SSJE Sermons

Isaiah 44:6-8; Romans 8:12-25; Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

Our gospel lesson for today made me recall what I remember as the very first theological conundrum of my childhood.  I was probably 7 or 8 years old, it was summertime, and my Mom had admonished me to go outside and play.  I suspect on that particular day I had been a bee in my mother’s bonnet.  I walked outside into the front yard barefoot, enjoying the feeling of the warm grass between my toes.  That is until I experienced the sensation of sharp pain all over the bottom of my foot.  I jerked my foot up quickly as I looked down to discover that I had stepped squarely on a thistle.  After I had recovered from the pain, made sure there were no needles stuck in my foot, and surveyed the scene hoping that my parents had not heard the expletive I had shouted (not necessarily in that order), I began to wonder why God made thistles in the first place.  What was the purpose or a thistle?  Why did God create something to inflict pain on a barefooted kid such as myself?

And then I recalled what I had learned in Sunday school about Adam and Eve from the third chapter of Genesis where they ate the forbidden apple and became aware that they were naked (which naturally meant they too were barefoot).  The moment of reckoning came when God was walking in the Garden of Eden and discovered Adam and Eve hiding.  Amid God’s response to them were these words:  “Because you have eaten of the tree about which I commanded you, ‘You shall not eat of it,’ cursed is the ground because of you; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you…” [i] Eureka!  God didn’t make thistles because He was a cruel trickster.  God made thistles because I was a sinner.  As time went on, I began to translate this shoddy theology and rather immature notion of God into other parts of my life.  The idea of any type of suffering, at least in my mind had to be because I had messed up in some way and God was punishing me.  I held this reasoning about judgment, punishment, and suffering as absolute truth for many years, well into my adulthood and it served to complicate my relationship with God.  In the language of 12-step recovery, this might be dubbed ‘stinking thinking.’

In today’s gospel lesson, we hear Jesus tell a parable about wheat and tares, good and evil, and ultimately judgment.  The slaves of a landowner notice that there are weeds growing in with the wheat crops.  You may know that the weed Lolium tementulum, which is commonly called ‘Bearded Darnel,’ is a type of grass that initially looks just like wheat.[ii]  However, unlike wheat, the seed of this weed is poisonous and produces a narcotic effect when consumed.  The landowner states that an enemy has come in and maliciously sewn this weed into the wheat crops.  The conscientious slaves ask the landowner if they should go in and pull the weeds.  But the landowner knows that the situation is complicated because root systems are now entangled and to pull the weeds would in fact uproot the wheat with it and destroy the crop before it could reach harvest maturity.  He instructs them to let the wheat and tares grow together until the crops are ready to harvest and then the reapers will separate the weeds, bundle and burn them.

In Jesus’ day, Palestine suffered under a brutal occupation of the Roman Empire.  People feared for their lives.  But the awareness of who was good or evil was not static.  It wasn’t as simple as Israel/good, Rome/bad.  There were many Jews, like tax collectors, who colluded with Rome in order to make a living while assuring their safety and well-being.  This made them social pariahs among their kinsman because many would take more than the prescribed amount in order to pad their own wallets.  The religious authorities of the day believed that God would not send a Messiah unless Israel maintained strict adherence to Jewish Law being careful not to ritually defile themselves or the Temple.  Yet, this rigid Legalism turned a blind eye[...]

Matthew 11:20-24

“Woe to you, Chorazin!  Woe to you, Bethsaida!

For if the deeds of power done in you had been done in Tyre and Sidon,

they would have repented long ago in sackcloth and ashes.”

I doubt there are many preachers who would clamor to preach on the gospel text we have just heard.  We preachers tend to avoid the difficult sayings of Jesus and look for more comfortable and pleasing words.  This straight-talking, hard-hitting, no-holds-barred Jesus disturbs us.  And yet this may be one of the blessings of having texts chosen for us by a daily lectionary, which compels us forego, at least occasionally, the more agreeable stories and sayings of Jesus.  In texts like these, we are forced to confront the message of Jesus in all its forms.

So here are a few things we might note about tonight’s gospel lesson:

First, that Jesus was not “successful” in his ministry in the ways we normally measure success.  Although at times he drew large crowds, there were also a great many who rejected his message and ignored the signs and wonders God did through him.  The fact that so many turned away must have been frustrating, disappointing and discouraging for him, as it would be for us.  At times he must have felt anger and despair.  At one point in the Gospel of John, when the crowds are turning away from him, we sense his frustration when he turns to his disciples and says, “Do you also wish to go away?” (John 6:67).  Passages like these remind us how often Jesus’ words and deeds were met with incomprehension, indifference and outright opposition. And since disciples are not greater than their master, we should not be surprised to encounter the same indifference and rejection in many of those with whom we share the good news.

Second, note that Jesus’ criticism of the peoples of Chorazin, Bethsaida and Capernaum is not that they have not believed in him, but that, in spite of what they have seen and heard, they have failed to repent.  They had witnessed God’s power and heard of God’s love and yet had not turned from evil to do good.  Such powerful evidence of God’s loving care, Jesus maintains, would have persuaded even the pagans of Tyre and Sidon, and of Sodom, to turn to God in faith and obedience.  He has harsh words for those who fail to take God seriously or to commit their lives to being part of God’s plan.  They see and hear, but fail to respond.

Third, note that Jesus condemns the unrepentant towns corporately.  They are faulted for glorying in their own importance and for failing to heed signs and wonders and turn to God.  They have discouraged rather than encouraged faith in God.  They have been caught in their own pride.  This is a warning to our own communities and cities and countries, wherever wealth and commerce take priority over human need, wherever pride and privilege cause us to be indifferent towards the things of God.  Do not be blind to what God is doing!

Finally, note Jesus’ warning that the failure to repent, the failure to turn from evil and do good, has long-lasting consequences.  God will judge our actions, and our failure to act.  Greed, misuse of power, disregard for the dignity of other people, lack of respect for the earth, unwarranted violence will all have their consequences, both in our time and in the age to come.

It might be surprising for some of us to hear such sharp words from the lips of Jesus.  But perhaps this is how True Love speaks when we refuse to hear or obey.  Perhaps harsh words are the only way of getting our attention when we act as though we are blind and deaf to what God is doing and saying in our world.  Perhaps this is the form that True Compassion takes when nothing seems to be getting through to us.

Can we imagine Christ saying to us, “Woe to you, Cambridge!  Woe to you, Boston!  Woe to you, United States of America!”  And might this be the Voice of Love, trying to shake us awake from our sleepy indifference?

There are serious questions here for us to consider:

First, we m[...]

Genesis 25:19-34

Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

The vegetable garden at Emery House is flourishing as we partner with Nourishing the North Shore. With our land and water, they labor to grow, harvest, and distribute vegetables, mostly to neighbors in need. They carefully prepared the soil, made plans, and planted precise rows with irrigation. One section has cover crops in order to replenish the soil. It’s all planned and orderly. As in your yard or inside with containers, gardeners plan and prepare.

Today’s parable gets our attention. The sower casts seed recklessly such that seeds fell on the path where birds ate them, on rocky ground where shoots sprang up but quickly withered, amid thorns which grew alongside and chocked them, as well as on good soil which bore fruit. No one sows like this, wildly sending seed with little chance of survival. No one is so reckless.

In parables and actions, Jesus catches attention to tease out wisdom, to show truth upside down. God is no ordinary gardener. God is reckless with generosity, sowing love everywhere, not limited by investing only for the best results. Radically open, loving even in the face of rejection and impossibility, this is God’s way.

My guess is you, too, have loved like this. There are times you continued to show up, listen, and provide even when the beloved wouldn’t turn toward you or did so only briefly before turning away. Have you done this with children, family, friends or even strangers?

Remember, too, being on the receiving end. Remember when you were loved by friend, teacher or parent, yet soon turned away perhaps from hurt, self-focused or distraction. Sometimes we receive love and let it grow, and other times we are too limited, without enough depth and courage to withstand wounds. We’re seared like the sun, burned by criticism or fear. We have loved like this reckless gardener, and we have rejected such love.

We can see this in Jacob. In the lesson from Genesis, we hear of Abraham’s grandchildren. Jacob wrestles from birth, gripping his brother’s ankle. Jacob shrewdly swaps Esau soup for the birthright by a sworn oath. One may doubt investing in such a self-centered youth. Who is he to inherit and live into God’s promise to Abraham?

Jacob belongs to Abraham and so do we. The story of Abraham, like Jacob and others after, shows God’s distinctive choice to create, bless, and use human relationships to save the world. Humans with all our limitations. We change slowly, often over a long time.

Genesis records God visiting Abraham seven times. First only God speaks. Then Abraham slowly speaks his fear and anger, later growing to engage as a friend and partner. God keeps coming to Abraham over and over sowing seeds of divine love. Over multiple episodes, Abraham receives only in part and God returns, inviting, sowing again and again. There is gradual conversion, and eventual fruitfulness.

In today’s parable, we are not just one soil. We experience them all. God gives us freedom to keep choosing. God neither makes us receptive nor rejects us when we aren’t. Like Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, we often are not receptive to God’s love. To them and us, God recklessly keeps coming, sowing seed, that loving Word in us. Gradually we become more receptive; we become more loving. We too are blessed slowly becoming a blessing for the whole world.

If you or your neighbor or the world seems stuck like Jacob today, hard set in self-promotion, scorched by violence, or choked by wealth, hear the good news. We have hope. As to Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and on through scripture, God comes to us recklessly the sowing the Word even when we have hard hearts. God keeps inviting for fruitfulness in the long-view. With wild love, God is persistently generous in order to save us all.

Let anyone with ears listen!

Zechariah 9: 9 -12

Psalm 145: 8-15

Romans 7: 15 – 25a

Matthew 11: 16 – 19, 25 – 30

When I was in seminary, one of my professors frequently spoke of alarms bells. He’d be in the middle of his lecture, or answering a question, or making a comment about something, when he would stop and announce: alarm bells should be going off in your head right now! It took a while, but we soon realized that this was his code for us to make connections between what he had just said and something we might have heard or known from a different situation.

Well, if it were Professor Koester, and not Brother James standing before you today, I’d be saying alarm bells should be going off in your head right now! In fact, really loud alarms should be ringing for you this morning. It’s not that you are in a deep sleep right now and need to wake up (although perhaps that’s true!). Instead you should be thinking, this all sounds vaguely familiar. Where have I heard this before?

Listen again. Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.[1] Sound familiar? Because it should! While the alarm bells are clanging in your head, you should be thinking (have you got it yet?) Palm Sunday right now, because that’s where you last heard this. Now to be fair, Matthew jumbles his quotation up a little, snatching a little bit from Isaiah[2] and another little bit from the portion of Zechariah that was read this morning. What you heard on Palm Sunday was: ‘Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’[3] But none the less, when our first lesson was read this morning, alarm bells should have started to go off, and they should be clanging even now.

So what’s with all these alarms? Why should they be going off? And what’s so important about the connection between what happened on Palm Sunday and what is going on today?

The connection is that kings don’t arrive on donkeys. Messiahs don’t associate with sinners. The alarm bells should be clanging in your head this morning to remind you that the gospel news is that God reverses everything and turns everything, and I mean everything, upside down. The poor are blessed! The mourners will be comforted! The meek will inherit! The hungry will be filled! The merciful will receive mercy! The pure will see God![4]

It’s not supposed to be that way at least that is what we are told every day of our lives. The poor are losers. The mourners should get over it. The meek will be crushed. The hungry can find their own food. The merciful are weak. The pure are pathetic.

That is what we are told, and it comes across loud and clear, some days in a tweet.

And into this rides Jesus, not as a king mounted on a magnificent stallion, but on a lowly donkey[5]. Into this comes Jesus, not ruling from a splendid throne, but reigning from a cross[6]. Into this comes Jesus, not robed as a mighty king, but dressed as a poor shepherd[7]. Into this comes Jesus, not as the expected messiah, but as the friend of tax collectors and sinners[8].

The gospel reverses everything and turns everything upside down, including our expectations about God. Suddenly the kingdom is found not in power, and wealth and might, but in the weak, the poor and the small: in good seed sown in a field;[9] in the tiniest of mustard seeds that produces the greatest of shrubs;[10] in yeast mixed with flour.[11]

And it all started when a king arrived on a donkey,[12] a messiah came as friend of sinners,[13] and when God came to us in human flesh and dwelt among us.[14] In Jesus, God reverses our expectations and turns them upside down. And it is only when we stand on our heads that we begin to see the world as God sees it.

So standing on your head, what might you begin to see more clearly? What does the world look like from that vantage? What does your life[...]

Here is my sermon that I preached today. I was struck immediately by the reference to God’s Compassion when I began meditating on the Scripture readings for today’s Eucharist. The reference to Sarah’s behavior being like an angry bear protecting her cub came from mention of bears in Quebec in several of Louise Penny’s Mystery Novels about a fictional village in Quebec. The rest of the sermon just developed from there.

Gen. 21:5, 8-20

Today’s first reading is a story of Sarah, the wife of Abraham, acting something like an angry mother bear protecting her cub. We also see God, acting in contrast to that with great compassion.

The story began by telling us that Abraham was one hundred years old when his son Isaac was born. This alone was something outside of ordinary norms. Sarah herself was not much younger. Having a son born at such an age is a miracle.

Abraham was aware of that. He gave thanks to God by having a great feast when the child was weaned.

A few years earlier Hagar had been Sarah’s maid. When Sarah had found that she was unable to give Abraham a son she gave Hagar to Abraham so that he might have a son by her.

At the time of today’s lesson Sarah saw Ishmael, the son of Hagar, playing with her son, Isaac. When she saw that, her instincts as a mother caused her to react badly. She demanded that Abraham send Hagar and her son away. But God responded with great compassion; providing for the child and his mother in the wilderness.

Someone might say of Sarah’s reaction, “That wasn’t a very Christian attitude!” But we should remember that was a very long time ago. Jesus would not yet become incarnate for hundreds of years. So long ago love and mercy would not necessarily have been seen as part of God’s commandments.

Even now in our time, sometimes we let our feelings get in the way of giving thanks to God for his mercy–for his compassion. When that happens to you, think of this story of Abraham and Sarah and Hagar; and of God’s compassion in the face of Sarah’s anger.

On the scales of eternity, Sarah’s transitory feelings, as a wife and mother, were far outweighed by the eternal greatness of the compassion of God!

Put your trust in the compassion and love of God, and give thanks.

Romans 6:12-23

The Collect for today – the prayer with which we began this morning’s liturgy – makes a reference, as a metaphor, to the Temple in Jerusalem.  And it’s a shocking metaphor.  It should be shocking.  The prayer is “that we be made a holy temple.”  That’s a reference to the Temple, no longer in Jerusalem.  The Temple – its foundation and cornerstone – is being re-created and joined together within you: within your person, within your soul and body.  You embody the Temple.  Now that’s a stretch of the imagination.

In Jesus’ day, Jerusalem was a city built on a hill, as we read in the Psalms.[i]  Within the walls of Jerusalem, the Temple Mount sat on the highest place: a huge structure of massive stonework – nearly 500,000 square feet in area[ii] – with crenelated walls, stunning archways and gates, and architectural demarcations to keep everyone in the place to which they belonged.  Inside the great encompassing outer wall was the Court of the Gentiles, and then, further within, were walled sanctuaries of increasing separation. At the very center was the Tabernacle, the innermost sanctuary being the Holy of Holies. Within the Holy of Holies sat the Ark of the Covenant containing the Ten Commandments given by God to Moses on Mount Sinai.  Only the Chief Priest would access this most inner sanctuary. 

So the Temple is a massive place, lifted high and holy. The Temple had breathtaking architectural splendor using the artistry of everything from massive stone columns and buttresses to the adornment of gold and great candelabras.  The Temple was the focal point for what was most important in life: for offering to God praise and petition, for offering thanksgiving and remorse, for the dedication of newborns, for the healing of the sick, and for the consolation of those who suffer and grieve. The Temple was a place intimately familiar to Jesus and his parents.  Forty days after Jesus’ birth, he was brought to the Temple by Mary and Joseph, who dedicated their firstborn son, Jesus,  to God, an act that was required by the law.[iii]  Observance of the law and attendance to Temple duties were very important to Jesus. By the time Jesus begins his public ministry, he is thor­oughly rooted and grounded in the tradition of his Jewish ancestors and in Temple practice. Shockingly, Jesus predicts the unimaginable: that this awesome and holy edifice will come down.  And it happens.  Within about 40 years of Jesus’ death, in year 70 the Temple is completely destroyed by the occupying Roman armies.[iv]

Which brings us back to the phrase in our opening Collect: “that we be made a holy temple.”  So what would that Temple look like?  It would look like you: that you “house” God; that you “incarnate” God.  That God lives within you.  We’re no longer talking about a walled city on a hill, with partitioned precincts, and with demarcations and sanctuaries for the most holy people.  We’re talking about you and me: we being God’s Temple.  Saint Paul, who, in his earlier days had worshiped in the Temple in the Jerusalem, came to see the temple, not as something to be rebuilt in Jerusalem but rather something to be reborn within us.  “Your body,” he writes, “is a temple of the Holy Spirit.”[v]  So how do you practice that embodiment?

At the most basic level, revere your body. Your body is the edifice in which you have have entered life, in which you have been shaped and formed in life, in which you practice life, in which you will part from this life.  Treat your body kindly, attentively, respectfully, peacefully, gently, gratefully, lovingly, in a holy way. You are precious in God’s eyes, and God embodies you.  You are God’s temple.

Temple that you are, is there some clutter within the walls of your life that needs to be cleared away or cleaned up: someone you need to forgive; a resentment you need to release; a vindictiveness you need to truce; an intruding practice you need to surrender? You’re God’s temple and – once more teasing out th[...]

Br. James Koester celebrates how Scripture conveys the mystery that is God through poetry, mystery, myth and metaphor, like the Ascension. "That doesn’t make it unreal," he explains, "Rather it makes it true."

Br. Jim Woodrum ponders the ways in which God has been made known to him around the table and int he nourishing presence of others.

Jn 12:44-50

The Gospel Reading for today is a discourse of Jesus making it clear that he did not come into the world on his own as an individual. We heard; “Whoever believes in me believes not in me but in him who sent me. And whoever sees me sees him who sent me.” (Jn 12: 44-45) 

This 12th Chapter of the Gospel according to John marks the transition from Jesus’ Ministry to his Passion and Resurrection. The relationship of Jesus with God the father was close.

As I prayed with this passage I began to see parallels in this lesson with the 3rd Chapter of this same Gospel, just after the account of Jesus’ visit from Nicodemus.  Probably verses 16-21 are commentary by the Evangelist. (Cf. Jn 3:16-21)

In John 3:17 it says that “God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”  Today’s Gospel passage says, “I came not to judge the world, but to save the world.”  (Jn 12:47b)

At the end of today’s Gospel we heard, “The Father who sent me has himself given me a commandment ….  And I know that his commandment is eternal life.”

(Jn 12:49b-50a)

At the heart of the portion read as today’s Gospel Jesus said, “I have come as light into the world, so that everyone who believes in me should not remain in the darkness.” (Jn 12:46)  In the Book of Genesis we can read, “Then God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light.” (cf. Gen. 3:1a) I think we can understand Jesus’ words about coming as light into the world not only as “the light of Christ”, but also the Light of God.

        When God calls will you be ready to come to that light?  (Cf. Jn 3:21)

Wisdom 7:7-14 &John 8:25-32

Feast of St. Gregory of Nazianzus

When I read and reflect upon our SSJE Rule, I am still often caught off guard at how core theological tenets of Christian faith are so vividly applied to the pressing realities of everyday human existence. For example, I return again and again to these words in our chapter on “The Witness of Life in Community”:

Our human vocation to live in communion and mutuality is rooted in our creation in God’s image and likeness. The very being of God is community; the Father, Son, and Spirit are One in reciprocal self-giving and love. The mystery of God as Trinity is one that only those living in personal communion can understand by experience. Through our common life we can begin to grasp that there is a transcendent unity that allows mutual affirmation of our distinctness as persons. Through prayer, we can see that this flows from the Triune life of God.[1]

This indeed has been my experience of life in monastic community, which has by far been my most powerful teacher in regard to the mystery of the Trinity. Before coming to life in this community, I struggled long and hard to appropriate this mystery of the faith as anything approaching a personal reality. Of course, this is what theology does at its best. The sublime and the mundane are brought into genuine conversation in such a way that human hearts are kindled, human desires are transfigured, and even human suffering becomes the royal road to larger Life. Rather than static words on the pages of books, however fascinating, theology begins to dance: it weaves a pattern of vibrant and dynamic movement into the shuffling steps of our pilgrimage even as it plants our feet firmly on stable ground that can bear our weight.

Gregory of Nazianzus, whom we remember today, is not a household name in the Western Church. But his mature and powerful theological reflections on the nature of God as Trinity have hada deep and formative impact on the course of church history. In the Eastern Church, Gregory is not remembered primarily as one member of a trio, the Cappadocian Fathers: Basil, Gregory of Nazianzus, and Gregory of Nyssa, all born in the same region of Turkey around 330 and responsible in a creative, collaborative and collegial way for developing a profound and coherent Trinitarian theology. The relationships between these men were not always as easy as hagiography would lead us to believe. They bickered and competed, were capable of clinging narrowly to their own opinions, and even broke one another’s hearts. Now, I am not a scholar of patristics. My primary love of the Triune God has come to me by way of the costly grace of personal communion and the stretching and transfiguring tensions of our common life in the Church. But in that light, I can tell you why the witness of Gregory of Nazianzus is relevant to me.I cannot continue in the word of Christ into that knowledge of the truth that I know will set me free without the grace of the Triune God.And I cannot hope to glimpse the creating, saving, and unifying interrelationship within the Trinity without the unrelenting synergy of shared discipleship, by which I am who I am and through which I am yet becoming who God intends me to be. Just as God is not a self-sufficient monad, neither can I do this alone. And, I’d say, neither can you.

Gregory of Nazianzus couldn’t have walked his own, unreproducible path of discipleship without his closest friend, Basil, and Basil’s brother, Gregory of Nyssa. It was that synergy of discipleship mirroring the self-spending love of the Trinity, as it unfolded around and between Gregory of Nazianzus and Basil that I want to reflect upon.

First, what does church history on a grand scale tell us about these two? Gregory and Basil are credited with heroic and singular contributions in defending the faith enshrined in the Nicene Creed from lesser, heretical viewpoints. What is heresy? In some cases, the thinkers, writers and leaders whom[...]