a Sermon for Palm/Passion Sunday C
Text: Luke 19:28-40, Luke 23:1-49
As one of my friends likes to say, “two gospels means two sermons!”
In the first one, we explore the Triumphal Entry and what it means encounter Rome at its local doorstep. Then in the second, we deal with Rome’s power. And in this encounter, we learn what power really looks like.
Chart courtesy of Think Progress
Of course, this image demonstrates that people don’t really want to cut anything from the federal budget. Except one thing. You know, the one most Christian thing on this list. That, they want to get rid of.
a Sermon for the Conversion of St. Paul the Apostle
Text: Acts 26:9-21
In the story of the Conversion of Paul, we have perhaps the ultimate Christian example. Paul speaks of his old self, a conversion, and a transformation.
Before he became Paul, he was Saul: a self-proclaimed zealot. He was Jewish and Roman: an unlikely and unusual combination as each is a status usually conferred upon one through birth—as opposed to belief and conversion. This dual status gave him huge advantages in society and in his ministry. It is no doubt for both of these identities that Saul gains significant notoriety in the region as persecutor of Christians.
In that story we heard from Acts, we hear Paul describe this stunning reversal. Saul, the “SuperJew” and persecutor of Christians is blinded, thrown from his horse, and is called by Jesus to become an apostle. In Acts 9, when the conversion itself occurs, we read that he is left blind for three days and is healed through Jesus’s direction of another. But here we learn that Saul is being invited to become an apostle. Not just another follower, or part of the crowd, but an Apostle—counted among Peter, James, and John.
Like Simon, renamed as Peter, Saul’s conversion leads to a name change. He becomes Paul. And he turns his zeal from persecution of the early Christians to evangelism.
It is in that moment of conversion that we might see Paul’s greatest gift.
Paul said:
…I was traveling to Damascus with the authority and commission of the chief priests, when at midday along the road…I saw a light from heaven, brighter than the sun, shining around me and my companions.
He is blinded by an intense light and it is there that he encounters Jesus. The radical theologian, Peter Rollins recently spoke in a public lecture that Paul’s encounter with Jesus is not a moment based on seeing the light, but confronting the darkness caused by blindness. For three days he loses his sight. It is the light itself that prevents him from seeing and it is Jesus’s words that, for the first time, compel him to observe himself.
Rollins says that in this moment, Saul is forced to confront his belief, his own darkness. Paul’s conversion from persecutor of Christians to one expanding the Body of Christ doesn’t come from sticking with his childhood faith, but in confronting what it had made of him.
The example for us in Paul’s conversion then is not flowers and rainbows and a moment of transcendent joy—nor is it a faith built by hard work and weekly synagogue attendance with his family. His conversion comes through confronting what he has done while he is cast into total darkness.
Paul’s example is particularly challenging to those of us raised in the church. It exposes the possibility that despite baptism, many of us hold our faith as Saul does, rather than Paul. That our zealous support of our faith is not directed by Jesus but in reaction to what we perceive as threats to our our childhood faith.
Yet Jesus gives even Saul a chance to become Paul. Jesus gives even the most satisfied and zealous among us the chance to examine ourselves and be converted. To relinquish our childish hold on an unexamined life and an ignorant faith. A chance to repent for the evils we have done and chart a new course. To dispense of our anger and hatred of others and embrace the joy that comes from loving others as GOD loves. And perhaps, most importantly, do a new thing based on the skills we have.
For Paul was converted from Jew to Jew who follows Christ. And the new thing he is called to do is to proclaim the Good News to non-Jews. This is totally unheard of and a huge departure for a tradition that was more concerned with maintaining family identity than bringing outsiders into the tradition. I hope this sounds familiar.
For St. Paul’s the conversion reminds us that GOD operates by changing course; by forcing us to examine ourselves; and by giving us new work to do. St. Paul’s is the second incarnation of the Episcopal Church in St. Clair. First born as Trinity Church in 1846, and after a fire in 1873, the congregation continued to meet irregularly and became a mission in 1881. It was reborn as St. Paul’s in 1885. Since then, we have changed many times over. Each time, reflecting the work GOD has given us to do.
As we move once again into our new era, our new life, we are doing so not as St. Saul’s, zealously devoted to preserving the past by persecuting the present, but as St. Paul’s, eager to use our gifts in the new thing GOD is giving us today.
We are making new commitments to lifelong Christian formation, to providing a safe and nurturing environment for children, to new efforts of spiritual discernment and practice, to new avenues for evangelism, and to holistic approaches to mission, worship, and stewardship.
The gift GOD gives Saul is darkness: a moment of self-examination and discernment from which Paul is born. May we recognize our own gift before us.
a Homily for Thanksgiving
Text: Matthew 6:25-33
Tonight we’ve gathered to give thanks. More specifically, to give thanks to GOD for all of our blessings and all that we have to be thankful for. To give thanks to a GOD for so much wonderful stuff.
But we know not everyone feels that thankful.
Last fall, one of my wife’s friends from high school asked for prayers on Facebook. His family was suffering through a job loss and were fearful for their future. He described that he was trying to be faithful in the midst of the struggle because he knew GOD would provide. The comment field broke in two directions: most responded by telling him, just as Jesus seems to be telling the crowd in tonight’s reading, “Don’t worry! God will provide!” A few people seemed to chastise him for a seeming lack of faith; suggesting that his circumstances would improve if he just believed more or better.
My wife, however, was livid. We were struggling through our own job loss and to hear such ridiculous talk and cavalier attitudes about faith and GOD’s providence from people who weren’t struggling themselves were personally insulting. She was praying more than she ever had. But prayers didn’t pay the electric bill. She did when she wrote out the check. Prayers didn’t put food on the table. I did when I went to the grocery store. Our problems aren’t solved that way.
We have a story that deals with this.
In Exodus, the Hebrew people are rescued by GOD, brought across the parted sea, and arrive in the wilderness. Once they are free, they do precisely what any of us would do. They turn to each other and say “now what?” Then they start complaining about being hungry and thirsty. They whine about it incessantly. So Moses goes off to ask GOD what can be done. And GOD gives them clean drinking water. Then after more whining, some food. Then after more whining some more water.
I am fascinated by this because GOD doesn’t yell or punish the whining. It all seems expected. It has an “Oh, you need water? Here you go!” vibe to it. However, when it comes to the food GOD gives conditions. First, this sticky, flaky substance will show up in the morning. Eat up. It isn’t the bare necessity, you’ll get just what you can eat. In the evening you’ll have meat. But don’t save any until Friday; you’ll get a double portion that day for the Sabbath. Of course they test it out and it gets maggoty, just as GOD promised.
This story, often told as a test of faith for the people is really a story about generosity and preservation. They are given good food and a lot of it. And it isn’t dependent on their faith. They asked for food and GOD gave it. And kept giving it. Of course they eventually wanted a menu change. I’m sure they got pretty tired of that manna after a few weeks.
When Jesus invites the crowd to quit worrying about their stuff—food, clothes, shelter; the basic necessities—he doesn’t seem to be saying that these are unimportant. He doesn’t seem to be suggesting they ignore their needs: to not pay the electric bill and see what happens. He seems to be saying that’s not what I want you to focus on. Instead, focus on GOD. Our worry gets in the way.
Of course, this a tall order: to quit worrying. I don’t think we’re really supposed to. I think we are supposed to feel all of that. This passage comes to us in the middle of the Sermon on the Mount. This sermon begins with the Beatitudes, a litany to those who are moved by injustice in the world. The whole sermon is a testament to creating and embodying a more just world. So when Jesus tells us to stop worrying, He is saying this isn’t our first priority. What we’re wearing? Not our first priority. What we’re going to have for dinner? Not our first priority. Even where our next meal is going to come from—not our first priority. First priority? The Kingdom of GOD. Period. We’ll be cared for, not because of our faith, but because this is how the Kingdom of GOD works. We love GOD so that we can even know what love actually is. And we start loving. We become people who love. The Kingdom grows out of us—out of that love—our love for GOD and our neighbors.
As people charged with this same apostolic ministry to bring the Kingdom of GOD closer, to “strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness” we’re invited to see our thankfulness a little different this year. To bear witness not just to all this good stuff in our personal lives or the beauty of GOD’s creation, but to the breaking through of that Kingdom. To provide fertile soil for spring plantings of justice. To give from our abundance as the need is uncovered. To aid the oppressed and usher in change to the systems that oppress them.
Like our ancestors in the desert, we are given precisely what we need. We don’t need more people or more money or more of anything to strive for the Kingdom of GOD in St. Clair. We just need to make it our first priority.
And to be thankful, not because it’s time to do that, only to rush out and bowl people over for $20 Blue Ray players on Friday. But because GOD believes in us, loves us, and cares for us.
When we gather around our tables tomorrow, may our hunger and thirst be satisfied, not by the food we eat, but through the justice we seek.
Driving home from Convention this year, I had the blessing of talking over the experience with one of our delegates. We both talked about our own responses to the many parts and our past experiences. It probably wasn’t equal though. Poor Michelle learned how chatty I get in the car when I’m driving!
This morning, I had a new understanding of what we just did. Like Sunday’s gospel, which could be easily misunderstood when seen as a collection of parts, was a profoundly evocative moment for a still relatively young diocese.
The theme, Abundance in the Midst of Scarcity, colored every moment. We focused on our companion relationship with Iglesia Episcopal Dominicana, and received a delegation from the Dominican Episcopal Church, including its bishop, the Rt. Rev. Julio C. Holguin, His key note address was a stirring testimony of how the Holy Spirit changed his life and how he has partnered with the Spirit to transform his diocese through mission. His call to us to take up the common cause of mission in the form of the 5 Marks of Mission was a prophetic moment that I trust will inspire us to adopt them and serve GOD fervently.
That sense of abundance, that GOD continues to bless us, despite our hardships was present throughout. The financial report was full of hope. And two of our mission groups gave inspired reports: our mission partners in Eagle Butte, South Dakota and our own Camp Chickagami. And we concluded with a packed St. Paul’s, Flint with an ordination Eucharist.
The whole convention was inspired. Yet it might be far too easy to miss what we are doing. We are used to two-day conventions. Several of our elected positions lacked the minimum number of people standing for election. The changing role of the convocations is still up in the air. Each of these pieces could easily be seen as scarcity: as symbolic of decline or weakness.
What I saw instead was a people being changed without their knowing or understanding. We are in the middle. It isn’t finished. A process that was formally introduced a year ago and couldn’t hope to be completed in one year, will continue to change the very way we interact with the diocese and other congregations. Here is where the ever-present sense of death and resurrection comes in. The very recent loss of one of our priests, Terry Parsons; our friend, The Most Reverend Patrick Cooney, Roman Catholic Bishop of Gaylord; and our bishop’s father, John Ousley was always weighing on us. All of this pain, confusion, loss was there. But it didn’t kill us. It was our witness for transformation.
Every moment of this convention spoke to this sense of abundance and transformation; this sense of mission and activity in our world; this sense of pushing on, even when it looks hard. The staff or Standing Committee could not have scripted this. It was authored by the Holy Spirit to show us the way forward; that we’re on the right track; that we are loved. That this Diocese is forming into something truly new, unique, and fully-engaged with our ministry in our region and throughout the world.
Create Video Contest Submission | Episcopal Church.
I’d love to see some submissions from the Diocese of Eastern Michigan! What can we put together?
