Sunday, December 23, 2018

An Advent Memory

The following is a sermon delivered at Old Swedes Church in Wilmington, DE on 4 Advent, 2018


Careful the things you say,
Children will listen.
Careful the things you do,
Children will see. And learn.
Children may not obey,
but children will listen.
Children will look to you
For which way to go
To learn what to be
Careful before you say,
"Listen to me."
Children will listen.  
--Stephen Sondheim 

It was his first time back in Nazareth since John had baptized him. He walked along the familiar streets of his home town as he headed toward the synagogue. Word surely had spread of his teaching in the synagogues around Galilee, and he was unsurprised when they handed him a scroll and asked him to teach here in his own childhood home.


As he was handed the scroll of Isaiah, he smiled. “Perfect,” he thought. “I know exactly where to begin.” He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
            Because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
            And recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free,
To proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

As he read the familiar words, his thoughts drifted back to his boyhood. He remembered playing outside with his cousin John and hearing his Aunt Elizabeth—really his mother’s cousin— as she called them inside.

“It’s time to eat,” Elizabeth called to the boys. “Wash up and come inside.”

The boys quickly washed their faces and hands and rushed into the house.

“Tell us the story again, please, Aunt Elizabeth,” he pleaded with her. John, too, looked up at his mother with wide eyes.

“Again?” she replied, laughing. “But I just told you yesterday, and the day before that.”

“Pleeeeease,” the boys cried out in unison.

“It’s my favorite story,” he added quickly.

“Fine,” Elizabeth said through a wide smile. “But you should be the one telling me. You’ve heard it enough.”

The boys settled into their chairs and ate their cakes of bread with anticipatory smiles on their faces.

“When your mother was expecting your birth,” Elizabeth began, looking on him with kind eyes, “And John was still growing inside me, your mother came to visit me. She was so happy that you were coming into the world, and she was also so scared. I was, too. Women my age didn’t have babies! Here we were, an unlikely pairing. Me, an older woman beyond child-bearing years, and your mother, a young woman not yet married.”

“Mary and I had always been close,” Elizabeth continued. “She often came to me for advice, and I enjoyed her company so much. On that day, however, something was different. Mary came into the house and, as always, called out: ‘Hello my dear cousin.’ At the sound of her greeting, I felt John leaping inside me.”

At this detail, John giggled, as he always did.

“I mean it!” Elizabeth said forcibly. “This wasn’t the daily kicks and turns a mother feels her baby making inside her. This was grander. More joyful. Leaping—dancing—within me. You see, boys, even from before the time you were born, you have always been connected.”

“As for me, I knew John was telling me something. I felt God’s presence completely envelope me, and I knew that God had plans for my baby, and I knew that God had chosen Mary to deliver the Savior into the world. Overcome with joy, I cried out to your mother, ‘Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. Blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.’”

“Mary and I embraced one another, and as we looked into one another’s eyes, Mary burst into song. She and I remembered the story of Hannah from the scroll of Samuel. We remembered Hannah’s joy at learning that she, like me, would bear a son late in her life. We remembered Hannah singing that God
            ‘Raises up the poor from the dust;
                        [and] lifts the needy from the ash heap,
            To make them sit with princes’ (1 Sam 2:7-8).

“Remembering Hannah’s song, your mother sang her own song.”

He and John knew well what was coming. He had heard Elizabeth and his mother sing the song to them over and over. It was the song of his birth. It was song of his Advent. The song of what God was doing through him. Just as Mary had done before his birth, he, John, and Elizabeth sang together:

“My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,
my spirit rejoices in God my Savior;
for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.
From this day all generations will call me blessed:
the Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is his Name.
He has mercy on those who fear him
in every generation.
He has shown the strength of his arm,
he has scattered the proud in their conceit.
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.
He has come to the help of his servant Israel,
for he has remembered his promise of mercy,
The promise he made to our fathers,
to Abraham and his children for ever.”

Jesus’ mind returned from those joyful days of his boyhood, from the times staying with Elizabeth and Zechariah and his cousin John, and he looked down at the scroll. With the memory of his mother’s song fresh in his mind, Jesus read Isaiah’s words: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.” His mother’s words were so similar: “My soul magnifies the Lord . . . he has lifted up the lowly; . . . he has filled the hungry with good things.” He remembered the words of Hannah’s song, which his mother had read to him many times: “He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes.”

From his youth, his mother and father and cousins and rabbis had prepared him. They had taught him the stories. He knew that the God of his ancestors was establishing an eternal kingdom of peace, justice, and love. And he knew that God was establishing that kingdom through him.

Knowing that it would create confusion and mistrust among the leaders of the synagogue, Jesus looked up, ready to explain the scroll. There would be no turning back now. Once he proclaimed who he was and what God had sent him to do, he would have to live into the life for which his parents had prepared him. He shut his eyes for a split second and heard his mother’s loving voice singing in his head: “He has come to the help of his servant Israel, for he has remembered his promise of mercy, the promise he made to our fathers, to Abraham and his children for ever.”

Jesus took a deep breath, then said in a loud voice, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

His mother, standing with the women, heard his voice carry throughout the synagogue and into the street. A bittersweet feeling of hope and anxiety filled her as she remembered all that had been revealed to her by God. And Mary pondered all these things in her heart.


Monday, August 1, 2016

11th Sunday after Pentecost
Proper 13
July 31, 2016
Church of the Good Shepherd, Pawtucket, RI

Eccl. 1:2, 12-14, 2:18-23
Psalm 49:1-11
Col. 3:1-11
Luke 12:13-21


“One’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.”


“That’s the whole meaning of life, isn’t it? Trying to find a place for your stuff?” -George Carlin


It’s not often that one can quote the late great comic George Carlin in church, but one of my favorite routines of his is the one about stuff. Carlin quips, “That’s what a house is: a place to keep all your stuff. If you didn’t have so much stuff, you wouldn’t need a house. That’s all your house is: a pile of stuff with a cover on it. . . That’s the whole meaning of life. To find a place for your stuff.” Carlin goes on and on in this absurd routine about needing a car to move your stuff, and needing suitcases to take your stuff on trips and bring back more stuff. When you have so much stuff it doesn’t fit in your house, you get a bigger house and a storage unit, and then you notice that there’s empty space, so you go get more stuff. You can easily find the routine on YouTube, and you’ll hear the audience roaring with laughter, not because it’s absurd, but because we’ve all been there. We’re all captive to our stuff.


I’ve been asking myself a lot lately about why I need so much stuff. Unlike the rich man in the parable Jesus tells us today, I am unable to build a larger barn. As I prepare for my move to begin studies at the Seminary of the Southwest in Austin, TX next week, all I have is what will fit in my car. Once my little Nissan is full, I can’t add on a U-Haul or a magic Mary Poppins bag that holds all my lamps and mirrors and worldly possessions. With every item I need to get rid of, I find myself in a state of anxiety about how I might need it. Notice the key word there: I might need it. One of the items I spent a good half hour looking over was a spice rack. I’m not talking about a beautiful piece of furniture or a gift made for me by a cousin in shop class. I’m talking about a plastic thing I ordered online years ago to hold my spices that has been sitting in the basement of a friend’s house for the past year and a half. I clearly have lived without it for long enough that I have proven that I don’t need it. Yet I ask, what if I might need it.


It’s a model of scarcity. Of course I can always get another spice rack, or--big shocker--just put my spices in a cabinet without a rack. Yet we are told over and over by commercials and society that there is such scarcity. Buy now! Limited time only! Items are flying off the shelf! Run, don’t walk!

The scarcity model, however, is one built on fear. Fear of not having enough or being enough. Jesus, however, comes to tell us of a God that works not out of fear and scarcity, but out of love and abundance.


In today’s Parable, a rich man has such abundance of his crop that it will not fit in his barn. Realizing that it will not fit, the man pulls down his barn to build larger barns so that he can store up his wealth and live out his days without worry or toil. God, however, calls the man a fool because God knows that that very night the rich man will die and his stores will be in vain. “So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich towards God.”


I have to admit that at a first read, I didn’t really see anything wrong with what the man in the parable did. He worked very hard to obtain his crops and decided to store them in order to have abundance in his life. Isn’t that the American dream? We work hard, earn money, invest it wisely in a retirement fund, and we all dream of retiring at 40 so we can lie on the beach and have a cabana boy bring us pina coladas. Sounds amazing, right? And why not? I mean, don’t those who work hard deserve their reward?


If you take a closer look at this story, however, one key detail stands out to me: The man in the story never consults or speaks about anyone but himself. He never asks God for guidance. He never talks to his spouse or friends. He never even thinks about anyone but himself. It’s a short enough parable that I want to actually read it to you again. Take note of all the reflexive verbs and all the self-referential language.


“The land of a rich man produced abundantly. 17 And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ 18 Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. 19 And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ 20
My favorite line in there is when the man says, “And I will say to my soul, Soul. . .” It’s such a jarring phrase and so unnatural, and I think that Luke meant for it to read that way. “And I said to myself, self, you gotta write this sermon before Sunday!” It’s an absurd way to talk, and it’s completely inward looking.
Turning to our Old Testament lesson, the teacher in Ecclesiastes says that all of life is vanity, or to put it another way, all of life is meaningless. We work and we work and then we die. We store up our goods, and then, to quote the old adage, you can’t take it with you. Even when you die, all that you’ve toiled for is left to those who didn’t work to earn it.
Eek! That is a rather bleak look at life, but I don’t think the teacher is far from wrong. Notice, again, that the language is all about the individual.
  • I hated my toil
  • I had toiled under the sun
  • For all [my] days are full of pain and [my] work is a vexation
Even though there is a communal sense that we all suffer these toils, the focus is on the outcome for individuals.


I find it troublesome concerning this passage from Ecclesiastes that the lectionary cuts the reading off before the very next line:
There is nothing better for mortals than to eat and drink, and find enjoyment in their toil. This also, I saw, is from the hand of God; 25 for apart from him who can eat or who can have enjoyment? 26 For to the one who pleases him God gives wisdom and knowledge and joy


But wait! Isn’t that exactly what Jesus tells us not to do in the parable of the foolish rich man? The rich man says he will eat, drink, and be merry, and God calls him a fool. The teacher says he will eat, drink, and be merry, and that is the best thing for mortals and a gift from god!


Both our Old Testament and Gospel texts tell a similar story of work and toil that cannot bring fulfillment to our lives. Both speak of storing up riches that we do not get to keep for ourselves once we die. There is a key difference, though, if we add in the text the lectionary leaves out: while the foolish rich man in Jesus’ parable works only for himself that he may eat, drink, and be merry, the teacher says that we should seek to eat, drink, and be merry in relationship with God. “Apart from [God] who can eat or have enjoyment?”


All of Christianity is founded upon relationship. Even the very triune nature of God as three in one is relational. When Jesus gives the summary of the law--the summary of everything we should do to please God--he says that we are to love God and to love one another. Love, the ultimate relationship, should define everything we do.


I think the parable of the Foolish Rich Man has two major messages for us. First, we are not to store up our wealth for ourselves, even if we earned it all ourselves. It’s a selfish mantra that I hear repeated over and over again--especially in this political season. Why should I have to give my hard-earned money to those that don’t deserve it. Why should I toil so others can prosper. Because Jesus said so. That’s why. Because the God of love calls us to love one another and care for one another. I pay my city taxes so that when your house catches on fire there is a fire department to put it out. I give ten percent of my earnings to the church in order that others may know the love of God I have come to know through this church. I feed the hungry because God has given me so much more than I need to survive.


The second message I think we hear from Jesus’ parable, as well as from Ecclesiastes, is that God does want us to be happy. God does want us to eat, drink, and be merry. That may not be clear on the first reading of the parable since God calls the man foolish for seeking a life of ease, but I think the foolishness of the man comes from his isolation in his merry making.


I happen to be an extreme extrovert, so I might be biased here, but I completely understand that good times only happen when they happen with others. Don’t get me wrong here, I can absolutely relish my alone time sitting by the lake with a good book, but that time grows so much sweeter when I have someone to share it with.


Many of you know that I work with youth at the Episcopal Conference Center as the chaplain for this summer’s camps. The teenagers I work alongside there are amazing human beings with so much love to offer this world. They also are teenagers, and like me when I was a teenager, they sometimes make stupid mistakes. I was talking with a group of them about what it means to have a good time. Going to a wild party with lots of drinking may seem fun at the time, but destructive behavior hurts those around us. An old hazing ritual may seem like fun at the time, but at another person’s expense. I am so proud to say that I see my teenage colleagues engaging in activities that, more often than not, enrich the lives of others. When they play games with children from broken homes and share a love those children may not know at home, they not only have a good time themselves, but they make sure others have a good time. When they sing and dance in a talent show alongside an adult with Down syndrome, they are having a blast singing and dancing and they are showing God’s love to that person who cannot completely care for themselves.


Our message today is a far cry from the false prophets of politics who proclaim from their podiums that hard-working Americans deserve to reap the benefits of their hard work while those lazy poor continue to mooch of our labors. Jesus says to us that we are all to work hard in order to share the abundance of our labors. We will find joy when we take the fruits of our labors and share them with those who are not as fortunate. Rather than foolishly trying to cling to that which is not ours, Jesus invites us to spread our wealth which, in turn, will spread our joy.
You see, nothing we posses actually belongs to us. All that we have is a gift from God and we are to use those gifts to further God’s kingdom. In many churches, as the offerings of our money, the bread, and the wine are placed on the table, the priest will quote the first book of Chronicles and say, “All good things come of thee, o Lord,” and the people respond, “and of thine own have we given thee.” It’s a nice reminder that everything we offer to God and to one another is actually not ours to give. It is God’s. God has called us to be stewards of this creation and of one another. Many of us have the gifts of business savvy and investment, and while I don’t think God wants us to give away our wealth to the point of our own detriment, God does want us to share our abundance.


I do not need the spice rack, so I took it to Goodwill. I do not need my piles and piles of clothes, so I donated them to Dorcas International to give to refugees who need business clothes for job interviews. Those are only surface level examples of living into God’s call. I admit that I often act like the foolish rich man. I fear that if I give my tithe I won’t have enough money for myself. I fear that if I volunteer my time to help the poor I won’t have enough time for myself. These fears, though, are unfounded. God has given us the time we have not just for ourselves, but for us. For the human family. The family of God.


Fear and scarcity exist all around us. I find myself crippled by it all the time, and I don’t want to make light of the fact that many of us here in this church has legitimate fears about how we will make ends meet. In the parable Jesus offers us today, I think the lesson that we take away is that we are not alone. God loves us and commands us to love others. If we only would take the things each of us have in abundance and share them with the world, the entire world would know abundance. The entire world would know the love of God. The entire world would know peace.


I charge you, and myself, to look for those places in our lives where we have abundance and to share those with others. Whether it is our money, our time, our gifts of hospitality or prayer or laughter. Where has God blessed you, and how can you bless others.


Every night at camp we end our day by giving thanks to God for our abundance in a service of Compline. It’s a sweet way to remind ourselves of the gifts God has so freely bestowed upon us, and to offer those gifts back to God. At the close of the service we sing a simple song that sticks with me throughout the year. I offer the words of that song as a closing prayer hope that they will convey to you the love I have felt:


Oh what a lovely thing
If the children of the earth
Would live together
In a world of peace.

Amen