Author: StAlbansChurch

Jesus is a challenge to authority.

This chapter begins with him riding on a donkey into Jerusalem, the streets lined with people shouting Hosanna! Hosanna! Save us! Save us! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.

The gospel goes on to say that all of Jerusalem is in a turmoil – asking just who is this?

And the crowd responds – This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee!

And the next thing you know, Jesus is in the beautiful glorious Jerusalem temple throwing it into disarray – tables flipped over. Profiteers driven out. The blind. The lame. The poor. The children all welcomed in. A full on racket of a riot.

Of course the lawful, legitimate authorities are upset to say the least. And they confront Jesus – by what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you that authority?

It’s a question that permeates the Gospel of Matthew. This challenge to him over and over – Who are you? Where do you get this authority and how?

The chief priests, the scribes, the elders – everyone is clear about their authority. It is lawful and legitimate.

The chief priests’ is based on their birth, The scribes’ is based in their training,

The elders are wealthy – and wealth has always conferred power and authority. And all of them have made strategic alliances with Rome – which holds the political authority.

So in every way you can think of – culturally, socially, economically, religiously and politically – they hold authority.

But there are different orders of authority, right?

There is structural power that is based on your position within an institution.

The chief priests and scribes held this kind of power because of their position within the temple and with Rome.

In our world, I hold structural power signified by this collar and my title of Reverend, based in the institution of the Episcopal Church.

The President of the United States holds structural authority, based on the institution of the constitution and the rule of law. And even though the current President the entitlements of his office to almost comic out of bounds, it does not change the structural authority of the office.

So that is one form of authority – based on position.

But there is another more powerful form of authority that has nothing to do with position and everything to do with authentic knowledge. It operates by the currency of recognition by others that something organically and fundamentally true is being expressed. This intrinsic authority can overlap with institutional authority but it is not dependent upon it.

According to Mathew, Mark and Luke Jesus was known for this kind of true authority.

Matthew 7:29 (ESV): After his extensive teaching on the beatitudes” For he was teaching them as one who had authority, and not as their scribes.”

 Mark 1:22 (ESV): While he was teaching in the synagogue at Capernuam: The people were amazed at his teaching, because he taught them as one who had authority, not as the teachers of the law.

Luke 4:32 (ESV): After the testing in the desert, while he was teaching in the synagogue: “They were amazed at his teaching, because his words had authority.”

The truth of Jesus’ stories, the life-giving power of his actions, his life, death and glorious resurrection all established this alternate form of authority that was more powerful and basic than the structural authority of those who opposed him. And it threatened their sense of power.

While there are more chapters to read in this gospel – we are now on the downward slope that will lead inevitably to his crucifixion.

People whose claim to power lies solely on position – whose authority is not based in anything other than the entitlements of the office they hold have a choice to make when faced with authentic leadership, authentic intrinsic power. They can either recognize the one who wields true authority and learn, or arrest, deport, jail, crucify the one they only understand as a threat.

Jesus weeps over Jerusalem recognizing that most often the institutional authorities have responded to God’s truth telling prophets by trying to silence them, or by killing them.

Right before the challenge to his authority in today’s gospel and his story of the two sons, there is the odd incident of the fig tree. As he returns from teaching, he is hungry. There’s a fig tree! But instead of any fruit, he finds only leaves. He curses it, and it withers.

I bring this up because it holds the key to the parable we hear today. The tree appears to be one thing – healthy and life-giving – but it is not. It has no fruit. It has nothing of what it is meant to be – it is not actually life-giving at all.

Institutional leadership, if it is not authentic, is like this. It is all appearance. And no fruit. These leaders might give great lip service to the mission – yes father, yes father, we will do that – like the second son of the parable – but they do not. They go their own way, doing their own thing, without regard for the true purpose of the temple, the church, the government – which is to serve the people.

Real leadership does not depend on the words so much as on the action – the one who repents and changes course and actually does what the Father has asked, enters the kingdom of heaven ahead of those who rely on the trappings of their medals and their titles and their entitlements instead of simply doing the Father’s will – loving their neighbors, serving the poor and caring for the sick.

May we hear Jesus’ warning today. Regardless of our heritage, our bloodlines, our culture, our degrees, our institutional ranks, may we quietly and simply continually bring our hearts and lives into alignment with the Father’s will. May we bear the fruit of right action and enter whether first or last or in-between into the glorious and eternal kingdom of God.

It’s not fair! And it turns out even babies know when things are not fair.

Ira Glass on This American Life tells the story about the tattle phone some preschool teachers installed in their classroom. They got tired of adjudicating injustices all the time. After the phone was in, the next kid who came to say that their friend had just growled at them for no reason – “Tell it to the phone.”

When the child picked up the phone, a recording came on and said – “Hey there, you’ve reached the tattle phone. OK, tell me what happened after the beep. Tell me the whole story.”

The phone got constant use. Eli told me a lie. Seamus isn’t sharing with me. Nathan farted in my face and didn’t say excuse me.

Apparently, just telling the story was enough. Because the kids would tell the tattle phone, then go back to playing – many times with the same person they had just complained about.

My point in telling you this story is what you can see anytime you are around young children – even at a very young age, we are exquisitely attuned to what’s fair.

Where does this come from? Is it learned or is it hardwired? To find out, the researchers Brosnan and de Waal designed an experiment using capuchin monkeys and later gave a TED talk on what happens when you pay monkeys unequally.

They put pairs of monkeys in adjacent cages where they could see each other, and trained to take turns giving small granite rocks to their human handler. Each time a monkey relinquished a rock, she would receive a piece of cucumber as a reward.

Capuchins love cucumbers, so both monkeys played the game of handing over their rocks and receiving a cucumber with enthusiasm.

But then, the handler changed things up. After a few fair and even exchanges, the handler rewarded the first monkey with a chunk of cucumber as usual, but gave the second monkey a grape — in the monkey world a grape is the equivalent of fine wine or caviar.

Seeing that the game had changed for the better, the first monkey perked up, and very eagerly handed over another rock, expecting to receive a grape, too. But no — the handler gave her another piece of cucumber. To make things worse, the handler then gave the second monkey another grape for free!

The first monkey hurled the cucumber at the handler. She banged on the bars and threw her rocks in every direction. She made furious gestures at her grape-eating companion.

Friends, this is not far from what I have seen with my own children and grandchildren – and I bet you have too. We want things to be fair.

But if anyone is going to get it better – honestly, we want that to be us.

So when God asks Jonah: Is it right for you to be angry that I’m compassionate with these evil people? His answer is yes. It is right to be angry. They have done really bad things. They should be punished.

Plus, I have not done really bad things. I should be rewarded. And if not in this life, surely in the next.

It turns out though that God is far more concerned with what is needed and not so much with what is fair.

Yes, the Assyrians are violent and wicked, they are also more. They are a “great city”, God says, but they “don’t know their right hand from their left.” They are a lost and broken people – and they have listened to what Jonah had to say. Now the question is not what they deserve, but what they need. And what they need is compassion and better leadership.

It’s a bit humorous with Jonah as he throws a tantrum and sits under a tree waiting for God to come to his senses and strike the Assyrians down, and then God shows him compassion as well. It’s a very well told story.

But it’s not so funny when it comes to the vineyard laborers. This one hits closer to home as we can hear echoes of the fight for fair pay – so it puts our hackles up a bit more.

But what if the concern here is about something far more fundamentally human-and that is for everyone to be included, to belong – and for everyone to have enough.

What if the vineyard is a stand in for the field of relationally, as Cynthia Bourgeault puts it. And that God’s primary concern is that of extending the invitation to come be part of that relational field – to belong and to have what is needed. Isn’t that fundamental to what we want, really? To belong? To be invited in? To have enough?

And at our best, we want that for others as well. We can outgrow the tattle phone, we can grow out of looking into other people’s bowls to verify that we have more, and instead check to make sure that they have enough.

It turns out that a denarii, which was the pay the vineyard workers all received, is subsistence pay – it’s enough for the needs of the day. Enough for the day. Give us, this day, our daily bread.

There is no room for envy – honestly, in the mess we are in, with climate change and a tottering democracy, there is no room for envy – we cannot afford it. What we can do is live more and more in this relational field we call the kingdom of heaven where God’s values reign – compassion, generosity, making room for people to change, and welcoming latecomers without prejudice.

A friend just told me she regretted her last presidential vote. Having to preach on this parable helped me refrain from grinding my teeth, helped me refrain from saying I told you so, helped me open my arms and my heart even wider and say, “tell me more.”

May we follow Jesus and lead our lives with kindness, compassion, generosity and welcome. Life isn’t fair, and the truth is that God may not be fair either. Instead, God overflows with grace and abundance, ensuring that everyone belonging, and everyone has enough.

In his Reflection last week, Steve (Hitchcock) focused on Matthew’s gospel, noting that Jesus made him a disciple, even though he was a tax collector. According to Matthew the church has room for everyone, and dealing with the conflicts and suffering among its members is the way “the church lives out God’s endless, overflowing, never-give-up mercy.”  

I thank St. Alban’s for giving this former tax collector a church home where he can feel safe.

Today’s readings also show us the nature of that “tough” love God provides to all those who do their best to love their neighbor.

In Genesis, Joseph forgives his brothers for the wrongs they did him, saying, in effect, what happened has happened, and it was all part of God’s plan.

Psalm 103 reminds us that the Lord “will not accuse us, nor will he keep his anger forever,” and that “[a]s a father cares for his children, so does the Lord care for those who fear him.”

In Romans we are reminded not to judge others, because each of us will be accountable to God, and in Matthew, he reminds us that doing unto others as we would have them do unto us has the practical effect of avoiding God’s wrath being visited on us. However, if we treat others badly: “[s]o my heavenly Father will also do for every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.”

All in all, it is made clear that there will be consequences for bad behavior, but that God will be quick to forgive those who fear Him.

In prior Reflections, I have referred to Paul’s letter to the Galatians, where he concludes: “For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself,’” (Galatians 5:14), and last week’s reading from Romans repeats that message, concluding: “Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law.” Romans 13:10.

Paul emphasizes our actions, as opposed to what we’re thinking, telling us to treat our neighbors the way we want to be treated; those who act as if they truly love their neighbors, have kept the law fully.

So, by singing hymns and confessing our sins, we acknowledge that we have not treated our neighbors as we would like to be treated, and ask for God’s pardon.    

I must confess that my favorite part of our services is our singing the old hymns, and several weeks ago we closed our service with a rousing rendition of the hymn “God of Grace and God of Glory.”

As I came to the bottom of the page in the hymnal, I noticed that the author of its words was the Rev. Harry Emerson Fosdick. For some reason that name rang a bell, so I looked him up, and found that he started out in 1904 as a Baptist minister in New Jersey, and after serving as a volunteer chaplain during WWI, in 1918 was called to the First Presbyterian Church in New York City.

There, he delivered a sermon entitled “Shall the Fundamentalists Win,” in which he presented the Bible as a record of the unfolding of God’s will, not the literal “Word of God.” According to Wikipedia, “[he] saw the history of Christianity as one of development, progress and gradual change.” The Fundamentalists were not happy!  

His preaching led to an “investigation” of his views by the national Presbyterian Church, and it is said that he escaped probable censure by the national Church’s General Assembly by resigning from the pulpit of First Presbyterian Church.

However, he was quickly called by a new type of Baptist church, whose most famous member was John D. Rockefeller, Jr., and who was later instrumental in forming and building the inter-denominational Riverside Church in Manhattan. In 1930, Fosdick became its first Pastor.

That year his picture was on the cover of the October 6 issue of Time magazine. The story inside recounted that he: “proposes to give this educated community a place of greatest beauty for worship. He also proposes to serve the social needs of the somewhat lonely metropolite. . . ,” noting that “[i]n ten stories of the 22-story belltower are classrooms for the religious and social training of the young.”

Fosdick authored the words of “God of Grace and God of Glory” for Riverside Church’s first service. Its five verses ask:

“God of Grace and God of Glory, . . . Grant us Wisdom, grant us courage

For the facing of this hour.. . . For the Living of these days. . . . Lest we miss Thy kingdom’s goal. . . . That we fail not man nor thee. . . . Serving Thee whom we adore.”

A brief paraphrase of its message: One day at a time, let us fail not man nor Thee who we adore.

I realized that the name “Fosdick” is familiar to me because in doing research on 12 Step programs, I learned that he was an early and public supporter of the first 12 Step program, Alcoholics Anonymous (AA). In 1939 he authored a very favorable review of AA’s principal text, and in his 1956 autobiography Fosdick said of AA: “Alcoholics Anonymous, grown to its present astonishing strength, is a godsend to us ministers.” He concluded: “I have listened to many learned arguments about God, but for honest-to-goodness experiential evidence of God, His power personally appropriated and His reality indubitably assured, give me a good meeting of A.A.!”

The 12 Steps speak of “God as we understood him,” challenging each member to choose their conception of God, or as some call it: “Higher Power.”

I have come to believe in the loving God that Jesus taught, and that it’s not me. I try to keep it that simple so that in virtually any situation, I can call on God’s help by reaching outside of myself; by not going it alone.

I know there is a God, because on multiple occasions things have happened to and for me “out of the blue,” when I most needed them; not a lot, but often enough for me to believe. I call them “God things.”

The reality is, whether I “know” it or not, each day I act on faith. So, just like I can’t say there isn’t a God, I can’t say that God cannot have parted the Red Sea for Moses and the Israelites, or that Jesus could not have made the bind see or have been resurrected. Others I respect believe, so why not me?

Another thing I have learned in my journey is that it’s ok to love someone, but not like them. Acceptance of them as a person does not mean I endorse the way they behave.

By way of example: some of my family members, here and departed have behaved in ways that I don’t approve of. So do others I encounter. But they’re all God’s kids, just like me.

In some instances, I’ve discovered things about them that tend to explain their behavior, and that helps me accept them, and believe that they’re doing the best they can.

With others, I avoid them, and try my best to politely tolerate them when they’re unavoidable.

But in all cases, I try to remember that what’s happening is part of the plan: not my plan; God’s plan!

If I try to love them as they are, in the fullness of time I may be blessed with a better understanding of why I experienced them as I did, and at least I will hopefully avoid the wrath of God that Matthew speaks of in today’s reading.

It also helps me to think of God in terms of Mother Nature. Acknowledging the continuing evolution of things all around us as being accomplished by Her is a way in which I am able to conceptualize, and even visualize, the “infinite,” which is God.

She can be both predictable and spontaneous, beneficial and destructive; but always uncontrollable by us.  

That reality better explains Paul’s injunction that if we Christians live by the Spirit; that is, love our neighbors as ourselves, we will inherit the kingdom of God, whether we like it or not!

I am often able to get in touch with God in my garden. Some of our neighbors are helping us tend our church’s garden, and there are many other ways in our daily lives that we interact with each other.

Let’s keep loving them, no matter who they are, what they believe, or where they came from. Mother Nature is not concerned with such things.  

Good morning. In starting this reflection I managed to stumble across the one I wrote at this time last year and will admit I started later than I normally do. Not that the readings were particularly controversial or challenging as some can be. But more so because there seemed to be a number of different messages, good messages, and I was trying to connect them to the Gospel and the current day to day ups and downs that swirl around in my head. 

One of the things that struck me about last week’s sermon from Reverend Ryan was the opposing theological interpretations of the Gospel that were brought forth. It made me wonder about the interpretations of this week’s reading and for the first time I googled theological interpretation of Matthew 16:13-20. I am still avoiding the use of Claude, ChatGPT and all that so yes I just googled. And not surprisingly there were several references and interesting publications that I read through. 

There was one by Dr. Mitzi J Smith, a Professor of the New Testament at Columbia Theological Seminary in Georgia that I found particularly insightful which I linked (in the text below).* 

It starts with a statement, “How we identify Jesus will impact the way we interact with one another and with the earth.” In the Gospel reading Jesus asks his disciples what other people are saying about “the son of Man” and they respond with what they have heard. Relaying other people’s interpretation. When Jesus pointedly asked though what people were saying about him, it was only Simon Peter who answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” For Peter, he was not affirming what others were saying, however identifying for himself through his faith what he knew to be true. In that the foundation of the church was laid. Yet I was initially confused as to why Jesus ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.   

What we know now, after the fact, is that the disciples’ lives and their messages after Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection will build the church. Dr. Smith’s commentary goes on to note, “ Their lives will speak louder, more truthfully, and more effectively than their words.” 

There are other articles that also tie this Gospel to confessing Christ’s existence as the Son of God on an individual level. Faith is an individual choice, it is something that can be enhanced with a community and with regular study, however at the end of the day it starts with each of us, in our own hearts and minds. 

It is in our own minds and words that we identify with Jesus and the teachings. It is the belief and the faith that we are a part of something greater and there is a creator who sent Jesus as a redeemer. It all starts with each of us before it can become anything greater. 

This reminds me of the common phrase, “think before you speak,” because the words that are spoken out loud begin to define who you are. Your thoughts are the start, your beliefs echoed in the words you speak and in the actions taken because of them. 

In a moment of absolute frustration I remember saying out loud, “You are lucky I am a woman of God.” Truthfully I needed to hear that more than anyone else listening. I needed to remember that despite the situation, I had to pause, breathe, pray and move on. It is the declaration that I am a child of God, that Jesus Christ is my Savior and Redeemer, that I believe the importance of the commandment to love others as I do myself and God. 

It is what brings me here on Sundays whether in person or through Zoom, to worship with my brothers and sisters in Christ. To listen to the teachings and let the life I live be the story of my faith. We have this life, these frail bodies, this opportunity to know God and to use the gifts we have to show God’s love. 

Part of why I think it took me a bit to get started this week was recognizing I was a little tired. It has been a hectic summer, as usual, as I try to close out the fiscal year at work and as we get the schools ready to start again. A few weeks ago, at our team retreat, we were asked to reflect on what our educational superpowers were and what shapes us as educational leaders. I chose the image of Lady Justice and the balance scales to reflect my educational superpower in part because in my day to day work I am responsible for balancing our budget however I believe that justice can be done when the work I support is rooted in ensuring equitable opportunities for our students. 

Being able to voice that with my team and hearing how they use their abilities to support our schools further developed our commitment towards a high quality education for all of our students. Yet for each of us, we came to education because of our own path and recognition and through that we are able to come together to do something more. 

In the same way we each have our own relationship with faith and with God and we voice our commitment to it together as we affirm our faith. And that faith manifests in our day to day in different ways. Through our bodies and our existence we have this opportunity to know God and live a life that honors the gifts given to us. In identifying Jesus as our Savior and God’s love, we are able to build a life that honors that. 

To show others kindness and compassion. To be able to care for those in need. To open our doors to the community and provide a safe space. A space for talents to develop and grow. Where musical instruments become ministry. 

We were blessed with knowing God each of us, and in that we share God’s love through our care for each other. I cannot imagine a greater calling than to be loved by God and share that love by being the best version of myself I can be, each day through my faults and my educational superpowers in a life that honors loving others as I do God. 

Amen.

*Commentary by Dr. Mitzi J Smith

I hope you all had a nice breakfast this morning because I don’t want you salivating during my reflection.  Because I am going to talk about eating.  Eating is something we do naturally even without being taught!  When I wake up in the morning, the prospect of a beautiful piece of toast is wonderful, something to look forward to.

Charles Dickens writes about eating in a much more extravagant vein.  I think we all have heard or read his long story A Christmas Carol and how Ebenezer Scrooge is changed by the visits of three Christmas Spirits that review his own past, present, and future.  Here’s how Mr. Dickens describes the appearance of the Ghost of Christmas Present in Scrooge’s miserly house:

[S]uch a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, as that dull petrifaction  of a hearth had never known . . . for many and many a winter season gone.  Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game,  poultry . . . great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense . . . cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam.

Later on  in the same section of the story, Dickens turns to the family of Bob Cratchit, Scrooge’s oppressed and  underpaid clerk.  He describes the Cratchit family’s much more modest table, but one saturated with the love of those seated round it:

There never was such a goose.  Bob said he didn’t believe there ever was such a goose cooked.  Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration.  Eked out by apple sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family: indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn’t ate it all at last!

Now consider this — our Bible begins with eating.  In Genesis, God gives to us through Adam every plant yielding seeds and every tree with fruit with a seed specifically for food.  And he gives every green plant for food to all the beasts with the breath of life.  (Genesis 1:29-30)  Later on, we learn that God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also.  (Genesis 2:9)

To me it seems that food and eating were therefore creations and that God endowed us or paired us with eating.  I suppose it didn’t have to be that way, but God created Eating.

And the Bible also ends with eating.  On almost the last page, the fulfillment, the  beautification, sanctification, and salvation of creation is described in the New Jerusalem, the new Heaven, the new Earth.  And there is our old friend The Tree of Life.  Now, this tree bears twelve harvests of different fruits, one harvest per month.  And how does this fruit fit in?  It is what was given to us when eating was created, as Genesis narrates.  (Revelation 21;22:2)

It seems that Jesus ate a lot too.  He ate with with tax collectors and sinners.  And it was a big deal.  (Matthew 9:10-11)  In one of my favorite passages, he calls to Zacchaeus up in the sycamore tree to come down so he can stay at his house.  (Luke 19:1-10)  After the Resurrection, when he appeared to the apostles on the beach while they were fishing, he cooked a meal of fish for them on a fire of coals.  And this was after he advised them to dip their net on the other side of the boat, and then it came up bursting.  (John 21)

So, with all this food and eating background around us, let’s look at one of the great eating stories of all time — the miracle of eating that is in today’s Gospel passage of the feeding of the five thousand.  Or maybe we should call it the miracle of “five thousand people eating together.”  Actually — this is a footnote — it’s more than five thousand:  Matthew makes it clear that he counted only the men and not the women and children.  (Matthew 14:21)  So maybe the number was more like seven thousand or even more.  Go figure.

This miracle, this story, was so important and meaningful to the Evangelists that it has two versions in Matthew’s Gospel (Matthew 14:13 and 15:32) and two versions in Mark’s Gospel (Mark 6:30 and 8:1).  It appears in Luke.  (Luke 9:10)  And it even amazingly appears in John’s Gospel which doesn’t quite follow the pattern or style of  the other Gospels.  (John 6:1)  Altogether, the mass feeding of either the five thousand or the four thousand appears six times in the four Gospels.

In this miracle, Jesus takes a little of what we have and creates more and more and more and more out of nothing.  Creation from nothing is what God did in Genesis.  Jesus’ miracle of creating out of nothing  does takes place after the great Creation of Genesis, but it points to the same end — that is, to eating.  Jesus’ miracle is looking ahead to the new creation and the new Jerusalem and the tree of life there.  It is a way-station or, better, a sign that we are on the way to a new Eden.  God’s kindness and the opportunity for all of us to get to the new Eden are signaled in this miracle and in the immense love that the Trinity lives out in Jesus’ passion.

In other words, the miracle is about salvation.  It is not a miracle to teach us what to do to follow the Gospel.  It is a miracle about the realization of  what something is.  That is, it is a revelation.  It points us to what salvation actually is, not how we get there.  It points to the final ends of our faith.  What are those ends?  Well, we can’t entirely describe them.  But we can say that, in our terms, it is like eating together in harmony, like the abundance and cheer to which the Dickens’ Spirit of Christmas Present points, like the love of the Cratchit family Christmas table, like the feeding of the five thousand or, really, the many thousand.  The promise or image of salvation is what happened to these people.  Imagine their surprise, their delight, and their pleasure.  Imagine the laughter.  Imagine the noise! 

Every time we sit down to eat, we sit down with Our Lord.  We can be alone or in noisy, even raucous, company.  It is the creation of eating that knots us together.  And eating prefigures salvation.  No wonder Tiny Tim said, “God Bless Us Everyone.”  So, no matter how good your breakfast was today, we should each be sure to go to coffee hour today!

Amen and Thank you.

After reading this week’s lectionary several times, and pondering the readings, it seems to me that the unifying theme for this week is the intersection of faith and of prayer. And interestingly, not just our faith in God, but God’s faith in us. Ah, my. How is it that these important, foundational things, faith and prayer, can be at once so simple, and yet so complex?

In the Old Testament reading, we see that God favors Solomon’s prayers for wisdom; not just by saying “yes, I give you these things!” but even more importantly, by approving Solomon’s admission of weakness, his desire to do right by his people, and his subsuming his own ego in order to do his best for his people.

In Paul’s letter to the Romans, we see him encouraging the followers to trust in God’s love for them. 

And in Matthew’s gospel lesson – oh, my! Parable after parable – so many we can hardly count. It’s a bit comical, really, all the ways that we hear about the value of faith. And, ah, the parable of the mustard seed; how beautiful, how simple – and how devastating! 

On its surface, it seems so straightforward; “don’t worry, if you have just a tiny bit of faith, that’s all you need – it’s enough to grow a mighty tree!” But when you read what precedes this parable, it’s pretty daunting. The disciples have just come back from their attempts to cast out demons from an afflicted soul. They tried – and they failed. And when they return home, Jesus is cranky; he chastises them and tells them that they failed because they lacked faith. And, of course, with (I can only imagine!) a heavy sigh, Jesus heads off to do it himself. Oh, dear. I mean, I have full sympathy for Jesus here; he’s preparing for his departure from this plane, and he needs to get his disciples fully up to speed to do the work ahead when he’s gone, and they aren’t able to do it! Who among us hasn’t thought “fine, I’ll just do it myself!” any number of times? Reloaded the dishwasher. Gotten out the plunger. Or despaired that a child, or protege, or loved one, will never master the basic skills to do “it” themselves when we are gone. 

However, I do really sympathize with the disciples here; after all, they TRIED to cast out the demons! They went off on their own, and they tried, and they failed. I don’t know about you, but if Jesus came to me today and said “okay, Christine, it’s time for you to go cast out some demons – see you when you get back!” I’m very likely to try to beg off. How on earth could I do it? 

And “measuring” faith already feels so harsh; I think that it’s easy to head off in the wrong direction in this area. For instance, if someone prays for a healing and doesn’t receive it, that they – or others – might believe it’s because they didn’t have enough faith, or didn’t pray the “right” way. Or likewise, if someone is dealt a terrible tragedy or hardship. Or, conversely, that if they hit the jackpot of blessings it’s because they deserve it. And that is just not right; the world is full of injustice, tragedies and hardships and disease, and it’s no reflection on the victims – or victors – and what they deserved or “should” have done.

Perhaps I’m feeling a little judged recently; it seems like every good thing I try to do just isn’t good enough. I drive a plug-in hybrid-electric vehicle; every time I reach my destination, it grades me – and seems to always find me wanting. “That was pretty good, but next time, do better!” We have solar panels; every month, PG&E gives us a grade: “your solar profile is pretty good, but similar EFFICIENT homes are excellent!” Man, patronised by my car AND PG&E! 

The unhoused woman I bring food to likes to call out what I assume are meant to be encouraging things to me; things like “you’re still walking pretty good!” and “You’ve gained weight, haven’t you? Yeah, you have!” Ummm … okay. Thank you, I guess? 

AI keeps offering me helpful suggestions to improve my emails and text messages. Heck, even writing this reflection entailed artificial intelligence essentially telling me that my sentence structure was lousy. So maybe I’m a little hyper-sensitive about my faith vis-a-vis demon-casting-out powers.

But I also realize that my ego is threaded throughout my efforts in life, and that this can be especially present in my prayers and my faith. I want to not just do right, but to be right. I want to be in control of the narrative and of the outcome. I keep putting myself in the center of the story. Oftentimes, my prayers of “please please please do this thing for me, God!” have actually been me attempting to will God into doing what I want. You will not be shocked to hear that that hasn’t gone so well.

One of my favorite quotes is something I’ve heard Kris Whitten share several times in his always-wonderful reflections: “I know there’s a God – and it’s not me!” 

Realizing these things, over the years I’ve shifted my mode of praying. After sitting with the advice to “let go and let God,” and to “pray as though God has already answered my prayers,” I moved from praying for an outcome to simply thanking God for being with me, with us, in good times and bad. For surrounding us with love. For reminding us that God is with us. For each of us holding each other up as best we can. And the very, very most satisfying moments of prayer have been where I have been fully able to release my will, and simply say “I accept.” When I am able to do that, I feel a physical release of pressure, and relief truly washes over me.

Last week, as I listened to Jeffrey play Schubert, and to Linda give her reflection, once again, I found myself with my palms open in front of me. And it came to me that my making that gesture was a physical way for me to try to open myself in acceptance, to say “I accept” to God. I accept your beauty. I accept your wisdom. I accept your love. I accept your grace. I accept your will.

God’s love for us is an expression of their faith in us. Recently Judah played his arrangement of “Great is thy Faithfulness” for us; how good to be reminded that God has faith in us! What is the nature of God’s faith in us? Is it perhaps rooted in “I accept?”

This week I read an interview with the Reverend – and Senator – Raphael Warnock. (I will resist reading you the whole piece, packed as it is with profound wisdom and insights! Ask me later for the link.) In it, he said something remarkable about faith; he said “faith isn’t about knowing. Faith is just that – it’s an act of faith.” Let me repeat that: “Faith isn’t about knowing. Faith is just that – it’s an act of faith.” And that beautiful idea reminded me of how Reverend Warnock likes to say that a vote is a kind of a prayer, something which fills me with joy. Reverend Warnock went on to quote Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, who marched with Dr. King. Rabbi Heschel said that when he marched with Dr. King, he felt like his legs were praying. There are so many ways that faith and prayers can exist!

So, back to the mustard seed. And back to demon casting. Upon reflection: it strikes me that there are many ways, both large and small, to “cast out a demon” of injustice. Big things, like running for office, like Reverend Warnock did. Or like my cousin Martha’s son, Andrew Floyd, who was a lawyer for the Department of Justice, investigating the January 6th insurrection – until he got canned for it; Andrew was one of the people who filed the suit which successfully blocked the 1776 slush fund. But  every time we go to a rally to protest what is happening in our country, we are actually attempting a little demon casting! And every time one among us makes a sandwich for someone in need, well, maybe that isn’t going to solve world hunger, but by golly – one sandwich at a time. Every time we vote. Every time we protest inequity. Every little kindness. Every little gesture of caring and love. Every good deed and generous and loving act – they are all that mustard seed of faith.

So, I accept the challenge. I accept God’s love. Please say it with me: I accept!

Saints and Sinners — That’s Us

The first thing I’m curious about in this parable is that the relationships are upside down.

The Master is doing the work. The servants , who you would expect to be doing the work, are providing the commentary on the quality of work – negligent or outright stupid. “Hey, Master – didn’t you plant good seed? There sure are a lot of weeds growing there. Want us to pull out the weeds (you obviously accidentally planted.)?”

Ok – ‘fess up. How many times have you thought you could do better with the design of things? With the way things work.

Aging for example. Arthritis, really? Memory loss, hearing loss, teeth falling out, how fair is all that? Why couldn’t we go out on a high note of strength and happiness?

And poison oak, rampant on hiking trails – mosquitos whining in your ears, biting the back of your hand, itching for days.

Birth defects? Early onset Alzheimers?

There is so much beauty, so much goodness, so much pulsing, thriving life – AND there is a lot in this world that could be designed better – you know it and I know it.

But it’s not just the natural world.

You and I are a big mixed up mix of good and bad, of pure and not so pure, of doing good for others partly because, well, it strokes our own ego.

And honestly, it’s hard to tell sometimes which is which. The truth is that when we try to get rid of something we classify as “evil”, there are often unintended consequences, blowback –and we can end up with something even worse.

Pain is a good example. We want to mitigate pain, physical pain, emotional pain, but when we go too far in trying to feel better all the time, we risk creating addictions.

We want to get rid of disease, but when we go too far in trying to stamp out illnesses, we risk creating super-bugs that are resistant to treatment.

We are certainly thankful for science, for the scientific method, for medical advances, for climate controlled housing, for increased food production, for all the ways we have of improving the comforts of our earthly existence.

AND this parable is telling us wisdom – Good and evil, right and wrong, opportunities and challenges, joys and sorrows, they are intermingled and our perceptions are limited – are judgements about which is which is quite possibly incorrect, or at least ill informed.

So Jesus invites us into a spacious place of greater wonder and greater acceptance of the world and other people and ourselves as we are — beautiful and flawed, annoying and endearing, difficult and enjoyable, sinful and faithful. Saints and sinners. That’s who we are. That’s the way of this precious world we inhabit.

Jesus told this parable to Galilean farmers who knew the kinds of weeds he was talking about. They were called darnel, or tares. And darnel looks like wheat. If you Google darnel and wheat you can see photos of the two plants – and they are virtually identical.

But it’s easy to tell which is which by the time the wheat is ready to harvest. Wheat grains are heavy. They make the plant droop with their weight. Darnel, on the other hand, is unproductive. It has no weighty head of grain, so the plant continues to stand up right.

By their fruits you will know them, Jesus says.

So, Jesus says, let it be. Things tend to sort themselves out. And the more we trust that to happen, the happier we will be, and the more room we give God to work all things to their rightful purpose.

Friends, here’s the hope for this morning – that we can more and more accept ourselves and others as we are. Not as we think we should be. Or as we think we need to be. But as we are.

When we stand for the creed and say “I believe in God almighty” – may the Spirit still our doubts in the Master and deepen our trust – in other words, may we give God some space and trust that God knows what God is doing – that God has things in hand.

It’s good to be here. It’s good to grow together in wisdom and trust and compassion.

I think that everyone has been on a farm.  Maybe we’ve visited just a place like The Little Farm in Tilden Park.  Once there were two big hogs there with a bunch of piglets.  My grandkids named the hogs Lisa and Jason after their parents.

Speaking of names, my father’s cousin, Jimmy, had a good-sized farm in Connecticut.  It’s where I first drove a car, and a tractor had to come and pull the car out of a ditch.  Years past, Jimmy’s farm dog had been a Saint Bernard.  But in his later years, Jimmy drove around in his pickup with a very lively pug.  Jimmy was always feeding him, and the pug became quite a little fatty.  Jimmy would shout at him, “Get over here, damn you!” And the pug would run and literally jump into Jimmy’s arms.  Or Jimmy would shout, “Hurry up, damn you!”  And the dog would jump into the cab.  The family had named him “Pumpkin” or something like that.  But the dog thought his name was “Damn You.”

Jesus is said to have been a carpenter or a carpenter’s son.  But, like Jimmy, he seems to have known a lot about farming.  Jesus talks about seeds, mustard trees, fields and vineyards, grape vines, day laborers.  His disciples snack on standing heads of grain.  And he knows animals too — sheep and goats and donkeys.  The Gospels are full of the open air, growing things, and probably the noises of animals.  And since Jesus tells the story of today’s Parable of the Sower from a boat, I am reminded that he also knew a lot about fish.

So, I wonder how Jesus’ contemporaries, the people on the beach, listened to the Parable of the Sower.  A sower was a guy they all had seen at his work and also met on the roads and in the  marketplace.  He was a pretty important cog in the economic machinery of the time.  Everybody lived close to the land. 

Jesus’ listeners were probably saying to themselves:  “So, what’s Joe the sower going to do in this story?”  But Jesus surprises them because the sower and the seeds are background to the story.   The surprise is that the story is about the dirt.  And, as it turns out, the dirt is actually the people listening to Jesus  — the people who are the thorny patch, who are the path or the rocky patch, who are the field itself.  Jesus challenges them to ask themselves what kind of dirt are each of them, how do they fit into the parable.

But do Jesus’s listeners really understand this story or are they confused?  Jesus doesn’t quite answer this question.  There’s a part of this passage that today’s reading leaves out.   In it, Jesus talks, in a kind of positive and negative way, about why he tells parables or at least why he tells this parable of the sower.  He says that he tells parables because the listeners actually do not understand.   Jesus says that they’re like the people that the prophet Isaiah talks about: They can’t hear, they can’t see, they can’t understand with their heart.  That’s pretty bleak or perhaps it means simply that people learn better through stories.  Personally, I think that’s actually true. 

So, as Jesus goes on to explain the Parable to his followers, we see that he knows that there are in fact people that are going to hear the message he gives, people who are the rich soil, people out of whom the seed will bear a thirty- or hundred-fold harvest.  This has to be so because it’s fits with how a sower behaves.  The sower’s object as a farmer is to sow the field where the rich soil lies.  From where the sower stands or walks, the field is bigger than the path around it or by it.  It’s bigger than the thorny patch.  Now we come to see that the sower, who seems so careless, is Jesus himself.  He travels and tosses out his preaching and actions everywhere, as widely as he can, so that he can reach every single little corner of the field.  He casts the seeds this way and that in any way he can — parable, miracle, preaching, and resurrection — just so that the maximum number of people will have the opportunity to receive the word about the Kingdom.  He’s casting seeds even to people who don’t hear or understand.  As we know, even today there are people who need to hear it, who do not get it.  Just look at the comments sections in the New York Times!  It’s like evangelical radio says today: We’ll keep on preaching the Gospel until everyone in the whole world has heard it.

What about us?  We are actually not the people who heard Jesus preach from the boat.  They heard this story before the Crucifixion and Resurrection and Descent of the Holy Spirit.  We hear the parable after all these great events.   So, how is this story meaningful for us?

The good soil, the path, the rocky place, the thorny patch, are us humans.  In this, we are like the people on the beach.  The seeds are still the delicate, magical, immensely strong carriers of the Gospel.  They are always being sown.

But nowadays I am actually every type of soil Jesus mentions.  Sometimes, I’m the path where the seed just lies and the birds find an easy meal.  Maybe this is when I’m sinning, when my store of love is not an ocean, but a puddle.  Sometimes, I’m the thorny ground where the seeds get choked because there are a million distractions every day.  There’s the news, there’s the article I absolutely must scroll, there’s balancing the bank account, there’s watching TV, there’s just a general skittishness that makes me restless.  Sometimes, I’m the thin soil when I don’t pay attention, when I enjoy worship, but don’t carry it into my world.  But, sometimes, even sometimes, I am the rich soil.  I say this because, no matter what, my mind, my heart, my soul, the Holy Spirit in me always seem to tap me on the shoulder, to point me to the seeds. So, I turn alternately from being bad dirt to being good dirt, over and over.

But how can this be?  How can I alternate this way? If I’m still a sinner, if I fail at love every time I take a step, how can I ever be the rich soil?  Here is where Saint Paul helps us out.  He reminds us not of our perfection, but of our advantage.  St. Paul can be really grouchy and complicated.  But he really loves us.  He says, in today’s epistle reading, that we have been freed from the law of sin and death — not from sin and death, but from the law of sin and death.  So, I can still sin and I will still die.  But somehow I am no longer locked in.  I can still be the bad soil for a time.  But, through the Incarnation and Jesus’s hard work, we have the Spirit in us.  And the Spirit is our reminder, the person who knocks on the door.  I think this is what Saint Paul says today in the reading from Romans:

The Spirit of God dwells in you . . . [I[f Christ is in you, though the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness. If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you.

We are really lucky because we have the Spirit and we are the body of Christ.  So we can be the rocky ground, the path, the patch choked by thorns, but only at times — not all the time because we are also rich soil and we bear fruit.  Just remember the Apostles’ Creed:  I believe in the Holy Spirit; I believe in the forgiveness of sin.  As a priest once said to me, God has already forgiven you.