Category: Sermons

Today is the last Sunday after Pentecost and we celebrate the Feast of Christ the King.

Christ the King Sunday is a capstone for Pentecost.  The Pentecost season teaches us how to live in a world of peril and hope with the assistance of the Spirit and the encouragement of the words and life of Jesus.  The Feast of Christ the King fits right in.  

This Feast was instituted by Pope Pius XI in 1925, a mere one hundred years ago.  So, why do we in the Protestant Episcopal Church celebrate it?  The feast does not appear in the Book of Common Prayer.  On the other hand, it does appear in the in the official lectionary, the book that gives us the daily and Sunday Scripture readings.  As far as I know, we here at Saint Alban’s have observed the Feast every single year.  And so do other Episcopal parishes.

I think that the Feast has a pull or draw that makes us want or need to observe it. It is an example, maybe, of the catholic church — catholic with a small “c” — uniting for something meaningful to everybody.  We have a shared Savior, a shared humanity, and a shared world.

Because the Feast is so relatively new, we can look into why it came to be in 1925.  Pius XI talked about the feast in two circular letters or encyclicals.  Pius noted how deeply the world’s security had been stricken.  He referred to the cataclysm of World War I, and as I found out maybe 15 or maybe 24 million people had died in it.  But he mainly concentrated on his present day instead of looking back.  He referred to the then current confusion and suffering in the Near East. (Ubi arcano para. 10)  He talked about societal discord like the inequality between the rich and the poor.  (Id. para 12)  He talked about how  societies were becoming partisan and how private interests were dominating. (Ibidem)  He referred also to the debasement of patriotism leading people to be forgetful of universal kinship (“brotherhood” in the text) and to aspire to strict nationalism.  (Ibid. para 25)  He says that active and fruitful tranquillity has disappeared.  (Ibid. 7)  And he said a lot more.

Does all this sound familiar to you?  I think it our world too.  The players may have changed, but the basic problems and dysfunctions remain.  There is anguish in Gaza, Ukraine, and Sudan.  “Fruitful tranquillity” is challenged as we worry about our institutions and societal future.  Nationalism is seemingly here to stay.  The wealthy seem to buy and control everything.  The poor still live from paycheck to paycheck.  And so forth.  There is a general feeling of anxiety.  Really, Pius XI and we are wearing each other’s shoes.

So we all live in a period of trauma and chaotic flux and violence and fear.  So, Christians should do what they’ve done since the first century: turn to Jesus as the centering and eternal power.

I think it comes naturally to think of Jesus as the unquestioned leader of Christians.  Many call him Our Lord.  That’s what the Gospel is all about.  But kingship has a kind of different ring.  Let’s see about using that word.

Pius XI says Jesus is our King because he is our Redeemer and our Law Giver, and he commands our obedience.  (Quas primas para. 14).  Recognizing that Pius XI was a much better theologian than I am, I still think his expressions about Christ’s kinship are a little formulaic and scholarly.

I would rather look at the whole season of Pentecost.  I prefer to say that Jesus is a king because he loves us.  He is so uniquely important to us, so concerned for us, such a leader, such a companion, so definite in his teachings, so authoritative, that he must be some kind of king.  He is just not the blazing political Messiah that the Apostles hoped for.  He is the king who died for us.  He strengthens us and prepares us to endure with patience.  Isn’t this what Saint Paul says in today’s reading from the letter to the Colossians?

But let’s look at today’s Gospel.  Why would the season of Pentecost end with a Crucifixion narration.  Well, the Crucifixion is an act of kingship because it is the greatest of all acts of love.  Jesus said at the Last Supper: Greater love than this has no man than to give up his life for his friends, and you are my friends.  (John 15:13-15)   Jesus does this for us.  And to do it for us signifies that he loves us.  He has a duty towards us.  He sacrifices himself to the point of humiliation, physical torment and death.  When the only person in all of humankind who does and can do this, it is an act of kingship.

Really, who can fully understand the Crucifixion?  But we can say at least that one aspect of Our Lord’s kingship in the present world is gritty love. 

Another aspect is his strength.  I mean, kings are strong.  But how is the Crucifixion strength?  Well, to choose crucifixion requires a lot of moral and manly strength.  It requires a strength beyond the self.  So, Paul says in 2 Corinthians that Christ was crucified in weakness, but lives by the power of God.  (2 Corinthians 12:9-10)  Paul also recounts what he was told: My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.  (Ibid.)  The point is grace in which God shares himself with us, and gives us his strength and we trust in his goodness.  Did Jesus go to the cross without this trust?  I don’t think so.  He commited his spirit to God on the cross.  (Luke 23:46)  Trust in the foundation of life is the strengthening companion of our thorns.  We get this strength from Jesus.  I refer you again to what Paul says in today’s reading from Colossians. 

A benefit of faith in Jesus and contact with Gospel life is the refreshment that comes from love.  Jesus know that life is hard, but he gives us pleasure and joy too.  God has given us music and an absolutely gorgeous universe within the thin envelope of the atmosphere and beyond it.  There is nothing quite like doing a loving thing.  To do it, we exercise courage, we conquer shyness, we let go of insecurity, we look for the smiles.  If we get encouraged to acts of love by grace, how can the loving act not make us happier?  It makes us better.  It makes us more aware of God’s presence.  It helps us to endure and to hope that the war in Gaza is finally ended, that Russia and Ukraine will stop this war I don’t quite understand, that the Sudan will get just a little peace, that we will all pray more about things we don’t really control.

All this love, strength, and refreshment must be at least part of what the kingship of the Gospel gives us in all our happiness and in all our distress.  We have a king who embodies love and mercy and comfort.  We have a king who is his people’s servant.  Remember I asked why should Pentecost season end with a Crucifixion narration?  It’s because we are present at this great act of love and strength and refreshment even in the middle of our personal struggles and the world’s struggles.  Why do I say we’re present?   See the thief in the Gospel reading who asks Christ to remember him.  That thief is you.

Thank you.

Many of you know that the Bible group recently finished reading the Book of Revelation. When we go through a book, we may have some discussion but the real point is to read through the Bible out loud. A couple of us really pushed for reading Revelation because we don’t read much of it in the lectionary, but it’s inspired a lot of comment, art, literature and fantasy novels. I understand there’s even a graphic novel of Revelation, which is no surprise if you’ve read it. There are monsters, wars, deaths, pure white robes, thrones — and — in the end, justice and joy eternal. 

The book is attributed to St. John of Patmos, who apparently was exiled to a cave on the island of Patmos, which is where he had the visions that are described in the book. Reportedly, he was exiled after he was put in boiling oil but failed to be hurt. At the time, Christians were a relatively small sect that was being persecuted pretty vigorously by the Roman Empire. Revelation, which is a letter to seven Christian churches, tells them to expect terrible things to occur, but in the end, the righteous will be saved. Eden will be restored. It’s a book of hope.

In the letter to the Thessalonians we read today, we are told not to believe that resurrection is at hand, because the rebellion has to come first and the lawless one revealed. Even though there will be salvation, a lot of ugly stuff has to happen first. I’m sure this resonated with those Christians, who lived in difficult times. We too, live in difficult times. We may think we have evolved into a better state, but the fact is that hunger, war, rape, murder and rampant greed are all part of the world we live in. 

In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus makes two important points when the Sadducees try to trick him up with a legal question about the afterlife. First, he makes it clear that the laws and even the values of the world will mean nothing to the resurrected. They neither marry, nor die, because they are like angels. The second point is that they are resurrected, which implies that they died once, but now live forever. The Sadducees were a sect that didn’t believe in resurrection or ghosts or anything of the sort. In this, they seem to be unlike most of humanity. 

Archeologists have found that humans 100,000 years ago took special care of the bodies of the dead, including leaving them with grave goods. These people must have believed in some kind of life after death. Since then, human beings seem to have tried all kinds of ways to ensure that the life after death is better than life on earth. The Egyptians probably were the most elaborate. It seems that what we envision is similar to life on earth, but much, much-improved. 

We think of couples, and even families, being together in eternal bliss. We hope to see our departed loved ones in the afterlife. When my father died a week before his 90th birthday, we kept his ashes in a gold cardboard box in various family closets until my mother died four years later. That’s when we gathered the boxes, so Mom and Dad could be together at the military cemetery in Dixon after the usual veteran’s honors. 

When my brother died, my sister-in-law and I spent an afternoon dividing his ashes into empty pill bottles so that everyone in the family could have some to keep, or to discreetly toss into the Bay at the Presidio beach. Some were saved to be scattered in the sea outside the house he lived in as a child in Bermuda. And others ended up in the back yard of the house he and his wife used to own in Vacaville.  The idea being that he could spend eternity in places he particularly liked, although we know what we had are just ashes, and not my brother.

My paternal grandmother agreed when she married her second husband — they had both been widowed — that he would be buried next to his late wife and she would end up next to her first husband.

The grandparents on my mother’s side were interred one casket on top of another in a family grave in Bermuda that fits five, along with my aunt, an uncle and a cousin. They do something similar in New Orleans. My understanding is that once the grave reaches capacity, it is “cleaned” by compacting the remains in the bottom to leave space for a few more relatives. My cousin Nancy says she’s next.

But in the passage we read today, Jesus says that those who qualify for resurrection — people who have already died — no longer follow traditions and laws because God has made them perfect in order to live again, in a new way that hasn’t been explained to us. Jesus’ answer to the Sadducees suggests that perhaps when that time comes, we won’t be so concerned about particular loved ones because in that new Paradise, everyone will perfectly love everyone. Or perhaps, as Job hints, just being with God will be more than enough, although I do hope to see “the rivers clap their hands” in joy,

The Bible contains what I call inspired revelation, because it doesn’t give us specifics. We are told to make a leap of faith that the resurrection will be something that none of us are capable of understanding, but it will happen, and it will be good. Otherwise, it’s pretty much a mystery. So we indulge our very human instincts for love, hope and connection with our rituals around death.

The Bible also tells us not to despair when it seems like the world is going to hell, which I think is most of the time. We are told to carry on with our ministries and the mission we have been given. If we do that, we don’t need to worry about the afterlife. We’ve been promised resurrection, and we believe that it will be good, whatever it is. 

I kind of like the idea that we just have to worry about how we treat ourselves and each other and leave concerns about the afterlife to God. Believers can be secure that God loves us and knows us each, even when it seems like we are alone in death. God is capable of more than we can know or imagine. The proof is in the love God gives us as an example, and as an undeserved gift.

Amen.

 

I’m going to start this sermon with a shameless name-drop: Archbishop Desmond Tutu. And this little story involves donuts as well.

This happened decades ago, before 1990, during Apartheid in South Africa. Bishop Tutu was the Archbishop of Cape Town, and was a constant thorn in the side of those in power in South Africa. He spoke out fearlessly against apartheid, but unlike other black leaders, he was never arrested. And he traveled widely.

He was invited to speak at our Diocesan convention. While we waited for him  in the lower floor of Grace Cathedral, I came over to the donut table for a snack. That table was close to the door that connected to the Cathedral School for Boys, where Archbishop Tutu had just finished a little chat with the students and teachers.

Whoever was supposed to meet him from the Convention was a little late, and so there he was on the other side of the donut table. A few of us donut eaters were at first stunned, and then shook his hand. One woman there gave him a little hug and said she wasn’t anyone important.

He gave her — and us — a two minute version of what he then spoke of later to the delegates to Convention — that she was a creature of God, that she had a calling no one else could do. Here was a person of immense courage — some would call him a living saint — calling all of us to acts like God’s saints.

I have another name to drop — Dean Brackley. He was a classmate of mine when I was at the Jesuit School of Theology in Berkeley. I came across his name last week in a monthly publication called “Give Us This Day,” which provides daily readings and a section called “Blessed Among Us.”

It gives short biographies of notable people like Desmond Tutu or an “official” saint like Augustine or Teresa of Avila, or people like Dorothy Day or Thomas Merton. I was surprised to find Dean Brackley there. Why was my fellow student listed?

Back in 1989 in El Salvador, army commandos invaded the Jesuit-run Universidad CentroAmericana, killing six Jesuits and their housekeeper and daughter. I think a lot of us have heard about that atrocity. But then what happened? Well, the University there called our for volunteers to take over for the dead Jesuits.

Dean Brackley had been teaching theology at Fordham University, and he stepped up, volunteered, and went there. So I thought about that for a while.

If I were still in the Jesuits, living in the heart of New York City, would I have stepped up to take the place of other priests who were shot to death? Dean did — just an ordinary guy who made a heroic — a saintly decision.

Now, Dean was not shot to death — he did die of cancer after decades of service there. In addition to teaching theology, Dean Brackley became an unofficial tour guide for the many visitors who came through El Salvador on immersion trips. He’d teach his classes, and then just tell the truth about how life was there. Just an ordinary career in a place that became extraordinary famous.

For All Saints Sunday, we use a preface for the day that includes this phrase: “God, you have surrounded us with a great cloud of witnesses, that we may run with endurance the race that is set before us, and together with them, receive the crown of glory that never fades away.”

We are all challenged to act like saints, even though that sounds impossible. Of course most of us don’t think of our lives as heroic, because they seem routine. But telling the truth every day, and living out that truth, can be difficult.

Taking the side of the marginalized and the persecuted these days will include standing up for immigrants who are here legally, awaiting their court dates. At this particular time, it means stepping up our donations to local food banks. There are individual ways each of you are uniquely challenged to step up. 

I’d like to end this sermon by mentioning a parishioner here in the 1990’s a woman named Thandi Puoane. Thandi was from South Africa,  a graduate student at UC Berkeley, working on a Doctorate in Public Health.  She lived in UC housing in Albany Village, and she was Anglican. So this was her local church. Her plan was to complete her studies  and use her training back in her home country — which she did.

Here’s the part of her story that always chokes me up when I tell it. One Sunday she came up for the prayers for birthdays and travelers. She prayed in thanksgiving that — for the first time — she was able to cast an absentee ballot for the elections in her home country.

We take so much for granted in the land of the free and the home of the brave. Thandi Puoane is one of my great cloud of witnesses. All of you have such a cloud of people whose deeds and examples you treasure. So — lives your lives to be a part of someone else’s cloud of saintly people.

 

Let me start with a parody of the Gospel message.  “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself, but hate is a great motivator.” 

I heard Ta-Nehisi Coates make this remark about hate as a motivator when I was listening to him talk with Ezra Klein on a podcast.  (The Ezra Klein Show, New York Times, September 28, 2025).  Mr. Coates was talking about the hatred that other people have for me or us or whomever.  He meant hate in a broadly political context — hate for the coastal elites, for Democrats, for liberals, and so forth

But his remark struck me hard because I heard it as also going to my own heart.  For me, Mr. Coate’s remark brought to light a truth that all of us know and that we sometimes, even often, live by.  And we can’t articulate it because it envelops us.  The truth is this:  Hate is inside us too. 

Have you ever taken an immediate unthinking dislike to someone you just met?  Have you ever taken a dislike to someone you have never met?  Well, these days you can name just about any politician on the planet Earth.  Which of them would you actually trust in and of himself or herself?  Do we actually rely on our favorite politicians as partisan chess pieces against the other guys we really hate?  And how about leaders of nations that advance destructive war or exert the pressure of possible war?  We hate them too.

In today’s Gospel there are two people you can really hate.  The Pharisee is proud and filled with self regard and self righteousness.  He talks to God as if he knows God’s mind.  He fulfills complicated and comforting rules that are a yardstick of  his righteousness.  His ritual obedience is to him perfect living.  It leaves him free to scorn his neighbor, in particular the man who is praying somewhere behind him in the temple precincts.  But the Pharisee is free to love his own kind in relationships of mutual congratulation. 

The tax collector is also not such a wonderful person.  The name of his profession says it all.  In the name of government, which includes the Gentile Roman government of Palestine, he takes money that a person has no choice but to pay.  John the Baptist talked to tax collectors at the Jordan.  He said: “Take no more money than is prescribed.”  (Luke 3:12-13)  This advice implies that the tax collector was known as a scammer, enlarging the tax payer’s bill and maybe even pocketing the excess rather than giving it to the taxing authorities.  The most famous tax collector besides Saint Matthew was Zacchaeus, and he said “If I’ve ever cheated anyone, I will pay him back four times the amount.”  (Luke 19:8)  Wow, he must have been a real crook.

But both of these men have their good points, too.  You may want to punch the Pharisee in the nose, but actually he’s not a thief, a rogue, an adulterer, or a tax collector.  In fact, he donates a tenth of his income.  He even fasts.  All that is really good.  Frankly, it’s a little harder for me to find the tax collector’s good points.  We do know that he’s humble before God.  This honesty does make him endearing.  He ignites compassion.  We are made to realize that his self-abnegation is fertile spiritual ground.  And Jesus really wanted tax collectors to come to him along with other sinners.  (e.g., Luke 15:1-2)  They were lost sheep.  On the other hand, tomorrow, our tax collector may be cheating the widow and orphan as usual.

But we are supposed to love both the Pharisee and the tax collector.  As Jesus and the Law say: Love thy neighbor as thyself.  Nonetheless, hate is also inside us.  This desire to take sides, to scorn, not to listen, not to talk overwhelms us in this day and age. The tax collectors want to slap the Pharisee to kingdom come.  The Pharisees want to do the same to the tax collectors.  But how do we get to the love and leave out the hate?  Maybe the key to loving is learning to hate less.  And often this means taking some time to dwell with our own hearts.

I have some ideas.

First, live with the Gospel.  I mean, read it.  Read it over and over.  Get into the parables.  The parables are fascinating because often they draw us into the parable’s own story.  We take a role.  We have to make a judgment. 

Look at it this way.  As to the tax collector, the Pharisee won’t give him a second look.  He is too contemptible and impure.  And the tax collector is also wounded in his soul as his prayer shows.  So we have to step in and become the Good Samaritan because the tax collector is our neighbor. 

As for the Pharisee, the Gospel passage says that he will be cast down and humbled.  So, he becomes spiritually the Prodigal Son.  And in his time of lowliness, we become his father or his older brother even.  Remember another person who was cast down: Peter who denied his friend and Lord.  (e.g., Luke 22:54-62)  The Pharisee is surely our neighbor too. 

Second, God is impartial.  I don’t mean that God overlooks injustice.  But he never overlooks people.  In the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus says (I paraphrase): Love your neighbor as yourself and, you know, the sun does shine on the good and the bad and the rain does fall on the good and on the wicked.  (Matthew 5:45-48)  I take this as a directive to see how both the good and the wicked are God’s children.  And look at Peter’s great surprise in the Book of Acts when  Cornelius, a Gentile, and a Roman even, and an army officer to boot, wants baptism.  What does Peter say?  Now, I know that God shows no partiality.  (Acts 10:34-35)

Third, as Jesus said:  Judge not, for you will be judged by the same yardstick.  (Matthew 7:1-2)  In my view, God knows that our judgment is weak  He knows that hatred hurts us deeply in our souls.  So, he will do the judging.  Because he knows everything, and he says to us: Time for you guys to shut up — not about justice, but about unjust judgment founded in hate.

Fourth, how about those politicians?  None of us know the Pharisee’s heart or the tax payer’s heart.  In the same way, we do not know the politician’s heart.  We know his or her actions which we may agree with or not agree with.  We are entitled in the USA to participate, to express our point of view on policies, to protest actions.  But we have to be brave and as wise as a serpent  because, when we enter the world of the State, Caesar’s world, we have to expect no love.  I think that, as today’s reading from Second Timothy shows, Saint Paul in prison was deeply aware of this.  As was Dietrich Bonhoeffer in prison,  whether you agree with him or not.

Fifth, don’t dwell on the newspapers or social media.  In this day and age, they can be a kind of pornography.  They provide an addictive stimulation of adrenaline, but sometimes not much else.

Sixth, pray a lot.  As Father Rocky says:  There is no such thing as bad prayer.  So, go for it.  Go to a quiet room or join with another.  Like, I mean, every single day.  Pray for your kids, for peace in all the places where it does not exist anymore, for the success of the Gaza agreement, or as much of a success as Caesar’s world will give us, and so forth.  Prayer is a big deal.  Christians are indeed a little out of the mainstream, but we do possess the habit of prayer.

Seventh, turn to another virtue, the cardinal virtue of Hope.  Hope is the great sustainer when we are in trouble, as we seem to be these days.  (Romans 5:3-5)  Hope is expansive.  Hope is refreshing.  It does not look to some Eden on Earth created by artificial intelligence.  Rather, it is the hope in something that I don’t think about often: the fulfillment of God’s plans or ideas for creation.  It is the blessed assurance.  Hope can lift us out of the present.

I’m sure there are a thousand other suggestions you can make besides these few that I’ve listed.  And I’ve been stimulated by today’s short little Gospel parable.  The parables are just infinitely beautiful.  They wake us up.  They make us an active part in their stories.  They really help us to accept the Good News.  They will never encourage us to hate.

Amen.

It’s been a busy couple weeks around the Anglican world – here in the Diocese of California – the diocesan convention just concluded last night, about 240 of us on Zoom on Friday evening, and a few more in person at Grace Cathedral yesterday, working through elections, resolutions, and an overview of how the diocese continues its ministry together. Many of us had a ‘good’ feeling of new directions after the two days of listening, reading, reflecting, and praying. Our bishop, Austin Rios, shaped a process by which some of the primary areas of concern were discussed and reflected on, and the 7-fold strategic visioning decisions have much that is good in them as the diocese moves towards greater collaboration and cooperation.

It’s also been a busy couple weeks around the Anglican communion; after waiting months and months and months, a new Archbishop of Canterbury has been named (the Rt. Rev’d and Rt. Honorable Sarah Mullally) and along with this history-making shift, (the first woman in its more than 1,400 years), the inevitable fury of GAFCON – (Global Anglican Future Conference) who object to women in any leadership, who object to any hints of inclusivity that might include LGBTQ+ Christians, and who object to any suggestion that Anglicanism is not sola scriptura (the approach of finding authority only in scripture). The schism is underway (and, in reality, it has been underway for a while). It is a sad (but expected) break in being in communion as a global church. Being in communion is not just a nice thing – it is mandatum, a commandment of Christ – “be one, as the Father and I are one…” And we have failed in that commandment…

Then there is the matter of secular divisions – in the US, between the US and many countries, in many other countries. Violence continues where we had hoped it would not, climate disasters mount – last week a horrible environmental disaster along the far West Coast in Alaska, pounding rain, high winds, high tides, and massive flooding destroyed many villages and many people are still missing. In light of these events (and many others) many of you took part in protest marches yesterday – good for you, make your voice heard for justice for all! But reflecting on these urgent disruptions in our lives in these days, I often read through the scripture readings assigned for a particular Sunday and wonder – “what has this to do with anything in our lives?” But, inevitably, the Word of God does have much to do with us – in the first century, 1,400 years ago, and in 2025.

Let’s start with the peculiar story recorded only in Luke – not found in Matthew, Mark or John. The judge and the widow. The judge is difficult to summon any sympathy for – he “neither feared God nor had respect for people.” I’d say these days that might be a type of judge we would recognize… Then there is the widow who “kept coming to him and saying” “grant me justice against my opponent.” What’s the story? We never hear what the issue was…just that one very exasperated judge finally gave in because he was worn down…So the moral of the story is that if we just nag everyone, things will go our way?? The awkwardness of the less-than-model-judge and the nagging widow doesn’t seem to present very helpful role models in either case…but, let’s look closer…

The widow: in a world where prayer and mercy for widows and orphans was a common plea, we would be wise to remember that widows had little to no standing in society. With no man to do the public interaction, with no one to earn money, with no one to plead her case – she is one of the most vulnerable people in society, she is – under certain Roman regimes – not fully a human being, but rather property, or at least problematic until remarried (widows, orphans, and refugees – again and again in scripture – are those to be cared for). She had no choice but to argue again and again for justice “against my opponent” and justice was granted, perhaps a reimbursement? Land stolen and returned? It was likely, for her, a matter of life and death.

And the judge – fairly despicable – relents, a sort of “bad people can do good things”, even if not for the right reasons.

The story must have also sounded bizarre to the community of Luke too, because it comes with an interpretation at the very beginning of the story – perhaps in its first version no one could figure it out!

“Jesus told his disciples a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart…”

Oh, that’s what it means…! We are meant to see ourselves in that widow, we are meant to understand her lesson for us, don’t give up!

“…will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night?” Persevere – don’t be wimps in prayer, don’t ask once and when nothing happens, give up – no, keep praying. Jeremiah echoed this in his prophecies, saying, on God’s behalf: Listen: “I will be their God, and they shall be my people.” Listen, I am your God, and you are my people. “I will forgive, I will remember sin no more…”

By the time of the second letter to Timothy (early 2^nd century, we think), the first (and even second) generations of Christians had died – 2nd Timothy is meant to encourage those who are finding Christianity a difficult slog – there are persecutions, there are false prophets, it’s easy to follow the newest thing – to follow the religious trend without knowing which is the source of divine truth:

“…for the time is coming when people will not put up with sound doctrine, but having itching ears, they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own desires and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander away to myths.”

How do we know who is right? You know the “sacred writings” – you know the teachings of reliable leaders: continue in those teachings: “proclaim the message; be persistent whether the time is favorable or unfavorable; convince, rebuke, and encourage, with the utmost patience in teaching.”

Persevere – we prayed in the opening prayer just a bit ago that God preserve us in mercy so that we, the church, “may persevere with steadfast faith in the confession of God’s Name…” At the beginning of the second century the letter to Timothy concludes by telling us to “do the work of an evangelist, carry out your ministry fully.” The gospel of Luke tells us to persevere…we profess in our creed that we look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come…and we pray in our eucharistic prayer that the Holy Spirit may sanctify not just our gifts of bread and wine but also us – “that we may faithfully receive this holy Sacrament, and serve you in unity, constancy and peace, and at the end, be brought into the joy of your eternal kingdom” – with all the others, the widow, the prophet Jeremiah, the confused disciples, perhaps even that annoying and annoyed judge.

Do not lose heart, do not be discouraged – persevere – pray, “endure suffering, do the work of an evangelist, carry out your ministry fully.”

There are messages for us in today’s readings.  First, God tells the exiles in Babylon, through Jeremiah, to go on with their lives as if they weren’t in exile. Build houses. Marry. Have children.  Tend your crops.  In other words, don’t fall into despair and give up.  Don’t keep waiting for things to change.

We aren’t exiles, in the literal sense, but figuratively, we are not where we want to be right now. It can be tempting to give in to despair.  That’s not what God wants us to do.  The ones who want us to give up are the ones who are trying to defeat us.  That makes joy an act of resistance.

The psalmist praises God’s goodness to the people. It sounds to me like a refrain of encouragement:

Praise God, look at all that God has done for us

Bless God, God loves us.

And Jesus praises the faith of a Samaritan who expresses gratitude for being healed.

I hear a lot about gratitude, lately.  The popular press has declared that gratitude is the key to happiness.  It makes sense. Feeling grateful for everything you have is much more pleasant than moaning and obsessing about what you don’t have. Really, even on the worst days, most of us can find something to be thankful for.

We Christians tend to direct our gratitude to God.

In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus encounters ten lepers in the borderlands between Samaria and Galilee. The footnotes in our Bibles tell us that leprosy may refer to a number of different skin conditions.  Whatever the pathology, the point is that these people had a disease that was clearly visible and that made them outcasts from society.

Jesus healed them all and sent them on to the priests, who would certify that they were fit to return to their communities.  Only one man, a Samaritan, turned back and thanked God for making him clean.   Jesus notes this, asking why “only this foreigner” thought to praise God for healing them. Then he tells the Samaritan, “Your faith has made you well.” 

The Message Bible translates this last sentence, “Your faith has healed and saved you.”

I find this translation helpful,  because it suggests that the man who thanked God for his healing received more than the other nine lepers.  His gratitude demonstrated a real faith, a faith that would bring him close to God.

I see a thread in these readings.  Jeremiah tells us to go on living and thriving in whatever circumstances we find ourselves in.

The psalmist reminds us that God is faithful, God loves us.

And Jesus tells us that gratitude to God is an important component of faith.  It might even lead to salvation.

Put another way:

Listen to God, and keep going.

Trust God

Give thanks to God.

This is our homework.

My yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

These words of Jesus conclude the passage from Matthew we just heard, and to my mind they embody a spiritual puzzle, or perhaps a sacred riddle.  Many years ago I used to practice a form of meditation from Zen Buddhism, I encountered some of that tradition’s spiritual puzzles, called koans. One koan has entered our popular culture: what is the sound of one hand clapping?

As a Christian practicing Zen meditation, I soon discovered Christian koans, spiritual puzzles embedded right within the texts of the Old and New Testaments.There’s a beautiful phrase from Psalm 85 which combines polar opposites: Mercy and truth have met together — justice and peace have kissed each other.

How can we show mercy if we’re intent on telling the truth of the human condition?

When we execute justice, it more often leads to privation than to peace. And yet: Mercy and truth have met together — justice and peace have kissed each other. Both have to be held in tension for authentic spiritual life in this world.

For two thousand years, Christians have been working out these tensions found in Jesus’s teachings, which are both puzzling and at the same time comforting. There is a yoke, and yet it’s easy. We carry a burden, and yet it is light.

We sometimes forget that Jesus was an observant Jew, and as such, he knew about how that tradition understood “burden.” I did a brief search and found three complementary views of the Jewish approach to carrying a burden.

The first is quite literal — the duty of the Levites to carry the parts of the Tabernacle placed on their shoulders. That physical act then served as a metaphor for the responsibilities that the Chosen People should be carrying.

The second is more cosmic, called “the Yoke of Heaven.” Each community member has a duty of perform the work of God in the present world. That work is both a honor and a challenge to perform. One Rabbi expressed it this way: “You are not required to do all of the work, but neither can you ignore it.”

And the third view of burden is personal and unique — that every person carries a hidden set of struggles within, with emotional and spiritual challenges. These include one’s regrets, memories of failure, doubts and one’s unmet goals.

One rabbi summed it up this way: “Be kind! Everyone carries a great burden.”

My yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

This word yoke — our minds understand it, but frankly we don’t see yokes daily unless you include the advertisement for the Wells Fargo wagon team. The function of a yoke is to harness divergent energies toward a single goal, and all human beings are living with multiple and overlapping duties.

All of us are members of several family systems, not the least of which is this church. We are living in the midst of tensions that sometimes threaten to tear us up. How do we say “no” to the earnest demands of people who have a claim on us, on our time, on our money, on our attention? because saying a “Yes” to something means saying many “No’s” to a lot of other people and possibilities.

Here’s how I work out this Christian meditation puzzle: say Yes to God first. Everything else — families of origin, families of choice, job tasks, and the rest: all these are secondary to our relationship with God, above all and within all.

All persons have burdens and yokes. Everyone is carrying a great unseen burden. But the burden of a Christian becomes easier the longer you carry it — just like dedicated athletes competing in their sport. Do they whine about pain? Instead of finding excuses, they’re relishing the competition and the goal.

St. Francis carried his burden in public, embracing Lady Poverty, and living simply. His Canticle of the Sun celebrated the beauty of all earth’s creatures, and he took seriously the lives of all God’s creatures around him. The discoveries of a person like Jane Goodall would not be news to him. It’s a joy to celebrate his feast day every year and share his vision of this world.

My yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

 

Today’s readings focus on the laws of man that continue the seemingly eternal divide between the rich and the poor. The private property rights that we have today came about as the result of our territorial nature, and the “civilization” that was supposed to stop, or at lease minimize, the physical fighting between us.

Now there’s nothing wrong with trying to create civility among people through the rule of law. Today’s governments that try to do so are more likely to serve more of their individual people’s needs that those of old.   

But, as Timothy points out, this “civilization” we have created has also caused people to “fall into temptation and [be] trapped by many senseless and harmful desired that plunge people into ruin and destruction.” For, as he says: “the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil, and in their eagerness to be rich some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pains.”

Thus, the rule of law that is imposed by people on other people has its flaws, primarily because, as the saying goes: “Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

In our so-called “Capitalist” country, money has come to spell power, and Timothy’s observations are as true today as they were then.

So, what are we Christians who want to follow our faith to do when our government leaders’ actions are out of sync with our Christian beliefs? We are not above the law, but want to live our Christian values.

In a prior Reflection, I addressed 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.

In that chapter, Paul is telling us to avoid the yoke of slavery to our sins, and embrace the liberty by which Christ has made us free.

The slavery he’s talking about is both our self-indulgences, and our becoming slaves to one another and the Old Testament’s Mosaic law. The freedom is found in loving our neighbors, because those who act as if they truly love their neighbors, have kept the law fully.

As written by one commentator: The Mosaic Law given by God emphasized salvation by merit, but Jesus put the emphasis on salvation by the grace of God, through faith in him. It is in concern for the well-being of the other person that the law is obeyed.

I respectfully submit, that Paul’s concise statement of “the law” says it all.

If we try to do for our neighbors as we would do for ourselves, we’re headed in the right direction. 

Paul also explained that “law was our custodian until Christ came, that we may be justifies by faith. But now that faith has come, we are no longer under a custodian; for in Christ Jesus you are all sons of God, through faith. For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ. There is neither Jew or Greek, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus. And if you are Christ’s then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to promise.” Galatians 3:24-29.

And if we expect to be able to love all others as ourselves, we need to be able to put ourselves in their shoes, so we can know how they see and do things. If we are “all one in Christ Jesus,” how can we say that their way of thinking and doing things is inherently wrong?

A wise person once said that the thing that keeps people in everlasting ignorance is contempt prior to investigation.  

In Paul’s time there were different peoples and countries, with different laws and customs. But he says that they were “all one in Jesus.”    

Paul’s simple “law” is obviously an ideal, and like many ideals very difficult for a whole people or country to implement in practice. But if we individually try to “act as if” we love our neighbors as ourselves, we are likely to experience the freedom in Christ that Paul talks about. And seeing our example, others may follow us.

The current chaos has us all anxious and angry, but I’ll bet that a lot of those National Guard personnel in Los Angeles are struggling to do their jobs, and at least some are succeeding in carrying out their difficult tasks humanely.

We can support their doing so by finding ways that demonstrate our love for them, notwithstanding our disagreement with their leaders’ orders and actions.

I’m also here to suggest that in today’s terms, loving our neighbors as ourselves can end up being in our own, enlightened, self-interest.

For many years I worked for the State going to court to collect taxes. The taxpayers inevitably had a different point of view than the one presented by the State, and our legal system provides laws and procedures for resolving those differences, using what’s called an adversary system; or in other words, a controlled battle of words.

Following the examples of some others who had been in our office longer than I had, I was taught to act with civility and not take advantage, by making sure that my opponents had the same access to records and other data as I had. It often paid off, with them reciprocating in whatever ways they could. We could shake hands after the Court’s decision, even though we may have disagreed with it. Also, they were easier to work with on other cases.

Like I said, enlightened self-interest.

In groups I attend we emphasize that accepting a bad situation does not mean that we endorse it. We also talk about detachment with love, which in my experience can be painful at the moment, but ultimately frees me from lasting resentlments.

It has been said that here at St. Alban’s we are practicing a 21^st Century version of First Century Christianity. We all try to “pitch in” to do what’s needed. That includes contributing both ourselves and our recourses. The outreach that supports is how we as a Church can love our neighbors as ourselves.

It’s been another week for rage and tears. The growing response to Charlie Kirk’s lamentable and horrific killing has devolved into political threats carried through against whomever the current administration doesn’t like. It’s not an exaggeration to say that one of our bedrock freedoms – the freedom of speech – is under siege. 

Let’s back up a minute. Are you in a church that is mostly progressive? Yes. So I just want to let you know that, in case you are new and wondering. We stand for the dignity of every human being and since Elizabethan times, back in England, we have affirmed the right of individuals to believe the way they want while also affirming the beauty of common prayer and gathering around a common altar. Our worship is both ancient and modern and personally, I am devoted to preaching from the scriptures without fear that it will look political – because often times it is political. 

The prophets and Jesus spoke to the conditions of their times without fear and without favor – and our church attempts to do the same. And it is not possible at this time in our national history to just tuck our head down and be quiet and still be true to our faith. And so church, this church, is a place for tears, for lament, and yes, for rage. 

There’s a young Episcopalian priest on Instagram, The Rev. Elizabeth Riley, who invites rage prayers – what do you need to scream at the universe about? 

She says that when we are terrified and in despair, we need to know we ar not alone and that prayer is a way in which we can be unified. It’s a way we can speak truth. And it takes so many forms. Words. Lighting candles. Marching in the streets, writing postcards, banner drops along freeway overpasses. So this morning, if you are despairing for the world like me, here is one of her prayers:

 

let us pray + 

Holy One, we see the pain and violence of the world, potential destruction and loss of life, the way in which we depart from love and peace towards hate and oppression and we fear for the world we find ourselves in, let us not make peace with this present, but continue to lift our voices in opposition, in truth – may we be loud where it is needed and gentle and comforting to those who are doing the hard and terrifying work of standing up to this incredibly deranged and oppressive power we find ourselves living in the midst of. 

May we find our way towards peace. May we not lose hope that we can be voices for change, May we be inspired to continue to fight and speak for those in harm’s way. and let us not believe that this is how it must be, because we know, we know that there is a better way than this hell. 

 

Lament is an art. It is a kind of praying that we have largely forgotten – that we are maybe embarrassed by or simply not familiar with – but it is a powerful form of prayer whether it is in words, in action, or in song. 

Jon Batiste, a Grammy award winning R&B and Soul singer composer instrumentalist, wrote a song called Cry, Cry, Cry, and it could be straight out of the prophet Jeremiah. 

 

Who do you love? 

Who you gonna love? 

Who do you love when push comes to shove? 

How does it feel? 

How’s it gonna feel? 

How does it feel when it’s getting too real? 

Why sometimes does it feel like all I wanna do 

All I wanna do is cry, cry, cry 

Cry, cry, cry 

Floods keep on rising 

Tears keep on falling down 

Oh, why? 

Cry 

Cry, cry, cry, cry 

For the loss of the innocence 

For the struggle of the immigrants 

For the wrongful imprisonment 

Cry, cry, cry 

 

Lament is for when hardship feels thick and hope seems desperately thin. Those times we all have. The doctor confirms your fears: the cancer has returned. Or your hope is crushed by the news of a miscarriage. For some of us, it’s rising to a new day only to be met by the dark and familiar clouds of depression. Or nationally: Charlie Kirk is murdered and social media and the White House kick into overdrive sowing further division between people and threatening one of the bedrock freedoms of our country: free speech. A shooting happens at Evergreen High School and is ignored by the same actors. Or internationally: the lack of any kind of restraint in the onslaught against Palestinian peoples. 

At least 40% of the psalms are filled with lament. There is an entire book of the Bible called Lamentations. Jesus was filled with deep lament for the same reason Jeremiah is: the inability or unwillingness of the people to come to grips with reality and change. 

Jesus is described as being so moved in his gut by lament that he wept over Jerusalem and the people who did not know what would bring them peace and consequentially were walking straight into disaster. 

And it’s not just Jesus or the prophets who weep – it is God as well. If you look at this lament from our first reading – it can be difficult to separate out which is Jeremiah’s voice and which is God’s. They are intertwined. 

 

My joy is gone, grief is upon me, 

my heart is sick. 

Hark, the cry of my poor people 

from far and wide in the land: 

For the hurt of my poor people I am hurt, 

I mourn, and dismay has taken hold of me. 

O that my head were a spring of water, 

and my eyes a fountain of tears, 

so that I might weep day and night 

for the slain of my poor people! 

 

We are, for the most part, really uncomfortable with grief. With genuine heartbrokenness. We want to move it along. We want to fix it. To do something practical and helpful. Something that will change the situation. 

But both prophets and psychologists invite us to allow ourselves space and time to grieve. To light a candle and offer prayers of rage and lament for truly lamentable situations. 

One of our modern ecological prophets, Joanna Macy, who died this past July at 92 years old, spoke about our need to acknowledge grief and lament – not to wallow in it, but because it is the natural flip side of love. She often said that love and lament are intimately connected, and if we want to have hearts that are not stone, but hearts of flesh, as God promises, then we must let the truth of suffering penetrate us. Our pain for the world to touch us. 

Church is a place we can do this. Where we can shed tears. Where we can give voice, alongside the prophets, to rage and lament. This is a place and a time in which our hearts can be warmed and revived so we don’t fall down in despair but move forward with greater resolve to stand up 

1. because we are Christian, for the value and dignity of every human being;

and 

2. because we are American, for the values of freedom of speech, freedom of assembly and freedom of religion. 

We began our service with the cleansing lament of confession that we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves or God with our whole hearts, and we have been absolved, released, redeemed, strengthened in goodness, readied to receive the blessed body and blood of Christ and to be sent into the world in peace and strength and courage. 

I just want to voice my own deep and profound gratitude for voices like Jeremiah’s, for the life and death and resurrection of Jesus, for the church, for you, for so many people of different faiths and of no faith, who courageously stand against oppressive powers on behalf of the suffering and for compassion and dignity and justice and all that is holy and blessed on this fragile and beautiful island home, our planet. 

Earlier this year, I started wearing hearing aids.  Of course, I didn’t I needed this expensive addition to my daily “wardrobe.”  The problem was that people were speaking too softly and too quickly.  And, if those British actors would learn to speak English, it would be much easier to hear them.

My hearing aids came with an app to put on my cell phone.  This application enables me to adjust my hearing aids to account for different situations.  The app also includes a way to track where your hearing aid is if you’ve misplaced it.

I’ve used that feature a number of times already.

If like me, you seem to be losing things more often, you may be re-assured by today’s Gospel reading about the lost sheep and the lost coin.

This theme of lost and found runs throughout Luke’s Gospel. 

Very early on in Luke’s Gospel, Zechariah loses his voice when he doubts that Elizabeth will bear a son.  Later on, Mary and Joseph lose the 12-year old Jesus when they travel to Jerusalem.

One of the most significant stories about loss is what we call the Parable of the Prodigal Son, which immediately follows today’s reading and is actually the conclusion to Jesus’ response to the Pharisees’ question. 

The noted New Testament scholar Amy-Jill Levine suggests that this is really a parable about TWO lost sons.  The younger son is lost, but he eventually returns – and is “found” by his father with great joy and celebration.  But while this younger prodigal son is away wasting his father’s inheritance, the father loses his elder son, failing to keep him in the flock, so to speak.

It’s tempting to push this metaphor of lost and found even further.  Zachaeus gets lost in the tree, for example, until Jesus spots him.  But let’s not get carried away with this literary device.

These stories in Luke highlight a second theme of the Gospel: counting carefully to make sure everything is where it should be – including where your heart is.

Another way to describe this counting is “paying attention” or “hearing the word.”

Luke’s extended parable of the Sower is the framework for understanding the entire gospel.  Luke, unlike Matthew and Mark, includes Jesus’ explanation of the parable.  In chapter 8, we read, “As for the seed in the good soil, these are the ones who, when they hear the word, hold it fast.”

A few verses later, Jesus says, “My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it.”

And Luke’s Gospel includes the memorable where Mary is praised for sitting at Jesus feet and listening to him.

Where these two themes come together is Jesus’ use of parables.

 Luke, the longest of the Gospels, has more parables than Mark and Luke, including the Parable of the Lost Sons as well as the Parable of the Good Samaritan.

Parables – like the two we have in today’s Gospel – weren’t usually explained or made into allegories.  Rather, they were meant to be puzzles or brain teasers.  And the puzzle didn’t have a single, coherent solution.  Rather, the listener was prodded – even provoked – to reflect on a question or quandary.

As Amy-Jill Levine, herself Jewish, says: “Jews never agree about anything.  We love to argue.”

If we listen to today’s two parables, we can certainly find something to argue about.

As with many of Jesus’ statements and actions, today’s parables are quite absurd.  Like healing a man on the Sabbath when waiting a day would have been no problem.  Or provocatively setting aside common sense table manners.

Just think.  What sheep owner in his right mind is really going to leave 99 sheep unattended?  And more to the point, a sheep owner is supposed to keep track of his sheep.  They are his livelihood.

And no woman would ever lose track of such a valuable coin.  Those coins were her future.  And she wouldn’t have wasted valuable resources on a big party.

But these parables prod us to pay attention, to think again, to let our hearts and minds be turned upside down.  If we listen carefully, we will find something new that will make all the difference.

What we find, I think, is that Jesus is the lost sheep.  Jesus is the lost coin.  Jesus is the lost traveler who ends up in the ditch.  And Jesus is the lost son.

In Luke’s Gospel, the women are the first to visit Jesus’ tomb after his crucifixion.  They find the tomb empty, and two men in dazzling white tell the terrified women, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?  He is not here.  Remember what he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, be crucified, and on the third day rise again.”

Today, like those women at the empty tomb, we are invited to hear and keep remembering the good news: Jesus, the lost son who gave his life for us, is welcomed by the Father.

And we are invited to the party, we are invited to live with joy, we live with hope because God keeps count, God doesn’t forget.

As we hear in Mary’s Song, from chapter 2: “For God remembered his promise of mercy, the promise he made to our fathers, to Abraham and his children forever.”

Hearing all of this together – with the Holy Spirit at full steam during this season of Pentecost – we are given the faith to trust that promise of mercy.

In the second half of Luke’s Gospel, which we know as the Acts of the Apostles, the Pentecost story reminds us that the Holy Spirit does her best work when we are gathered together. 

That’s especially good news for people like me who don’t listen very well and don’t pay attention.  But I suspect all of us are having trouble hearing right now.  We are overwhelmed by negative noise, we are beside ourselves with worry about what’s happening to our country, and we are haunted by the silence of hopeful voices.

Being here with each other, all of us listening together, keeps our hearts and minds focused on our shared faith in God’s mercy.

In our Morning Prayer sessions each Thursday on Zoom, we pray together the Song of Mary.  Near the end, we also pray the Suffrages.  There are two beautiful versions of these Suffrages, but I especially like Suffrage B.

So, we – who, like the lost sheep and the lost coin, have been found by the Good Shepherd who gave his life for us – pray together the last two versicles and responses:

 

          V: Lord, show us your love and mercy;

          R: For we put our trust in you.

          V: In you, Lord, is our hope;

          R: And we shall never hope in vain.  Amen.