Sermon; Proper 10A; Matt. 13:1-9, 18-23

First, I need to get something off my chest . . . I'm a little annoyed with the lectionary committee this week. They decided that, after four weeks of following Jesus through Chapters 10 and 11 we should completely jump over Chapter 12. Here's why this is important, and here's some homework for you. Last week we heard Jesus say, “Take my yoke upon you, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Then with that in mind, read Chapter 12 of Matthew and pay attention to the interactions between Jesus and the Pharisees and notice the yoke and burden of Jesus vs. the yoke and burden of the Pharisees.

Okay . . . now that that's done, let's look at today's gospel.

Chapter 13 ushers in a series of what are known as “kingdom parables” – parables focused on the nearness of the kingdom of heaven. And while today's parable doesn't explicitly state that, Jesus could have very easily begun by saying, “The kingdom of heaven is like a sower who went out to sow.”

We've probably all heard this parable many times and we have all probably heard just as many sermons on it. So I won't try to explain it – Jesus does that himself. Instead, let me see if I can give you something new to think about.

One popular interpretation, and the one that Jesus himself gives, is that we are the seeds that land in various spots. Maybe we're sown on the path, don't understand the message of the kingdom, and get snatched away. Or maybe we're the ones who get choked by the lure of wealth and worldly concerns. Or maybe we're the ones who fall away when following Christ becomes difficult. Or maybe we're the ones who produce an abundance of fruit for the kingdom. Over the years I've noticed that we are rarely just one of those, but that we can be good one day and fickle or non-existent the next.

We don't like to admit that, but it's true. We all think we're the seed in good soil bearing an abundance of fruit for the kingdom. But how many of us, when given the opportunity to serve or participate in church life or any number of spiritual disciplines have opted to pursue our own desires instead? Or how many of us have been enticed by things we know are not holy or life-giving, or by things we assume give us a certain status in the community? It happens and we need to be honest about it.

What seeds people are with respect to the kingdom is one way to look at this parable. But I was recently shown another way to look at it.

I was talking with Mtr. Ann (from that other Buffalo) last week as we prepared for the Wednesday Night BBQ when she asked, “What kind of soil are we?” That's an excellent question I hadn't ever considered before, and is a better question than, “What seeds are we (or am I)?”

What kind of seed am I focuses only on ourselves. Am I the kind of person who gets seduced by worldly promises? Am I the kind of person who is lured away from the faith by wealth and power? Am I the kind of person who hears what Jesus is saying but does nothing to understand it? Regardless of what kind of seed any of us are, it's all about me.

However, “What kind of soil am I?” is the better question because it asks us to consider how we allow/encourage/nurture others to grow in the faith.

Are we the “soil” of the path, proclaiming the good news to others but offering no resources to help them understand? Are we the rocky soil who proclaim only good and joyful messages (like the Prosperity Gospel) that ultimately provide no depth and allow people to fall away when things get difficult? Are we the soil that allows a shallow faith to get choked away by worldly wealth and power? Are we the good soil, providing resources to understand, helping to make God a priority, and providing a place to weather storms and deepen faith so the kingdom of heaven can grown by hundreds, sixties, and thirties?

Seeing ourselves as soil for the kingdom of heaven, and asking what kind of soil we are, will allow us to, hopefully, cultivate ourselves and this place into fertile ground for the kingdom of heaven.

Finally, let's talk about the sower. The sower is out there scattering seed willy-nilly without a care as to where it lands. What's up with that? If it were me, I'd be making sure the seed I scattered was aimed at good soil. It's almost like this person doesn't even care where it lands. And that's the difference between a theology of scarcity and a theology of abundance.

A theology of scarcity tells us to sparingly share what we have. Scarcity tells us look for only the right people to whom we will proclaim the good news. Scarcity tells us to talk about our faith and God only to those who will benefit this place or only to those whom we think will become good pledgers.

A theology of abundance, however, tells us to generously share what we have. Abundance in proclaiming the good news tells us to share our faith with everyone, regardless of where it lands. Abundance tells us to be foolishly generous by recognizing that everyone needs to hear the good news, regardless of whether or not we deem them to be good soil. And a theology of abundance ultimately asks us to trust God.

Scarcity makes us question our resources. It makes us hold tightly to our gifts because we might lose them. It makes our default mode, “We can't because . . . not enough money, not enough people, not enough resources, not enough time . . . not enough.”

Abundance, though, sees God working in and through everything. Abundance allows and encourages us to pledge to the kingdom of God as represented by this parish. Abundance encourages us to spread the good news randomly and joyfully without regard to who hears it. Abundance makes our default mode, “We can because God is with us.”

I'll come back to the hygiene collection here. Abundance tells us that we can all add at least ONE HYGIENE ITEM to our grocery cart and bring it on Sunday. Abundance tells us that when we ALL do that, the patrons of the Food Pantry will have an abundance of hygiene items.

This first kingdom parable reminds us to be abundant and generous because that's how the kingdom of heaven operates. It reminds us that we don't always produce good fruit for the kingdom. And it can also remind us that we are the soil in which seeds of faith are planted. So let us make this place a place of good, fertile soil in which people grow to produce good fruit for the kingdom while finding depth and strength.

Amen.

Sermon; Proper 9A; Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

Today's gospel reading needs a bit of context. Unlike the last three weeks that were focused on travel instructions to the apostles before they went out to proclaim, cure, cleanse, and raise, today's passage jumps into the middle of a story we don't understand. So some background.

The beginning of Chapter 11 opens with John the Baptist in prison. He's heard about Jesus so he sends some of his disciples to find out if Jesus is the Messiah or if they are to wait for another. Jesus says, “Go and tell John what you hear and see . . .” basically saying that, yes, he's the one. After John's disciples leave he begins talking to the crowd about John. He asks them what drew them to John, he gets in a dig at Herod, and he says how John embodies the return of Elijah. And it's in this context that today's gospel passage is based.

If Jesus seems a little cranky here, he might be. He's thinking about John and himself and their two roles. “We played the flute and you did not dance, we wailed and you did not mourn” represent two ways of looking at John and Jesus. On the one hand, the joyful flute players represent Jesus and his joyful announcement of the coming kingdom, while the wailers represent John and his dour foretelling of coming judgment. On the other hand, the flute players in the story can represent those who wanted John to be more joyful while those who wailed want to see Jesus stop preaching good news and mourn. Either way, both are attacked – John because he didn't eat or drink and therefore had a demon, and Jesus because he ate, drank, and mixed with the wrong people and was therefore a glutton and drunkard. With this hypocrisy and double standard, it's no wonder Jesus was a tad cranky.

The lectionary starts there with Jesus calling out the people for their double standards, and then it skips over several verses. In the omitted portion, cranky Jesus berates the people of a few towns. He says, “Woe to you Bethsaida and Capernaum. If the deeds of power done there had been done in Tyre, Sidon, or even Sodom, they would have repented. As it is, it will be worse for you on the day of judgment than for those cities.”

The lectionary reading then picks up with Jesus giving thanks for those who choose to follow him and for those whom Jesus chooses to reveal himself to. And it's here where we get to the heart of today's passage: “Come to me all you who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you . . . for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” This, along with the 23^rd Psalm, has to be one of the most comforting passages in all of scripture – my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

But is it?

Because for the last three weeks we've heard Jesus tell the apostles things like: I am sending you out like sheep among wolves; you will be handed over to councils and flogged in their synagogues; you will be dragged before governors and kings; brother will betray brother to death; children will rise against parents and have them put to death; you will be hated by all; and a variety of other dire and deadly predictions. This doesn't sound like his yoke is easy and his burden light. On the contrary, this very much sounds hard and heavy.

But context is everything.

Whereas those dire and deadly predictions of Chapter 10 were addressed to the apostles about what they would face as they headed out into the world, today's comforting words are addressed to listeners after Jesus goes off about John, how the two of them are treated, and a lack of repentance by the people of Israel. They could also foreshadow his upcoming conflicts with the Pharisees over issues about the Law in Chapter 12.

As cranky as Jesus seems to be in Chapter 11, he's putting forth the idea that by following him in word and deed, by taking his yoke upon you, he has a way of making your burdens lighter – not non-existent, but lighter.

Take, for instance, the yoke of worship. A yoke, as you all know, is a harness connecting animals together and to a load. In a broad context, it represents servitude or duty. The Catechism states that the duty of all Christians is to come together week by week for corporate worship. The Baptismal Covenant asks, “Will you continue in the apostles' teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers?” In other words, “Will you be faithful in worship?” Worship is a duty, a yoke, that we take upon us.

The burden of that worship is relatively light: one day a week for 90 minutes. Yet some people see it as so burdensome they choose not to attend. But isn't it in worship where we feel relief, uplifted, and recharged? Isn't it in worship where the world falls away and we can reconnect with God in a way we don't get to during the week? It's in worship where we share the burdens of our life with Christ and each other.

Or take what Jesus addressed earlier, the role of repentance. We all have sins that we carry through the days, weeks, months, or years. Those sins can have a way of eating away at us and weighing us down. The yoke of repentance allows us to honestly admit our errors, to make a right beginning, and (if necessary) make restitution or reparations. In doing these things the yoke of repentance allows Christ to lighten our burdens so we can live more fully in him and with others.

One thing in all of this we need to remember: Jesus never says he will remove our burdens. He never says his path will be easy. We are still asked to take up our cross. We are still asked to sacrifice our selves for him. We are still asked to prioritize our life with God at the head. But Jesus reminds us here that his yoke – the yoke of worship, the yoke of discipleship, the yoke of servanthood – is easy because we do these things in his name. There are plenty of things in my life that have not been easy and have been difficult, but because I've done them with Jesus as the priority they have been easier than otherwise.

And as for burdens being light, Jesus never asks us to do this alone. And that, I think, is the key. Someone once told me, with regard to the death of a spouse, “I don't know how anyone without a faith community does this.” Jesus called twelve men, not one. He sent them out in pairs, not as individuals. He knew the value of community and the support it offered. And yes, families – biological or otherwise – and communities can be weird and difficult. But they also offer a level of support that allows us to share our burdens, thereby making them lighter for each of us.

Chapter 11 is the “cranky Jesus” chapter; apparently even Jesus had a bad day. But maybe that's what makes these words of comfort even more comforting: that even in the midst of being cranky we can find a place of lightened burdens. And maybe it can remind us to turn to Jesus and his community of believers when things get rough. And maybe we will remember that, no matter what we are going through, the Church that Jesus established, the Church we are yoked to, will always be here to help lighten our burdens.

Amen.

Sermon; Proper 8A; Matt. 10:40-42

Today we get the final set of instructions from Jesus to the apostles – to us – before they (we) go out on their (our) mission to proclaim, cure, cleanse, and raise. These instructions started two weeks ago when Jesus said to take no gold or silver or two tunics. They go on to warn about being dragged before authorities and to not be afraid of all that happens because of your proclamations. Those instructions end on a relatively happy note today with Jesus talking about welcome and rewards.

On the one hand, Jesus is talking about those who welcome the apostles – “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me . . .” He's basically saying that anyone who welcomes the apostles is opening themselves up to receiving the presence of God. But also embedded in this statement is that Christ can be found in all people – welcoming people means welcoming Christ. And that has implications for not only how we are welcomed by others, but by how others are welcomed by us.

“Then God said, 'Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness'.”

Humans were made in the likeness of God. That means every human – black, brown, white, male, female, native, foreigner, old, young, and everything in-between – bears the imago dei, the image of God. For us, that means we need to remember that when we welcome someone into our midst we are welcoming Christ into our midst. More than anyone else, we should remember this and welcome people as if we would welcome Christ himself.

Jesus closes out these travel instructions by saying whoever gives a cup of cold water to one of these little ones will not lose their reward. There's a long tradition in the Church that Jesus isn't talking about children, but that “little ones” refers to those who are new to the faith. That could be new converts or people exploring and testing. The cup of cold water symbolizes the very least of what a person can give to someone in need. The implication isn't to give the absolute minimum, but that everyone can at least give something small. Kind of like our collection baskets for the Food Pantry. None of us are being asked to supply vast amounts of hygiene products, but you are being reminded that everyone can supply at least one hygiene item every time you go grocery shopping.

This bit about giving cold water also foreshadows Chapter 25 where Jesus separates the sheep from the goats. In that final judgment the verdict from Christ rests on whatever you did or did not do the the least of these you did or did not do to Christ himself. Despite what some people may say and preach, we will not lose our reward by showing hospitality and welcome to people – even those whom society identifies as being outside the bounds of receiving hospitality.

All of this welcoming, however, is only the middle point of something much larger. It's also the easiest thing we can do. After all, how hard is it to welcome someone new to Saint Luke's? How hard is it to smile, say, “We're glad you're here,” help them find their way through the red book, blue book, and black book, and when to stand up, sit down, fight fight fight? That's the least we can do. That's a cup of cold water given to a little one. It's more difficult to do the other things.

We are apostles of Christ. We are called to proclaim, cleanse, cure, and raise. As I've been saying, we do those things through invitation. We aren't here to berate people or hit them over the head with our big, floppy prayer books. We aren't here to tell them what sorts of miserable sinners they are and they had better get their lives straightened out with Jesus.

We are here to invite them into a new way of being. We are here to eat and be with those whom society dubs sinners. We are here to share our story and invite them to join us on this journey. Doing that requires that we know our stories. We need to know our story of how we got here and why we stay. We need to be ready to show people a new way of being. And that new way is first proclaimed through invitation.

After the invitation comes the welcome. We invite people into our midst and then we welcome them when they accept that invitation. That welcome is honest, heartfelt, and not tied to drafting them to teach Sunday school or serve on the Reception Committee for ever and ever amen.

The last part of this scenario is connection. How do we connect with people in such a way as to make them part of this place? Because it's connection that will lead to people staying. Opportunities to learn about the parish, the Church, scripture, and the faith are critical. Not only must those opportunities exist, but those already part of this must be willing to participate. Having an outreach which the parish supports is also important because “church” is more than about us. Jesus didn't only eat with his twelve disciples, he ate with outsiders in an attempt to connect with them.

Connecting with people also entails learning about them – their likes, dislikes, history, and the rest. And then inviting them to participate more deeply or inviting them to be part of a team.

Using our time together to connect with each other helps bind us together. Last week I asked you to begin sharing stories of your faith. This was to help you develop your TED Talk so when the opportunity presents itself you'll be ready. It's also to help you feel comfortable in both asking and answering questions about faith. These stories are the glue that binds us together.

Finally, how do we connect with others already here Monday through Friday? Do we call on people if they've missed a Sunday or two? Do we invite church people to personal events? Connecting might be the most difficult of these three aspects because connecting with people, even people we know, asks us to open up, be vulnerable, and take risks.

We are apostles of Christ. We have been called to proclaim, cleanse, cure, and raise. We have been called to invite people into a new way of being. We have been called to welcome people into our midst as if we were welcoming Christ himself. And we have been called to connect with people in ways that bind all of us together just as our individual body parts are bound together in one body.

To borrow a famous quote, “Nothing worth having comes easy.” If this place and this faith is worth having, then we need to work at it. We need to do the work of inviting, welcoming, and connecting. We need to remember that we are apostles of Christ and we have been sent to proclaim, cleanse, cure, and raise. And we need to not be afraid.

So go forth from here, knowing you have been sent out by Christ to offer cups of water to a thirsty world that desperately needs a drink.

Amen.

Sermon; Proper 7A; Matt. 10:24-39

Last week we had Jesus commissioning the twelve apostles to go and proclaim, cure, cleanse, and raise. After their commissioning Jesus gives a set of instructions which began in last week's gospel passage, continues today, and will conclude next week. These instructions include what they are to do as well as what they can expect in opposition to their message.

This sending now applies to us. The word “apostle,” remember, essentially means, “one who is sent.” As the apostles were sent out to proclaim, cure, cleanse, and raise, we – you and I – are being sent out to proclaim, cure, cleanse, and raise. We are Christ's apostles in the here and now.

That sending is based on invitation, not on coercion. Remember that whole thing of Jesus eating with sinners? That is our blueprint. We are to meet people where they are, share our stories, and invite them into a new way of being. If they don't accept the invitation, we keep it open without berating them.

These instruction of Jesus also come with warnings and some dire predictions. You will be handed over to the authorities. Family members will betray each other. You will be hated because of my name. If they attack the master, they will attack you. And more.

There are at least two negative outcomes to all this. One is that Christians will find excuses to claim they are being persecuted. This is almost always false, especially in the context which we live. Some Christians will claim they are being persecuted for their beliefs about women, minorities, lgbtq people, etc. They aren't being persecuted, they're simply being called out for mistreating those people. It falls under the, “I'm being persecuted because I'm not allowed to persecute people I don't like.” So claims of false persecution is one outcome.

A second outcome is that we hear this stuff about actual persecution, being dragged before the authorities, families turning on each other, and whatever else Jesus says and we might decide we want no part of that. We might decide it's safer to keep our mouth shut. So we decide not to say anything out of fear.

First of all, being called to account for persecuting and mistreating others doesn't mean you are being persecuted. Another way of thinking about it is that you aren't losing rights if others are allowed to have the same rights as you.

And second, with all of Jesus' talk about persecution and fights and whatnot, notice that three times Jesus says to not be afraid. No matter what opposition you encounter, do not be afraid to proclaim, cure, cleanse, and raise.

If I were to guess, most of us probably don't believe we are being persecuted. But most of us are probably afraid to proclaim the good news, not for fear of being persecuted, but out of fear of being obnoxious, or rude, or not knowing what to say. We've all probably experienced an . . . over zealous . . . person who wanted to make sure we had found Jesus. Or we've answered the door to greet two people trying earnestly to give us religious tracts. These images or memories come up and we decide we don't want to be that person. So we don't say anything.

But saying nothing isn't an option. We have been called by Jesus to proclaim, cure, cleanse, and raise.

In thinking about proclaiming the good news, there are two things to keep in mind. The first is to know your story.

Who was instrumental in your faith formation? What attracted you to, or keeps you engaged, in the faith, in Church, and in this parish? If you know, when did you know this was the place for you? How do you continue to be shaped by your faith? Know the Who, What, When, and How of your story.

These are the basics of your elevator speech or TED Talk that you can develop and use when talking about faith and proclaiming the good news. These are the things that you should know and be comfortable in sharing. The more familiar you are with your story, the more confident you will be in sharing it. And it's through sharing your story that invitations can be made.

But that's only half of it. The second part is to listen.

People get defensive or they shut down if you start pitching religion to them. When I go visit bars, I never start a conversation by saying, “Do you know Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?” Nor do I open with, “Have you tried hanging out at Saint Luke's instead of the bar?” Neither of those will get me anywhere.

But what I DO do is listen. I listen for the question. Things like, “Why are you here?” “What church are you from?” Where's Saint Luke's?” “Is that Catholic?” “What's an Episcopalian?”

Those questions, and others, are an opening to tell my story. They are an opening to invite the other person to explore faith questions with me. They are an opening to invite them to consider Saint Luke's. And sometimes the question comes in the form of a statement. Such as, “I spend time with God when I'm up in the mountains.” You have to listen well enough to know when a person is open to talking about faith. And then you have to know your story to both answer their questions and peak their interest.

Jesus sent the apostles out to proclaim, cure, cleanse, and raise. Having Jesus as their example this mission revolved around invitation. We are now the apostles of Christ. We are now the ones being sent out to proclaim, cure, cleanse, and raise. We are the ones to invite people into a new way of being.

To do that, though, we must know our own stories. We must be comfortable enough with those stories that we are willing to share them with others. And we must know how to listen for the questions that indicate they want to hear more. That can be uncomfortable. It can make us nervous. So we're going to start practicing. At coffee hour, or with your breakfast bunch, ask someone a question about Saint Luke's, Church in general, or faith. And then answer the question asked of you. So one time you'll ask, another time you'll answer. This is how we will learn to not be afraid of proclaiming the good news. After all, if you can't share it here among people with whom you worship together, where will you share it?

You are apostles. You are being sent out in the name of Christ to proclaim, cure, cleanse, and raise. So know your story. Know how to listen for the question. And be not afraid.

Amen.

Sermon; Proper 6A; Matt. 9:35 - 10:23

Last week's gospel gave us the call of Matthew the tax collector and Jesus getting in trouble for eating with sinners and tax collectors. In response, he told the Pharisees, “I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.”

In looking at that statement, we first have to define sin. One over-arching definition is, “the purposeful disobedience to the known will of God.” Our Catechism defines sin as “seeking our own will instead of the will of God.” The Catechism goes on to say that by doing this (seeking our own will) we distort our relationship with God, other people, and all of creation. In the Confession we pray for forgiveness of what we have done and left undone. And in one version (the form attached to Prayers of the People VI), we also ask for forgiveness of sins “known and unknown.”

Second, we need to really pay attention to how Jesus interacted with people labeled as sinners. He eats with them. He speaks with them. He heals them. Nowhere does he outright condemn them. In fact, notice that his harshest criticisms and condemnations are reserved for the religious leaders, the wealthy, and those systems that abuse and take advantage of people. It's the people who see themselves as above reproach whom Jesus reproaches.

So as we think about sin there are three things to keep in mind. First, sin is those things known and unknown, done and left undone, that focus on our will rather than the will of God. Second, Jesus doesn't condemn those who have been identified as sinners. And third, Jesus' condemnation is most often reserved for those who hold themselves blameless while labeling others as sinners.

We are all sinners. We all think, say, and do things that seek our will over the will of God. We all do things that distort our relationship with God, others, and creation. We also all participate in sinful systems whether we know it or not, and whether we acknowledge it or not. I say this because we have a tendency to accuse others of being sinners, sometimes terrible sinners, more often than we are willing to look at and correct (repent) our own sins.

Think about people accused of being possessed by demons. Women accused of being witches. Women who are uppity. People who have different values or lifestyles. We tend to accuse people of sins we ourselves don't commit in order to make us feel better. Such as anything the Puritans detested, Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God, or attacking lgbtq people on religious grounds. Like the Pharisees in today's gospel, we might want to ask, “What are THOSE people doing here?”

Why all this talk about sin? Because Jesus came to call sinners. Notice that he didn't say, “I have come to convert sinners,” but, “I have come to call sinners.”

Issuing a call is what Jesus originally did to the twelve disciples. From Peter to Judas and everyone in-between, Jesus called them. He invited them to turn from their selfish wills and follow God's will. How did he do that? By showing them a better way. By spending time with them. By teaching them. By eating with them. By building a community with them. This is also how Jesus deals with sinners – by doing all of those things.

Which brings us to today.

Jesus is traveling about the country proclaiming the good news, teaching, and healing. The text says, “When he saw the crowds he had compassion for them.” I am fairly confident that within those crowds there were any number of people whom the Pharisees would label as sinners. These crowds weren't made up of Perfect People who met with the Pharisees' approval. They were those whom Jesus wanted to draw back into a right relationship with God.

He eventually realizes he can't do everything himself, so he does what any good leader should do and he delegates responsibility. He calls the twelve apostles and sends them out on a mission to visit the towns and people of Israel with a very specific mandate: they are to proclaim the good news, cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, and cast out demons.

He doesn't tell them to criticize or condemn people. He doesn't tell them to shun or excommunicate sinners. He tells them to proclaim, cure, cleanse, and raise. He tells them to invite (call) the people into a new, right relationship with God. And he tells them that if anyone will not welcome them or listen to them, leave. Don't berate them. Don't condemn them. Just let them live with their decision and move on.

Unfortunately things haven't changed much in 2000 years. The harvest is still plentiful. Missionaries are still sent out. And people still accuse others of being sinners and abominations.

I began by looking back at last week when Jesus rebuffed the Pharisees by saying, “I have come to call sinners.” I want to end by looking forward.

One of the things Jesus did was to instruct his disciples on what a right relationship with God looked like. This instruction wasn't just for the benefit of the individual disciples but to prepare them to become leaders in this new community. It was to help ensure that what he began would continue into the future. The sending of the twelve was the first step when he commissioned them to go and proclaim, cure, cleanse, and raise. This commission now falls to us.

The term “apostle” is generally taken to mean “one who is sent.” As the twelve disciples were sent, thereby becoming apostles, so now we are sent. You are being sent. We are all being sent to proclaim the good news, cure, cleanse, and raise. We are all called to invite people into a new way of being and into a right relationship with God, with ourselves, and with others.

Thinking back to the Listening Session from two weeks ago and the group who wanted to see a hundred people in church, remember this: we can't increase to a hundred if we don't first increase by one.

So rather than focusing on the sin of others, as the Pharisees did and as certain religious leaders/people do today, let's focus on simply inviting people into a new way of being as we proclaim, cure, cleanse, and raise.

Amen.

Sermon; 2 Pentecost/Proper 5A; Hosea 5:15 - 6:6; Matthew 9:7-13, 18-26

Today we officially begin the long, green Season after Pentecost. Because Easter moves every year we don't always begin this season in the same place. Most of the time this season begins a little later; but this year, with Easter being early, we begin the season early. This is a good thing because it gives a good starting point with these readings from Hosea and Matthew.

On the Day of Pentecost Peter stood up and quoted the prophet Joel when he said, “In the last days God's Spirit will come upon all people, your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, and your old men will dream dreams.” And in my Pentecost sermon I talked about the futility of trying to control God, of playing with spiritual TNT, and of dreaming dreams. I also talked about our desire to do all things “decently and in order,” and how that sometimes comes up against the Spirit of God.

These two things, decently and in order and dreaming dreams are at the heart of the readings from Hosea and Matthew.

The reading from Hosea has a long, complicated back story. In short, Israel is at war with Judah, or Judah attacked Israel, and alliances are being made with Assyria by one of them (I forget the exact details). God's people have turned away from the Lord in favor of worldly powers and systems. And these systems ultimately abuse, crush, and mistreat widows, orphans, foreigners, and the marginalized of all sorts. In the midst of this mistreatment, though, religious life still goes through the motions of worship.

God, however, is calling the people to return to him. God reminds them that religion without mercy is pointless. It's not that religious activity isn't necessary, but that it must be grounded in steadfast love and knowing the loving, caring, merciful heart of God.

“I desire steadfast love,” says God, which is reflected in caring for and loving widows, orphans, foreigners, and the marginalized.

The first half of today's gospel gets at the same thing.

Jesus calls Matthew, the tax collector, to follow him, just like he called the fishermen Peter, Andrew, James, and John. Later that evening Jesus is eating dinner with tax collectors and sinners. We don't know who these sinners were, but one commentator posits that they were those who didn't follow the letter of the Law. They were those who didn't do things “decently and in order.”

When the Pharisees saw this they critically asked the disciples, “Why does he eat with THOSE people?” Jesus responds in much the same way as God did through Hosea: Go and learn what this means, 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice.'

The point of religion isn't to create a barrier between “good” and “bad” people. Doing all things “decently and in order” isn't the be-all and end-all of religious obligation. Yes, it's important to do these things well so that we can focus on God, but if that's all we do, we're missing the point. The Church (religion) isn't a resort for good people, but a hospital for sinners.

This is why Jesus says, “Go and learn what this means, 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice'.” He's quoting Hosea here. Mercy and steadfast love have the same root meaning in Hebrew. If our religious practice doesn't care for widows, orphans, foreigners, the marginalized, and those whom society oppresses, we are doing it wrong. Our faith and our religious practices should make it mandatory to be with and care for “sinners.” And if we don't, no amount of decent and orderly worship will save us.

Mercy and steadfast love must be foundational to our faith and religious practices.

One we we show mercy is through our involvement in the Food Pantry. Having it attached to our building though is not enough. This past Lent the Youth Group advocated for a hygiene drive involving not only Saint Luke's but other churches and grocery stores, and a good amount of products were collected. The hope was to keep this up and make it a regular part of our support for the Pantry. Yet collections have dropped to a trickle? Why?

We all go grocery shopping. We can all pick up one extra bar of soap, one extra bottle of shampoo, one extra thing of deodorant, or one extra hygiene product without stressing our own budget. One extra item per weekly grocery trip. If we all did that, the Pantry would be in good shape. One extra item of personal care to show a form of mercy to those in need. One extra item a week is the bare minimum we can do to say, “I love you as I love myself.”

And then there's that whole business of eating with sinners and tax collectors. Last week as we were going through the Listening Session to help develop the new profile for the bishop search I walked by one group who wrote that they would like to see a hundred people in church on Sunday. That's a nice number to strive for, and I'll admit it would be great to see a full house every Sunday.

But it got me thinking . . . what hundred people? Are we wanting a hundred people, or are we wanting a hundred of the RIGHT people? Are we willing to sit and eat with people from the Century Club and Food Pantry every Sunday? Are we okay with unknown people sitting in our pews? If we become inundated with “sinners and tax collectors,” will we remember that this place is a hospital for the sick?

We have a particular way of worshiping God. That's okay. We appreciate beauty and ritual and liturgy. I personally strive to do all things “decently and in order” because it means that you can worship without fearing surprises and with certain expectations. It means the service isn't about me or our emotions. But as Hosea and Jesus both remind us, this all must be balanced and grounded with mercy and steadfast love. These two things must be why we do what we do.

As this green, growing season of Pentecost moves forward, let us be filled with the Spirit of God and dream dreams. And let those dreams be based in mercy and steadfast love – even as we do all things decently and in order.

Amen.

Sermon; Trinity Sunday A

We close out the liturgical season (Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, Pentecost) with a day dedicated to, and specifically honoring, the Holy Trinity – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

The Trinity, a word that is found nowhere in scripture, is a central doctrine of the Church. Various denominations have a variety of things they hold to as necessary for the faith, but when it comes right down to it, there are only a few things that are absolutely necessary.

Christ's death, resurrection, and ascension are obvious ones. Christ the Son was from the beginning, therefore begotten, not made. Jesus was fully human and fully divine. And God exists in the Trinitarian form of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

That said, the Trinitarian Godhead only specifically appears twice in scripture. It's alluded to at Jesus' baptism, but it shows up specifically in today's gospel reading when Jesus commissions his disciples to “baptize in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” It's also attested to in Paul's Trinitarian blessing that we heard from Second Corinthians – “the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you.” But other than that, it's just not there.

So how did Christians develop a Trinitarian theology and understanding of God?

As Christians read scripture, they began to ponder these two readings and wondered how these references to a 3-person Godhead were important. After all, Jesus and Paul just didn't make stuff up willy-nilly, so there had to be something to it. And then they began to look for references to it throughout scripture. It was in looking back to the Old Testament where they found two primary places where the Trinity could be found.

The first came from the story of creation which we heard this morning: “In the beginning when God created the heavens and earth, and a wind from God swept over the face of the waters, God said, 'Let there be light'.” In that story we are given an image of God creating, the wind (Spirit) of God hovering, and the logos (Word) speaking. Using the Gospel of John where Jesus is referred to as the Son of God and that he was going to send the Advocate, the Spirit, to the disciples after he returned to the Father, Genesis began to be seen as the first hint, or revelation, of the Godhead being Trinitarian.

Another allusion to the Trinity comes in Genesis 18 when the Lord (singular) appeared to Abraham by the oaks of Mamre in the form of three men.

These scriptural references were the basis for the development of Trinitarian theology and doctrine. But, as you well know, describing the Trinity is difficult.

Things like modalism (one God who acted in three separate ways but never in unity), subordinationism (the Son and the Holy Spirit are seen as secondary, subordinate gods), and Arianism (a time when the Son was not, therefore a created being) developed as the Church struggled to define the Trinity. It was eventually defined and codified at the Councils of Nicaea and Constantinople that the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are one, co-equal, and co-eternal God manifested in three distinct but equal persons. One God in Trinity and three Persons in Unity. God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit; not three Gods but one God. Neither is one greater than the other or less than the other, but all three are co-eternal and co-equal.

This is a hard concept to grasp. Oh, we easily close our prayers and Collects “in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen,” but we really don't pay too much attention to that. That's probably because the more we think about the Trinity, the more our head hurts. And the more we talk about the Trinity, the more apt we are to descend into heresy. And then we need to burn someone at the stake, and there's paperwork to be filed, and it's just easier if we don't.

But if we do try to imagine it, we might think about the chemical compound H2O. That compound comes in the form of ice, liquid, and steam. Each one in its form is still H2O, so we can see how we can have three in one. But that's the heresy of modalism because while we can see the three distinct forms of H2O, we can never see liquid at the same time as ice or steam. So the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are distinct from each other, but they are also united as one God at the same time.

Another way to think about the Trinity is within a loving relationship. As John says, God is love. Love binds everything together. Love is the driving force behind creation. And I use this image in my one and only wedding sermon which goes something like this:

Knowing nobody will remember anything I say today, I want you to remember this one thing. What is 1+1? One plus one isn't two, but three – there's the bride, the groom, and the marriage. You need to pay attention to all three for this to work. Love yourself. Love your spouse. Love your marriage.

But as good as that is, it really doesn't work as a complete explanation for the Trinity. You still have three parts without the three parts being one thing at the same time – I am not my wife.

So, if the Trinity isn't explicitly found in scripture, and if theologians had to work to develop this doctrine, and if we tend to fall into heresy when describing the Trinity, then why is it so important? Why do we dedicate this Sunday to focus specifically on the Trinity?

The answer to both those questions is because it helps us recognize the presence of mystery. We live with the presence of mystery every Sunday when we participate in Holy Communion. How is it that bread and wine become the real presence of Christ's Body and Blood? That is one of the great mysteries of the faith. Another great mystery, of course, is the Trinity. We can't really explain it, all we can do is describe it as three-in-one and one-in-three, or as “Trinity of Persons existing in complete Unity with each other.”

But that inability to comprehend completely isn't a failure on our part, it's the recognition that we are caught up in the mystery of God.

We don't need to have concrete explanations for everything. Our faith should be strong enough to accept doubts, to ask questions, and to welcome mystery. That's why today is so important – because it reminds us that God is so much bigger than we can ever comprehend. It reminds us that mystery isn't to be avoided, but to be appreciated and lived into.

Amen.