly, teaching) is fundamental, neither narrows the focus to obeying or not obeying. Jeremiah understands that the issue is often trust, who or what we put our weight on. The psalmist speaks of delight in the Lord’s law or teaching. That’s an invitation to a life of continual discovery. Paul to the Ephesians: “test everything to see what’s pleasing to the Lord” (5:10 CEB).Cue the music from the various iterations of Star Trek, one contemporary vision of a corporate life well-lived.

Hearing Jesus’ words after Jeremiah and the psalm, we might hear them as encouragement: even if you’re poor, hungry, etc., you’re still in the life-well-lived game. And that wouldn’t be a bad way of hearing them. But there’s more.

Earlier in the Gospel Luke recorded Mary’s song. “He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, / and has lifted up the lowly. / He has filled the hungry with good things, / and the rich he has sent away empty.” Growing up with your mother singing songs like that will do things—good things—to your head. Three Sundays ago we heard Jesus reading Isaiah: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor…” and here Jesus is doing just that.

“Whoa, Mary, Jesus! Pretty hard on the rich!” we might think. Well, their words reflect centuries of their people’s experience. Of course riches can be used in good ways, but usually? Sirach nails it: “Wild asses in the wilderness are the prey of lions; / likewise the poor are feeding grounds for the rich” (13:19). We shouldn’t assume that these words match our reality, nor should we assume that they don’t. (And, by the way, the next thing Jesus says—which we’ll hear next Sunday—is “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” So however we read our situation, we’ve been told how to respond.)

Happy those poor, hungry, weeping, hated. Not because these are positives, but because God’s reign is—as Jesus proclaims—at hand. Now, in our text we hear “for surely your reward is great in heaven.” So isn’t this another version of “pie in the sky when you die”? No, first, because the border between heaven and earth is porous, and a reward “great in heaven” is a sight better than having received all the consolation you’re going to get. Second, because of where Luke is taking this. Later in the Gospel we hear “And [Jesus] said to them, ‘Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left house or wife or brothers or parents or children, for the sake of the kingdom of God, who will not get back very much more in this age, and in the age to come eternal life’” (18:29-30; italics mine). So, describing the church in Jerusalem, Luke writes “There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need” (Acts 4:34-35). What is the Church for? It is where the truth of Jesus’ Beatitudes can be experienced.

How might we wrap this up? Already in the Old Testament we have the contours of a life well-lived: a life in which our trust in the Lord is growing, a life in which our delight in the Lord’s teaching is growing. To quibble a little with Gene Roddenberry, for all practical purposes the final frontier is not space, but the week ahead.

And with the power of the Lord Jesus’ Spirit active in our midst, this life well-lived is particularly good news for the poor, the hungry, those weeping, those excluded, reviled, and defamed on account of the Son of Man. As one of our Eucharistic Prayers puts it, “that we might live no longer for ourselves, but for him who died and rose for us, he sent the Holy Spirit, his own first gift for those who believe, to complete his work in the world, and to bring to fulfillment the sanctification of all” (BCP 374).

The Twenty-first Sunday after Pentecost: A Sermon

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Lessons (Track 1)

“Does Job fear God for nothing?” asked the accuser, the satan. (‘satan’ is simply the Hebrew word for ‘accuser’.) (The accuser could with equal justice have asked it about James and John, and we’ll get to that later.) God permitted the accuser to find out, and Job lost nearly everything. That was in the first two chapters.

Since then, Job has been demanding action from God, and Job’s friends –I use the term advisedly—have been demanding that Job confess whatever sins have brought on his suffering. The arguments of Job’s friends don’t change much, aside from becoming increasingly vitriolic. God rules justly; if Job is suffering, he must be justly suffering, and the only puzzle is why Job is being so stubborn. What is unnerving is how often we hear these arguments today, how often we either use them or find ourselves tempted to use them. At least part of each of us, I suspect, wishes that Job’s friends were right: a completely just God insuring that each person received exactly what he or she deserved now. Some people believe in reincarnation, and one of the attractions of reincarnation is that it allows one to believe in a universe that is completely just at every moment: I am receiving precisely the mixture of weal and woe that my previous lives merit.

And even within the Old Testament, there are plenty of passages in the law that promise weal for obedience and woe for disobedience, plenty of passages in the prophets that interpret disasters as God’s punishment, plenty of passages in Proverbs that connect righteousness and prosperity, wickedness and ruin. And only a fool would deny the truth in these. But is this the whole truth? Is it the whole truth for Job? Obviously not, despite Job’s friends’ eloquent arguments.

Job’s complaints and demands for divine action do change through the course of the book. Job’s initial speech sounds like a demand that God retroactively snuff him out of existence: better never to have been born than to experience this. But as Job continues to reflect on his suffering, he recognizes that he is one of many who suffer, and his demand for God’s action correspondingly shifts: too many innocents are getting crushed.

Job is clear throughout that his problem is God: “When disaster brings sudden death, / he mocks at the calamity of the innocent. / The earth is given into the hand of the wicked; / he covers the eyes of its judges— /if it is not he, who then is it?” [9.23-24] And here, despite the rough edges, Job is speaking rightly about God. We try to protect God, buffer God from evil. Does God get joy from the suffering of the innocent? Is that his will? No. But does God continue to give breath and strength to the wicked, to keep the nerve endings working as the torturer does his work? Yes. “If it is not he, who then is it?”

We do not suffer unless God consents to our suffering. The New Testament assumes this, although notice that Paul adds “God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.”

And Job pushes the limits of language, logic, and faith by appealing to God against God. “For I know that my Redeemer lives, / and that at the last he will stand upon the earth; / and after my skin has been thus destroyed, / then in my flesh I shall see God, / whom I shall see on my side, / and my eyes shall behold, / and not another.” [19:25-27]

Jesus on the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” The problem is not Judas, not the Jewish leaders, not Pilate: it’s God. And precisely in knowing that God’s the problem, Jesus appeals…to God. And so may we. So must we.

Well, that brings us up to the beginning of God’s response to Job in today’s lesson. Read it during the week if you can: Job 38-41. God responds to Job’s questions with God’s own questions, pointing Job to the ostrich, the war stallion, Behemoth, Leviathan, and to the challenge of mounting any useful response to the wicked.

What all that comes to we’ll wonder about next week. What I’ve focused on today is, I think, the necessary prequel to all that: Job’s insistence that God is the issue, and that only from God will come Job’s salvation, that, confronted with suffering, what we want is not explanation, but action.

This last point is, by the way, two-edged, as captured in a dialogue between two characters in a cartoon a few years back.
–Sometimes I’d like to ask God why he allows poverty, famine and injustice when he could do something about it.
–What’s stopping you?
–I’m afraid God might ask me the same question.

Our prayers for God’s intervention need to be matched by the interventions that are within our power. So, for example, as you work through your Christmas gift list, look at the Episcopal Relief and Development Christmas Catalogue. For that person who’s hard to buy gifts for or pretty much has what they need, you could give—in their name—a mosquito net, a goat, or even a cow.

Perhaps the next time through our lectionary cycle I’ll be able to give more attention to Hebrews. For the moment, simply notice that Hebrews’ portrait of Jesus looks surprisingly like Job: “In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to the one who was able to save him from death.” This Jesus is clearly one with whom we can be honest about our struggles.

So we turn to the Gospel—and yes, I remember that the Packers-Bears game is one of the early games. I don’t think I need to belabor our solidarity with James and John. At least from the pre-school playground all of us have been honing our skills at claiming and defending turf. It may be large, it may be small, but it’s ours and it’s for a Good Cause. And it is so easy to assume that when we are baptized, initiated into the Great Cause, the Kingdom of God, that the business of claiming and defending turf don’t change.

So Jesus has to keep reminding us: “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”

The other James, Jesus’ brother and author of the letter, got it right: there are two kingdoms: this world, a zero-sum game in which claiming and defending turf is the only game in town, and the Kingdom of God, in which God’s generosity means that I can relax and serve.

But the text doesn’t end there, but with this final curious verse: “For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”

We choose which kingdom we live in, and that’s true. But that’s not the whole truth. Something closer to the whole truth is that we start out enslaved to the kingdom of this world, the habits of claiming and defending turf embedded deep in us. But Jesus gave his life a ransom for many, for James and John, who on the road to Jerusalem still didn’t get it, for the Roman soldiers awaiting him in Jerusalem, for you and for me. Because Jesus has ransomed us we can choose. The gates are open; we can leave the darkness for the light.

Learning to live in the Kingdom of God is something that takes a lifetime, particularly this business of lording it over others verses serving others. And we learn it –if we learn it—in the midst of our conflicts. So think of the people –family members, colleagues, neighbors—with whom you’ve disagreed in the past and will probably disagree in the future. God can use these relationships to teach us stuff we can’t learn any other way. And here Job and Jesus do not have a monopoly on “prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears.”

Does Job serve God for nothing? Do James and John serve God for nothing, for that matter, or serve only when it helps them to claim and defend their turf? Do we? In God’s severe mercy we don’t have to answer that in the abstract, but as we find ourselves in conflict. In the words of the collect: “Preserve the works of your mercy, that your Church throughout the world may persevere with steadfast faith in the confession of your Name.”

The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost: A Sermon

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Readings

This morning our second reading from James will receive most of our attention. But, having just heard the Gospel, let’s start there. Jesus heals a girl possessed by a demon and a man both deaf and mute. Jesus was able to meet them in their need; Jesus is able to meet us in our need. That’s the starting point and foundation for everything else our texts want to tell us today.

It would be simpler if our sickness were confined to the body. Unfortunately, our souls are equally vulnerable, and vulnerable specifically to the temptation to be friends with both God and the world, James’ main concern. Let’s see what James has for us this week.

“My brothers and sisters, do you with your acts of favoritism really believe in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ?” A rich man and a poor man come into the sanctuary: if we treat them differently, we don’t believe in Jesus. For James, as for the rest of the New Testament, believing in Jesus isn’t believing things about Jesus, or even showing up at church every week. Believing in Jesus is following Jesus, doing what he said to do.

Now, my guess is that if James came here he’d like what he saw with respect to the particular issue he raises at the beginning of our reading. The issue underlying that particular issue is an opportunity for growth. That’s the issue of whether when we come together we’re simply mirroring the ways of relating we learned out there—sucking up to the rich and keeping the poor at arm’s length is only an example—or whether we’re learning new ways of relating to each other. Believing in Jesus is letting Jesus make us into the sort of parish whose common life is light and salt to the world around us.

This is why we say that believing in Jesus not something one can do alone, anymore than one can tango alone or play ping-pong alone. If God were out to save isolated souls, that could be done alone. But God’s going for all the marbles, all the human family, and for that God needs parishes that are light and salt.

Let’s return to James, for there are three other items in the text to attend to, the second of which will involve a major detour, and then we’re done.

‘Favoritism’ in the first verse in the Greek text is a direct allusion to Lev 19:15: “You shall not render an unjust judgment; you shall not be partial to the poor or defer to the great: with justice you shall judge your neighbor.” At multiple points in his letter James works from Moses’ law in general and Leviticus 19 in particular. When he speaks of the “royal law” (v.8) he is probably referring to all the Mosaic law. We tend to assume that after Jesus Moses is of simply historical interest; the New Testament understands that Jesus makes possible a life-giving implementation of Moses –but with some important shifts.

James, emphasizing the folly of favoritism, has some hard things to say about the rich. Since James here too is simply reading his reality through the lenses of the Old Testament, this is where we detour through our first reading from Proverbs, which ended with “Oppressing the poor in order to enrich oneself, and giving to the rich, will lead only to loss.”

What does the Book of Proverbs want to tell us about wealth? This is worth asking, because within the Old Testament Proverbs presents the most detailed analysis, and because the New Testament simply assumes Proverbs. Why reinvent the wheel?

  • Wealth means power: “7 The rich rule over the poor, and the borrower is the slave of the lender.” (See also 17:8; 18:23; 19:7). We could start anywhere; we start here to remind ourselves that Proverbs knows our world.
  • Wealth is the result of diligence. This is often what comes to mind when we think of Proverbs and wealth. (See 10:4; 20:4.) The portraits of the lazy are quite merciless, e.g., “13 The lazy person says, ‘There is a lion outside! I shall be killed in the streets!’”
  • Wealth is God’s reward. “4 The reward for humility and fear of the LORD is riches and honor and life.” (See 10:22; 13:21,22; 22:9). Recall Genesis, which makes the more basic point that all the sources of wealth come from God’s hand, whether the gold underground or the fertility which comes with God’s blessing.

The problem is, when folk think about Proverbs and wealth, this is often about as far as they get. It’s very neat, very tidy, but only half true. Here’s the other half:

  • Wealth tends to dull the senses, so that we easily overestimate the status and security it brings. Proverbs includes “2 The rich and the poor have this in common: the LORD is the maker of them all” because we tend to forget it. (See also 29:13).
  • Wealth can be seized: “The field of the poor may yield much food, but it is swept away through injustice” (13:23). So discernment is necessary. If someone is wealthy we don’t know immediately if it’s the result of honest labor or crime; if someone is poor we don’t know immediately if it’s the result of being robbed or sloth. (Other books in the Bible remind us that other factors come into play.) A careful reading of Proverbs undercuts both the conservative assumption that the rich are probably virtuous and the liberal/populist assumption that the rich are probably vicious.
  • Some things are more valuable than wealth: “Better is a little with the fear of the LORD than great treasure and trouble with it” (15:16; see also 15:17; 16:8,19; 17:1). Why does Proverbs want to tell us that? Not because it romanticizes poverty. But because, I think, Proverbs knows that sometimes these are the sorts of choices which need to be made, and wants us prepared also in these situations to choose rightly.
  • Because wealth is from a generous God, it is properly used generously. “26 All day long the wicked covet, but the righteous give and do not hold back” (21:26; see also 11.4,24,26; 14.31; 21.13,21; 28.27). Pragmatically, the best defense against the temptations of wealth is generosity. Theologically, here again ethics are simply a matter of the proper imitation of God. To the avaricious God simply says “What part of ‘I am generous’ don’t you understand?”

James has harsh words for the rich because they’ve forgotten this second half of Proverbs’teaching. The point of including this summary of Proverbs’ teaching on wealth here is to give us all an opportunity to measure our attitudes against Proverbs’.

Faith & Works. Toward the end of our text (v.14) James explicitly contrasts faith and works. He is not changing the subject; he is simply saying in more general terms what he has been saying in specific terms: “If any think they are religious, and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their religion is worthless.” “My brothers and sisters, do you with your acts of favoritism really believe in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ?”

“Faith without works is dead.” Two thousand years later, we can also observe that faith without works splinters easily. The works of faith are precisely the works needed to keep sinful men and women around one Table: patience, forgiveness, humility. Where these are lacking, Jesus’ followers splinter. World-wide there are now some 38,000 separate Christian denominations.

We can’t do much about that figure. We can do more about it closer to home. Patience, forgiveness, humility are hard work, particularly with regard to Episcopalians with whom we disagree. These works of faith are even harder with regard to members of the parish with whom we disagree. But James has laid it on the line for us: the test of our faith is the works that enable us to continue to live together and learn from each other.

The danger of this homily is that it sound like a lot of stick and not much carrot. So I’ll end, as I began, with the carrot: we work to stay together because Jesus has assured us that together we’ll continue to encounter him, the one who cast the demon out of the Syrophoenician’s daughter, the one who restored ears and vocal chords to the man from the Decapolis, the one who can name, bear, and finally cure our illnesses. Come, Lord Jesus.