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.

Sermon; Pentecost 2026

In her book Teaching a Stone to Talk, Annie Dillard (a prolific and award-winning author) has this to say about faith and worship:

Does anyone have the foggiest idea of what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies' straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets! Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews! For the sleeping God may awake someday and take offense, or the waking God may draw us to where we can never return.

Over the centuries we have diluted and tamed our faith. We have created proper liturgies for proper days in which all things are done decently and in order.

This isn't necessarily a bad thing. A standardized Lectionary provides us with a vast amount of the Bible over the course of six years, as well as keeping clergy from only choosing their favorite passages on which to preach. The Church calendar leads us not only through the life of Christ, but gives us opportunities to learn about and celebrate the lives of saints. The liturgy itself has been formed over 1900 years with roots in Judaism and early Christian practices that represent and fold us into the very real presence of God. And in that liturgy we are gathered with all the saints of God – past, present, and future – in a single moment when we all participate in the heavenly banquet. It is a powerful, awesome, and sometimes fearful thing to be a part of this.

But because we do all of this “decently and in order,” because it has become so familiar, because we know what to expect, we have maybe lost the wonder of it all. Or maybe we can't appreciate the mystery. Or maybe we overlook the fact that we are, as Dillard suggests, playing with our chemistry sets and mixing up batches of TNT completely unaware of the power in which we are meddling. Today, of all days, should wake us up to this fact. Today, of all days, we should remember that our God cannot be tamed or controlled, despite our best efforts to do so.

In the reading from Exodus, Moses is fed up with the Israelites. They have been complaining to him both night and day about not having food, not having water, only having bread, and not having meat to eat. He has been pushed so close to the breaking point that he tells God, “Just shoot me now.” And this is where today's reading comes in. It's here that God tells Moses to choose seventy elders who will receive a portion of God's Spirit that had been with Moses.

All but two of those seventy go out to the Tent of Meeting where they begin prophesying. But two, Eldad and Medad, remained in the camp. Those two didn't follow the rules. They weren't doing things “decently and in order.” This caused a certain young man to report them to Joshua who then reported them to Moses because, in their eyes, they needed to be stopped for not following the rules. They decided that it was their job to control God. But Moses knew differently. He knew that God cannot be controlled and he left the Dad brothers alone.

It was this same Spirit of God that descended on the apostles on the Day of Pentecost.

On that day, 50 days after the Resurrection, the apostles were gathered together in a room. Suddenly a rush of violent wind filled the house and tongues of fire appeared resting on each of the apostles. This was the same fire that Moses encountered in the bush, a fire that burned but did not consume. This was the same Spirit that came down on the seventy elders. Each man was then filled with the power of the Holy Spirit and began speaking in other languages. The crowd outside the house heard them. In amazement Parthians, Medes, Elamites, residents of Mesopotamia and Pamphyllia, Cappadocians and Egyptians all heard the message of the Good News of God in Christ proclaimed in their own language.

In this wild and chaotic event there were those, like the young man and Joshua, who tried to control God by limiting what can be done. “It's not God, it's just a bunch of rowdy men filled with wine.” I think they do this because if they allowed themselves to think this was from God then they would have to step into the mysterious, wild, and uncontrollable world of God. They would have to give up control. They would have to give up themselves. They might have been, as Annie Dillard says, drawn into a place from where they could never return. And that may have been too much for them.

This is us. For better or worse, we have more in common with the two in Exodus and those who accused the apostles of being drunk than we might care to admit. We come together. We pray. We worship. And as long as God stays quiet, everything is fine. As long as God behaves in ways we want God to behave, everything is fine. But what if, as Dillard suggests, what if the sleeping God awakens? What if the Holy Spirit comes down with fire on our heads? What if we start speaking in tongues?

Do we really know what we are praying for when we pray, “Come, Holy Spirit?” Are we really prepared for what God might do? Or, as I suspect, are we blithely playing with spiritual TNT without a clue as to what we are conjuring up or asking for?

Today is Pentecost, the day we celebrate the apostles being baptized with the power of the Holy Spirit. But if all we see in that are balloons or bows or ribbons or (in some places) cake, we are missing the point. Today is the day the apostles were burned but not consumed. Today is the day of speaking in tongues. It is the day when sons and daughters prophesy and young men have visions. It is the day when old men dream dreams. It is the day when the unexpected comes to life.

So let us pray and worship. Let us enter the kingdom of God and marvel at the beauty of holiness. Let us feast on the heavenly banquet that nourishes our bodies and souls with the very real presence of Christ. Let us rejoice in the power of the Spirit.

But let us never forget that, despite our tendency to do “all things decently and in order,” we are in fact dabbling with holy TNT. And, regardless of whether or not people accuse us of being drunk or use other ways to shut us down, let us always be ready to answer the call of the living God who will draw us completely into his presence from which we will never return.

Amen.

Sermon; Easter 7A; Acts 1:6-14, John 17:1-11

Today is the Seventh Sunday of Easter, the beginning of the last week of the Season, and the Sunday after the Ascension (which always falls on the Thursday before this Sunday because that's 40 days after Easter). I recently learned that some cultures celebrate the Feast of the Ascension by eating birds (can we get a KFC in Buffalo?) or feasting on flaky puff pastries, both things that symbolize rising up. Given the choice, I'd go with puff pastries.

All that aside, the Feast of the Ascension is when we celebrate that day when Jesus was lifted up to heaven in the sight of the apostles. We get some of that celebration today as we heard the Ascension story from Luke and hear Jesus praying for his disciples as he knows his time of departure is near.

On its surface, the Ascension might be the strangest event in Christianity. Luke mentions that Jesus ascended to heaven in his gospel, and gives specific details in Acts. The Gospel of John alludes to it when Jesus says that he is returning to the Father. And later additions to Mark were made when people attached stories from the other gospels in order to give it a more harmonized and satisfactory ending than it originally had.

Pentecost, which we celebrate next week (with one service at 9:00 am, by the way), has often been called, “the birthday of the Church,” because it was on that day when the Holy Spirit descended on the apostles and baptized them with the power of the Spirit. From there the apostles began to preach and spread the good news to Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.

But I contend that the arrival of the Church on earth – not its birthday, because the Church has been from the beginning – occurred on Ascension, not Pentecost. It was on Ascension when Jesus commissioned the apostles to continue his work, to be his witnesses in Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. It was on Ascension when the apostles stood staring up to heaven when two angels appeared and asked, “Why are you just standing around?” And it was on Ascension when the apostles first began to live into the Catechismal duty to work, pray, and give for the spread of the kingdom of God – proving once again that Jesus and the apostles were Episcopalians.

Anyway . . .

So Ascension is the day we commemorate Jesus returning to the Father. But this Feast has more meaning than simply watching Jesus rise up to heaven and disappearing in a cloud. Ascension marks the day when followers of Christ are left to accomplish what Jesus set out to do from the beginning. This is partly why Jesus prays, “Protect them in your name so that they may be one as we are one.”

For three years Jesus taught and preached. He healed and restored. He showed what it was to live in unity with God. He lived a life of sacrificial love and service. He opened the door of peace, offering an alternative way of living that was in direct contrast to how the world asks us to live. And for doing those things he was executed.

Everything about how Jesus lived was one, long training event. He was training his disciples, and us, in how to live in unity with God and in communion with others. And when the time was right, he left this world of his own accord, leaving us to follow his example. In looking at the Ascension, we only need to change our perception of that event to see any number of ascension events in our own lives.

In February of 2004 I was in my final four months of seminary. I had been in school getting my AA, BA, and M.Div for the past seven years. One day I woke up and realized that once I graduated in June, I was going to need a job. So I contacted my bishop to find out where we went from here, and he said I was free to search for a position wherever I could find it. And that's how I ended up in Montana.

In a sense, I was in the same position as the apostles: I had been learning and growing and had been guided along a particular path. Eventually I had gotten to a point where, like the apostles, I was left to carry on without direct supervision. I was being entrusted to carry on and proclaim the faith received, just as the apostles had been entrusted to carry on and proclaim the faith received.

Another Ascension story came in the late summer of 2012. Joelene and I took our daughter to college, like thousands of other parents do every year, and like Mike and Kari will do this year. We got her settled into her dorm and then, trusting that we had done all we could to prepare her, we left her in the middle of the road as she watched us drive away. For us, we experienced Ascension from the point of view of Jesus – leaving those whom you love behind and hoping that what you taught them would be good enough to face the world.

Some people might confuse the Ascension with abandonment. It's important to know that, in the language of today, we haven't been ghosted. It's not like Jesus told us he's going out to buy milk and then never came back. On the contrary, Jesus continues to look out for our well-being. In the lead up to his departure he says he will not leave us orphaned. That he will send the Holy Spirit to be with us. And he prays for our protection.

Jesus has left us, but not orphaned us. If we have been paying attention, we have been instructed in how to live in unity with God. We have been given an example of sacrificial living. And now we have been entrusted to live as Christ taught us. We have been given the keys to the kingdom and it is now our job to carry on and proclaim the faith received.

The Ascension is a major event for the Church that doesn't get its proper recognition, maybe because it just seems a little strange to our ears. It marks the time when Jesus leaves but does not orphan. It recognizes it is now our job to carry on the mission of Christ. And it asks us to find everyday moments in our lives where we have felt like both the apostles and Jesus – times we've been left on our own and times we've had to trust those whom we have left.

May we see the Ascension not as some strange event with Jesus flying up into heaven, but as the moment God entrusts us with the carrying out and fulfilling of Christ's holy mission.

Amen.

Sermon; Easter 4A; John 10:1-10

The fourth Sunday of Easter is called Good Shepherd Sunday because we get readings from John depicting Jesus as the Good Shepherd as well as the 23^rd Psalm.

The first half of Chapter 10 in John is the Good Shepherd chapter. One of the reasons Jesus describes himself as a shepherd is because that metaphor is used for God in Hebrew scriptures. Ezekiel, Isaiah, and several psalms portray God as a shepherd caring for the flock. Jesus does the same here, which adds to John's overall agenda that Jesus and the Father are one. The shepherd metaphor makes sense in a society where sheep and shepherds were prevalent. And maybe it makes sense here in Wyoming where sheep and shepherds are part of the history.

Adding to the readings that reference sheep and shepherds, our sequence hymn throughout Easter is, “Savior, like a shepherd lead us.” The blessing I use at the end of Rite Two begins, “The God of peace, who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus Christ, the great shepherd of the sheep . . .” All of these things, the readings, hymns, and blessing, point to Jesus caring for and protecting his sheep.

With all this talk about sheep, pastures, and shepherds, we might be tempted to be lulled into a sense of safety, security, and complacency. But we really need to take a look at the bigger picture.

First, remember that when looking at biblical passages, context matters. It's unfortunate that the lectionary for today's gospel only covers vv. 1-10.

Part of the problem is that by stopping at v. 10 this passage can lead itself to Christian exceptionalism. People hear, “I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved,” and think that Jesus is the ONLY way to the Father. What that does is to create, possibly, a belief where we install ourselves as the gatekeeper. It then becomes us, not Jesus, who allow entry or keep people out.

A side effect of putting ourselves as the gatekeepers is the very human tendency to allow only those whom we approve to enter, while keeping those whom we dislike or disapprove on the outside.

But if we look at the wider context and expand our reading, we see that this thing about Jesus being the shepherd and gate may not be as comforting as we had originally thought.

Reading on in John we see that Jesus not only proclaims himself as the Good Shepherd, but also says, “I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also.” In his original context Jesus was most likely speaking of Jews and Gentiles. This chapter follows immediately after Jesus gave sight to the blind man (who was driven out of the temple for proclaiming that Jesus was from God) and was talking with the Pharisees connected with that synagogue. So when Jesus says, “I have other sheep,” it most likely refers to Gentiles and those Jews who followed him.

But if we hold that scripture is the living word of God able to speak to people in all times and all places, then this passage also speaks to us today. Those other sheep could easily refer to non-Episcopalians, as much as I hate to admit that, and/or people of other faiths. Maybe even people of no faith.

And if we pull in Psalm 23, things really get uncomfortable. This is probably the most beloved of all the psalms. We hear it at funerals. We hear people recite it in difficult times. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters. He revives my soul. I shall fear no evil.

But in the middle of all this peaceful assurance is this: You spread a table before me in the presence of those who trouble me. Some translations say, “in the presence of my enemies.”

What does it mean for us that in the midst of this calming, protective, refreshing scenario, God spreads a table for us in the midst of our enemies or those who cause trouble? I don't know exactly what that means, but I do know that, if it were up to me, I'd rather not.

Jesus calling people who don't look like me, think like me, or believe like me to be part of his flock can set me on edge. Add to that the inclusion of those who trouble me at God's banquet and, well . . . this is probably why I'm not God.

Context matters. It's easy to find passages that confirm our biases. It's easy to find passages that condemn those whom we condemn. It's easy to find places in scripture that hold us up as better than others or more deserving than others or as part of God's exclusive group. But that doesn't account for the generosity or inclusive nature of God. We need to be willing to look beyond what comforts us to realize that God also challenges us to see with God's eyes, not just our own. And if that means that we share space with outsiders and eat with troublemakers, so be it.

Because after all, Jesus is the one in charge of who comes in and goes out from the gate. Not us.

Amen.