Sermons from the Episcopal Church of the Redeemer

Phil got roped into being a line judge This was very funny

until I saw the picture of myself and said, Is that how I look? Can someone

please delete this picture? And you all, I don't mind saying that to you

because I don't know a person I've ever met who is happy with every picture of

themselves. And by the way, the pictures that we don't like of ourselves, it's

very often not because they don't look like us, it's because they look like us.

Could you have shown a picture that looks less like me to

people? That way I would feel better about me, but I guess that's me looking

like that. Meanwhile, my friends are laughing because they love me. And because

they think it's obviously ridiculous that I've gotten roped into this job I

didn't intend to have, and we're all having a laugh and I'm taken out of the

experience of communal enjoyment because I'm thinking, is that what I look

like?

And this is how we do; this is how we are as people. Am I,

as I am, someone anyone should be looking at or being in relationship with? This

is a thing that people do to ourselves. Am I enough as I am? Can you imagine a

God loving me just like I am? And even if we don't want to admit it we're drawn

to this reality; we're attracted to this idea that there's a certain way you've

got to be if you're going to present yourself before your God. And if you're

going to share real life with people you love, what do you have to be? What do you

have to become?

Can any of us not relate to that idea of wanting more? I think our culture is almost built on this idea of more, we want more skill, we want more knowledge, we want more experience.

We want more time. We want more to be more prepared. There's that more, again. Phil talked a bit last week about our desire for more security, more accomplishment, more earnings. We want more, it's almost built into the Western culture. And in this wanting of more, we're also confronted with all the noise around us.

I remember a couple of years ago when I returned to town to face toilet paper shortages. I'd never thought of wanting more toilet paper, but I was in line and showing up at the beginning of stores being open. Back in my marketing days, we were always coming up with the latest promotion. Buy one, get one free.

You know, buy one the second one is at half price. I find myself as a shopper still succumbing to that. There is only me and my dog in my household, and yet there I am. Buy one, get one free. I am right there in line. We want more. And my trip this past summer to see my family in Salt Lake City, we needed to make a stop at Walgreens. My granddaughter, who does have a bit of a sweet tooth, saw this giant box of Junior Mints. She wanted it.

We want to be okay. We want to know that we are taken care

of. We want to enjoy life, but also our pursuit of that can sometimes make us

forget about the people around us. And if we make the pursuit of wealth and the

pursuit of power and the pursuit of luxury, if we make that the center of our

lives, then its Hades and torment coming our way, plain and simple.

This is powerful on a number of levels for us. On one level

it's very powerful because by the way, when Jesus talks about heaven and hell,

he's not talking about people believing the right things or acting the right

way or going to synagogue, or going to church. He's literally talking about how

we treat each other in this life.

And he's not just talking about being kind to one another or

being understanding and tolerant of one another. He is literally talking about

the fact that we live in a space of deep inequity, and we are completely

complicit in it. And this is Jesus talking 2000 years ago. This isn't just an

America problem or a Cincinnati problem. This is a human problem.

One of the films though actually turned out to be a lot like our Gospel lesson for today. Spoiler alert, it wasn't the one where the woman loses her voice and needs to kiss a prince to get it back. The story I'm thinking of is the story of a shrewd little fox who befriends the poor, the orphan, and the widows, while their coins are collected for taxes, as they search for food and safety and security.This Foxy protagonist of the film, who I had a crush on as a kid, hangs out with misfits and crippled old men, rambunctious kids, and friars, like Francis. He sleeps in the trees of the forest owns only one outfit as far as I can tell. And he's always on the move. Any guesses to which Disney hero I'm thinking of? Yes, Robin hood! Many of you remember the famous tagline of this infamous hero, he stole from the rich to give to the poor, or maybe just possibly, was he a shrewd manager who gave back to the people, what was rightfully their own?

We think of our relationship with God in an arbitrary way. We say, God is mysterious and yes, God is mysterious. But we act like the whole thing is completely up for grabs and we think, I just hope that I have done enough good. That when God sees me, my credit score will allow me into heaven, and hopefully, I haven't accrued so much bad behavior, so much debt...

...We are not defined by some scale of good or evil. We are

defined by the God who has become one with us in Jesus Christ. Jesus is the

answer to the question, Am I worth it? Because Jesus is God joining us in this

life, sharing our life, sharing our pain and our fear and our sorrow and our

anger. Sharing in our joy and our laughter, our affection and our care. Jesus

is God living for us and with us, dying for us and with us. And then raising us

all up into the truth of our utter and unconditional belonging to God.

It is not that Jesus gives you the right credit score and if

you believe in him, your number will go up. It is that Jesus explodes that idea

of value altogether and reminds you of your primary identity as beloved. This

is the work of Jesus Christ.

...Our minds start processing cost. We start processing costs

in our decisions, and we're recognizing at times when the cost may be rising or

already too high. But lots of times we need to make cost assessments in order

to move forward.

We all face choices throughout our daily lives. And even the

most positive choices have a cost to them. We may decide to pursue a new career

opportunity, but the cost may be forsaking the familiarity and the competence

we have developed over years. We may be losing the companionship of colleagues

who we treasure.

We may be facing longer hours in a steeper learning curve.

We may choose to move to a new home, but the cost may be the expense of a move

and a higher mortgage. Or if downsizing the decisions as to what we are

prepared to let go of. And in either case possibly the loss of dear neighbors

who will become part of our lives, even those things that pull us forward, have

a cost to them.

We may be confronted with painful choices for ourselves, or

loved ones. Decisions about best treatment approaches for an illness. Or even

when to cease treatment. Best care arrangements for a family member needing

more support, we can look at the pluses and minuses of each option. Whatever

our choice is, there is a consciousness that there is a cost, a cost of the

path not chosen.

In our gospel lesson for today, Jesus invites us to a dinner party that probably looked sort of similar to that. Spices piled high, colors and rosewater tea, spiced meats and heaping piles of baklava. We're invited to imagine ourselves there. In the first part of the lesson, as a guest. And in the second half, as the host. In each instance Jesus giving us direction by parable of how we ought to behave at a wedding feast, at a dinner party. If you're just catching on, wedding feast is gospel code for the heavenly banquet. As guests in the parable, we are told to take a seat at the lowest place. If you've been to big family gatherings at Thanksgiving, this spot is marked: Kids Table. That's the spot for you. Where it's loud and messy. And you're likely to have something thrown at you or spilled all over you. We are not, as Jesus says, to take our place and the head of the table. This is the spot right next to the mashed potatoes and gravy. That's not our spot, Jesus says. Unless we are invited to sit there. It would be pretty bad if you went and sat at the head of the table and then were asked to go over and sit by that weird Jello pudding thing that Aunt Mildred brought. Because then you feel ashamed and disgraced. In the first part of this parable, we are there as the guests. And Jesus says to us, know your place. And assume when you arrive that you are seated below the salt, as they say.

I think one of the real true disservices most Christians

have done to the faith is not taken the Sabbath day seriously. We use these verses like this, 'well, people

used to not have to do anything on the Sabbath, but then Jesus showed up and

did some healing on the Sabbath and now I can take my kids to soccer and do

laundry and get the shopping done.' It's a really big stretch there, isn't it?

From Jesus healing on the Sabbath to us just being like, 'who

needs a day off from anything?' But Jesus is doing something powerful here, he's

healing someone. This is a big deal, especially to her, how many of us have

experienced chronic conditions and pain and things we wish would just go away? And

then Jesus just shows up and takes care of it. If you're that person, who cares

what day it is? If anything, it makes the Sabbath thing more Holy to you? And

this is what Jesus is getting on about. Jesus is recognizing that the call of

keeping the Sabbath Holy is not just about worshiping, right? It's about how we

participate with God, how we share in the healing that God brings into this

world.

But he does this in a way that is very upsetting. He does it

in a way that interrupts and changes and upends and subverts the way people

experience their worship. I'm one of those people who find myself wishing Jesus

was a little gentler. That he wasn't putting them to shame but was a consensus

builder and trying to get everybody on the same page. It's not how he rolls though;

I haven't read that story yet.

The little curb led me up to the giant front doors. They had

huge iron handles that signified to me, strength. I reached for them. I was

begging to be let in, but the doors of the church were locked. I tugged harder,

but they wouldn't budge in complete defeat I collapsed to the ground feeling

beneath me, what I felt inside that day, dust. Where are you, Jesus? Why aren't

you here for me? Why can't I get in there? Why is this door locked when I need

you? Why this dividing wall between us?

I sat there in the dirt for quite some time, and I noticed

things about the place that I hadn't before. An old bench that hid in some tall

grass near that sign that posted the worship times. A swarm of bees had made a

nest in a nearby Oak tree. And someone had left a little cross in the fresh

concrete many years ago on the edge of the slab that was under my body.

I sat there alone in silence and looked around and my sister

pulled in. I could see the look of relief on her face. There you are, it said.

She didn't say anything though, just opened the door to her car and sat down

beside me and took my hand in her hand. It's locked, I said, the church is

locked. With clarity and wisdom, she looked at me and said, no, it's not, I'm

right here.

A new door opened before me, in her words. That's the thing

about doors. They can divide things, or they can bring things together. Doors mark

a distinction, in and out, system and belonging, comfort and challenge, peace

and violence, hostility and home, being broken apart and being knit back

together... I want you to think of how we might remove the hinges from our hearts and tell to friend and stranger that all are welcome in our hearts in this place. In the kingdom of God.

I had no rug in the living room and I finally found one that I thought was beautiful and I justified it because I was thinking, I'll give this to my granddaughter when I die. You know, she'll love this rug, right? She'll probably put it in a garage sale, but anyway, that was my justification.

That rug was in my living room less than a week when my brother came to visit. It was a big deal, his coming to visit, because he hadn't been well. And he walked into my home, and he sat down in my living room, and he forgot that he had an open can of Diet Coke in his pants pocket, his back pants pocket. And you can imagine this Diet Coke pouring out all over my treasured little rug.

That was the first initiation that rug received. The second one was my dog Sweet Pea during one of her anxiety attacks. I could go on and on. Beautiful rug, beloved two-legged and four-legged creatures. You know, we have to lean towards the beloved creatures. We can be attached to stuff or having funds to purchase stuff, yet they are just possessions. Things that can disappear in a fire, they can be washed away in a flood, they can be decimated in a storm, they can be stolen by thieves and then stuff ultimately will be given away. It will belong to someone else. Or it will be put out in the garage sale, or maybe just directly to the trash.

If stuff, if our possessions are treated as our treasure. Then our hearts may feel constricted indeed. for where your treasure is there your heart will be. Moments confront us that challenge us to see things differently.