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In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw that it was good.

Good is an interesting word here. The Hebrew here can mean other things. Another word could be “beauty” or beautiful. And God saw that it was beautiful. I remember in seminary I had a professor that says beauty can change the world. We like beautiful things, beautiful places. Creation is beautiful. God who created the heavens and the earth the “cosmos” which again at root means beauty. Just think of the word cosmetics.

St. Francis had an interesting life. He loved creation and we say that in the canticle we will say together today before we bless the animals. We see that when we sing the hymn with the words of his famous prayer. Francis struggled with the notion was he to be a contemplative or a preacher, but his friends helped convince him we needed to hear his message. But today as we look at our furry friends and walk out looking at the creation, we love whether the high tree canopy of the neighborhood to the hills above us to the bay below us we are reminded.

Today, I thought I would paint a picture of what Franciscan spirituality looks like. For many we think of creation again, but another hallmark was poverty and simplicity. Among the saints St. Francis was constantly reminded to lighten up because he was very hard on the vow of poverty amongst his friars. What is it in your life do you do that might seem to be a luxury. What do you waste your money on. I am not suggesting we need to claim lady poverty, but it is a good reminder that there are better uses of our resources.

So I am going to give you four hallmark points for you to think about in your spiritual life.  These four hallmarks we are invited to contemplate and what you contemplate can change frequently depending on how you feel.

1. Gratitude and beauty. What is it you are thankful? What is giving you life? Where do you see beauty? What brings you joy? How do you express that joy?
2. For some we are in pain. We are walking around wounded. I don’t mean physically; I mean spiritually and emotionally. During the pandemic, for some they felt more isolated than ever. They joined the great resignation, feeling burned out from their jobs, they experienced grief and loss. Some lost people were not able to have the closure they were looking for. On top of that there became divisive political issues that fragmented relationships with friends and families, and it still continues.  If you are one of these people today, I want you to look around the room. And realize you are not alone. There is still a community, a community that communes together and, in that communion, we believe we have the communion of saints of those who have gone before us, those mothers, fathers, grandparents and many generations. We have a God who loves us and a Christ who promises to give us rest.
3. In Franciscan spirituality rest is not merely sabbath. When you are tired it is about reengaging and looking new. Point number three to look at the water from new lenses. When we look at something with new eyes, we become renewed refreshes and we reengage in different ways. What is it do you reexamine? What is it the waters of baptism call you to in renewal?
4. To go forth. We are a people challenged to spread the gospel. Francis believed in preaching the Gospel. Contemplation leaves to action? What is God calling you to do? What are the actions you are being sent out of these walls to do or even within the walls? How is what you are going to do make a difference and feed your soul? What do you need to feel empowered to move forward. What is that hunger or that thirst that you are ready simply to be released on?

Moving in action can be scary.  I am going to leave you with a story about St. Francis. St. Francis did many things and met many people, but his fear was people of leprosy. He would do everything he could to avoid being near them. One day he met a person with leprosy, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Rather than walk away, he engaged. He realized he needed to face his fear so he not only walked up to the leopard, but he hugged and kissed them on the cheek. That action allowed him to see another person who was a child of God. It allowed him to finally realize with God he had nothing to fear.

Let us pray with a prayer from St. Francis and a moment of praise:

 

You are holy, Lord, the only God, and your deeds are wonderful.

You are strong.

You are great.

You are the Most High, You are almighty.

You, holy Father, are King of heaven and earth.

You are Three and One, Lord God, all good.

You are Good, all Good, supreme Good, Lord God, living and true.

You are love, You are wisdom.

You are humility, You are endurance.

You are rest, You are peace.

You are joy and gladness.

You are justice and moderation.

You are all our riches, And you suffice for us.

You are beauty.

You are gentleness.

You are our protector,

You are our guardian and defender.

You are courage.

You are our haven and our hope.

You are our faith, Our great consolation.

You are our eternal life, Great and wonderful Lord, God almighty, Merciful Savior.

Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

September 11, 2022 ● St. Alban’s Episcopal Church ● Albany, California
Exodus 32:7-14
Psalm 51:1-11
1 Timothy 1:12-17
LUKE 15:1-10

I imagine we were all disappointed last Sunday when Father Jim, in his
sermon, talked about stained glass rather than about the penultimate line of the
Gospel appointed for last Sunday, Luke 14: 33: “So therefore none of you can become
my disciples if you do not give up all your possessions.
Okay, probably not. Even though some of us keep telling ourselves, “Today,
I’m going to get started on decluttering.”
But that verse from last Sunday’s Gospel sets the context for today’s Gospel:
chapter 15 of Luke for the Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost. The audience for
today’s reading is, on the one hand tax collectors and sinners and, on the other hand,
the Pharisees and scribes. In the next chapter, Jesus criticizes the Pharisees because
they love money. They’re not giving up their possessions to follow Jesus.
In fact, Luke’s Gospel is filthy with rich people and those focused on money and
possessions. In 12, we have the “build lots of barns” guy. In chapter 16, we’ll hear
about the dishonest manager who steals from his master. Of course, there follows the
story of the rich man and Lazarus.

Back to our Gospel reading in chapter 15, we hear three parables
about rich individuals: a sheep owner, a woman with coins, and –
following the two parables we hear today – a wealthy landowner
with two sons.

The first parable is about a sheep owner. He is not a shepherd, one lowest
occupations in ancient Palestine. And he owns a hundred sheep. The woman has ten
silver coins; she’s clearly not a peasant.

What is notable is that these wealthy people are careless. Each of them has lost
something of value. Thus, in one sense, they are sinners. The sheep isn’t a sinner; he
was doing what sheep do, which is wander. And a coin certainly isn’t intrinsically
bad.

Today, we are invited to confess that we too have lost something, that
we’ve let our own worries and cares distract us. We’ve let some
important people and events in our lives fade into the background.
We may not consider ourselves wealthy, but we have immense social capital.
We are well educated, and we work hard to have some level of financial security.
Perhaps you exercise so you don’t lose the ability to get around and function. Many
of us make lists and do other things to stay organized and remember as much as
possible.

Yet, all our efforts – financial, physical, and mental – come up short. No
matter how hard we try, things don’t work out. Even in the best of circumstances, we
lose our friends, we lose our health, and we lose our connection to God. The New
Testament calls this sin: sin is not what we do or don’t do, but rather who we are,
despite our best efforts.

The introduction to our reading pulls us back from dwelling on our lost-ness,
our carelessness, and our foolishness. The good news for us today is, “This fellow
welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

Throughout Luke’s Gospel, that is exactly what Jesus does:
welcomes sinners. He doesn’t berate them or criticize them. He
doesn’t even ask them to shape up and turn from their ways.
What Jesus does do is eat with sinners, including us today. And this is not
some mid-morning snack, but almost always a feast or banquet. A big celebration
just like the ones in today’s Gospel reading.

Significantly, during and after those celebrations, those who are welcomed by
Jesus do some extraordinary things. Levi – or Matthew, the tax collector – follows
Jesus. Zacchaeus, another tax collector, decides to give away half of all his
belongings, and Jesus announces that “Today, salvation has come to this house.”
For Luke, repentance is what follows being welcomed by Jesus.
It’s what happens after we have tasted the feast of God’s mercy
and forgiveness.

So, as we return to today’s two parables, we see that the rejoicing is not because
sheep have stopped wandering or because a coin suddenly shows itself. The rejoicing
– the celebration – is because the person who lost something has found it.
Today, the promise is that if you follow Jesus – join him in eating and
celebrating with others and listening to his words – then you will be able to turn away
from your own troubles and concerns. In fact, you will repent – you will turn around
and then you will notice all the other sheep that have been gathered together, all the
others who have been invited to this banquet.
A recent New York Times story reported that seemingly small acts of kindness
had a surprisingly large impact. Offering someone a compliment or a cupcake, for
example. Consistently, those who made those acts of kindness under-estimated how
much a difference their gesture would make.

Even more surprising, the act of kindness gave both the giver and the recipient
a change in perspective. Some of the concerns and problems they were facing
suddenly seemed less daunting.

That’s the kindness we are being offered in today’s Gospel and in our praying
and singing together. We may not always be able to feast on bread and wine.

And,these days, that bread is a brittle wafer. But whenever we gather, Jesus is in the
midst of us, and we can taste that life-saving bread and wine.
And so this little moment in time we share today becomes a feast
of joy in our lives. We are welcomed into a new reality with new
possibilities.

Our experience today is so transformative – so eternal, if you will – because it
is the welcome that Jesus on the cross speaks to the thief. Jesus doesn’t condemn the
thief for his life. He doesn’t say, “Well, guy, you’re getting what you deserve.” No,
Jesus says, “Today, you will be with me in paradise.” Those are the green pastures
where sheep can graze.

In a real sense, Jesus is the one who finds us, goes after us, searches for us,
and meets us on the road. In fact, Jesus goes to the Cross to find us. Jesus goes with
us into our death – first of all in our baptism as we are buried with Christ and raised
with Christ, then every day as we re-live our baptism, and finally in our own ultimate
death. We follow Jesus, but Jesus also follows us.

Yes, we have lost so much in so many ways. But today, we are invited to
celebrate that we have been found. We have been welcomed. Let us feast together on
the Scriptures, find each other in prayer, and sing songs of rejoicing. Amen.

August 7, 2022
St. Alban’s Church
Pastor Jim Stickney
Ninth Sunday after Pentecost
Genesis 15: 1 – 6
Psalm 33: 12 – 22
Hebrews 11: 1 – 3; 8 – 16
Luke 12: 32 – 40

Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

I’d like to start this sermon with a story about a thief who came in the night.
This story comes from a period in the early church when monks lived in rustic caves.
One night a monk came back from a Tenebrae service to find a thief rushing out
with his arms filled with food. As the robber stumbled in the darkness, the monk noticed
the thief had dropped some loaves of bread. So the monk picked them up
and rushed out after the thief, crying, “My brother, make room for these as well!”

Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Our reading from Hebrews tells us that it is by faith we come to understand that this world
is created by the word of God, so that things we see come from what is unseen.
What we see came from what we do not see. When we look around at the world’s beauty,
we can trace its origins back to what we do not see, an even more beautiful Word —
God’s Logos, existing from before time and forever. But we only know this by faith.

I don’t think faith is simple. Living a life based on faith in the unseen — it can be tough.
A colleague of mine once preached a sermon in which he let the people know
that he never had any had doubts about faith in his entire life (he was in his mid-30’s).
I’ve never forgotten it — nor the reaction of some parishioners who became upset.

Here’s a brief summary: “Well, I have plenty of doubts! I look around at this world’s suffering
and I think, that makes no sense if God is all-loving.” “Maybe there is no God —
maybe life is just a random arrangement of elements from some primordial soup.”
“This is grim — now my preacher is telling me he never has any doubts at all —
maybe I don’t belong here in church — maybe I’m really a hypocrite and should just leave.”

Well — I ‘m not taking that approach. In fact, I respect the power of doubting.
Faith is good, but it’s doubt that gets you an education! Think about parents teasing children
by presenting nonsense explanations, just so their kids can say “you’re being silly.”
Faith and doubt are like partners in authentic search for the truth — each needs the other.

If you believe everything you hear, you’re naive. (So don’t believe everything you think.)
If you doubt everything you hear, you’re a cynic, not trusting any wisdom tradition.
The opposite of faith is not doubt — the opposite of faith is knowing for sure — certitude!
Especially as authentic Anglicans, we respect ambiguity. Faith in dancing with doubt!
After a memorial service several years ago, one of the family told me
that when she was a teenager, living in rural Clayton, she’d ride her horse to church!
She’d sit toward the back and keep an eye on it, tied to a fence outside the window.
She didn’t have to believe in her horse — she could just look at it outside the window.
You don’t need to believe in the vehicle that brought you to church this morning —
it’s a certainty that it brought you here. You have a reasonable faith that vehicle
will take you back after church. Certitude is about the past, but faith is for the future.

Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Does our Gospel passage today help us find the kind of faith we need to follow God?
What kind of an example does Jesus give us? Well, at first, it seems our faith
is supposed to resemble the faith of servants in a lord and master who is absent —
he’s at a elaborate wedding feast, and we’re supposed to wait up for him
so that when he finally gets home, we can open the door to him, ready and alert.
If we’re faithful, he’ll reverse roles and wait on us — no matter how late it is.

But then we have one of those twists we’ve learned to expect from Jesus’s teaching.
God’s arrival is now compared to a thief in the night. The householder doesn’t know
just when the thief might strike. If we follow this image out, then a break-in is inevitable.
No householder can stay up all the time. God is going to break through the barriers.

So I’m going to take this parable in a rather different direction today. We can admit
that all of us have some protection around our vulnerable selves. We realize this
when our phone rings and it’s someone on the other end who wants to sell us something.
It’s quite an effort to be civil and polite. We all have barriers about our money.
Even for something we choose to support, like the church we love, we have barriers —
if there were no barriers about money, we wouldn’t need an annual pledge campaign.

So how are we to keep our faith, if God sometimes act like a thief in the night? Just this —
God only steals from us the things we really don’t need — God leaves us the
essentials.

God asks us to have faith, despite all the temporary setbacks in our best-laid plans.
God takes away the scaffolding, to reveal that our souls can stand upright on our own.

I’d like to end this sermon with another story about a thief in the night.
This story comes from the Japanese tradition of Zen Buddhism. There’s a full moon out,
and a Zen monk leaves his hut to walk outside and contemplate the night sky.
When he gets back to his hut, he finds that everything in it has been stolen. So he sits down,
thinks about the thief, and says, “I wish I could give him this beautiful moon.”

Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

The Eighth Sunday After Pentecost

July 31, 2022

 

Good morning.

 

I looked at the readings earlier this week and the reflection was at the back of my mind for most of the week.  Getting caught in the midst of a laundry list of work and home tasks that seemed to take up the majority of my brain space.  I took a little time Friday to read the lessons again realizing that Sunday was quickly creeping up on me.  And then I went about my day and got caught up in the news and the billion dollar mega million jackpot drawing that was approaching that evening.  I had told a number of people the evening before that if they were going to buy a ticket to just buy one cause statistically it was all the same and it didn’t matter the number of tickets that were bought – the one lesson from my Statistics class years ago that really stuck with me – well it gets more complicated if you keep the same numbers over the course of different drawings – but I digress…

 

Anyways, as I

was driving to dinner I took a detour and decided to try my luck and buy just one ticket.  As I continued on my way I began to think about what I would do if I won – pay off the mortgage on my condo on my sister’s house…go on vacation…set up a foundation…there were a lot of different things. And at dinner my cousin and I – cause she had also bought a few mega million lotto tickets talked about what we would do if we won. If you’ve kept tabs on the news, needless to say neither one of us won – there is an individual or maybe group of people in Illinois who may be rejoicing in their luck and the wealth coming to them.

 

And since you’ve just heard the readings, maybe you can also sense where my reflection ended up taking me on Saturday.  Despite having sat on the readings and thinking about the message of not seeking wealth and that material things were not true treasures – I still fell into the lure of wealth and admit that yes it was greed as well that existed there.  I had my seemingly good intentions of setting up ways to give some of the winnings away, however gaining wealth and treasures for myself was still at the forefront.  It is an easy trap to fall into, one that advertising and consumerism plays into so much.

 

It felt a bit like I was living out the reading in real time this week – maybe not literally – however almost in spirit – “The more I called them, the more they went from me”

 

Despite having God’s words and teachings in the background and in theory being more focused on them than usual – since I knew I had to reflect on them – I still managed to not hear them.  A healthy reminder that although the words and lessons from the Bible may be outdated in the literal translation, they are still accurate in the spirit of what still drives us humans to this day. We have the benefit of coming together to reflect though, to be able whether daily, weekly, monthly or when our need is greatest to call to God and have faith that we will be delivered from our distress.

 

Although we may not literally be delivered from our immediate distress at least we have the opportunities to constantly reflect on how our daily lives live out the Lord’s teachings.  And how we have the daily opportunities then, to try and listen a little harder each day even if we falter, because we will.  At least we know that in the larger scheme of things we can begin to recognize in our own behaviors the lessons we continue to try and learn.

 

So although I will not say that I will never buy another lotto ticket, I can say that I will continue to try and listen to the Lord’s call and strive for a life that seeks to put at its center the values of what’s above – in God’s love and mercy – and not on the earthly material things that will not follow.  Amen.

Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

St. Alban’s Episcopal Church ● Albany, California ● July 24, 2022

Genesis 18:20-31

Psalm 138:5-9

Colossians 2:6-15

LUKE 1:1-13

 

Forgive me if I repeat what some of you may have heard before.  About ten years ago, I found myself walking from our long-time home on the corner of Dartmouth and Stannage to St. Alban’s.  My father had died a few weeks earlier in August, and I couldn’t face another fall at University Lutheran Chapel.  I didn’t have the emotional fortitude for all the excitement and creativity of campus ministry.  I just wanted to sing some hymns and recite the creed.

 

So, I came to St. Alban’s for the hymns, but I’ve stayed because of the prayers.  

 

In my early Sundays here, I was startled when during the Prayers of the People, the people actually offered intercessions – lots of them about lots of family members, friends, and events.  Each intercession was followed by “Amen.”

 

And then, after I thought the service was over, there took place one of the wackiest activities I’ve ever seen in a church.  People actually came forward and asked for personal blessings for themselves and their loved ones.  Then, we enthusiastically prayed the prayers from the Prayer Book.

 

It’s also unbelievable to me that a half dozen of us – and there’s room for more! – have faithfully met for 20 to 30 minutes every Thursday morning for the last five years.  We follow the Morning Prayer service in the Book of Common Prayer, and we pray the collect for the saint or person who is commemorated that day or week.  

 

The disciples in today’s Gospel reading were a lot like us St. Albanites.  As good Jewish men, they knew many prayers and had plenty of practice praying.  Apparently, some of them had been taught to pray by John the Baptist.  Over the years, they would have heard prayers in their homes, synagogues, and the Temple.  Those would be prayers to God the father, and they would certainly hollow or revere the divine name: YHWH, the four letters that stood for the unspoken name of God who told Abraham, “I am who I am.”  And, of course, they had the Psalms, a collection of 150 prayers.

 

Yet in today’s Gospel, the disciples ask Jesus, “Lord, teach us to pray.”

 

Today, we are invited to listen in on this conversation between Jesus and his disciples.  The promise is that we, too, might learn how our prayers can transform our lives today.

 

In response to the disciples’ request, Jesus offers a few sentences we have come to know as the Lord’s Prayer.  In Matthew’s Gospel, this prayer has a few extra words and concludes with an additional petition to “rescue us from the evil one.”  The Didache, a very early Christian handbook, has a version of the prayer even closer to the one we pray today, and it includes the doxology.

 

Unique to Luke, though, is that this prayer is followed by the parable of the friend who knocks persistently on the door of his friend to ask for bread to feed another friend who has come in the middle of the night.

 

To make sense of all this, we should stop and ask why, at this point in Luke’s Gospel, the disciples are asking that question.  

 

Luke’s account of Jesus’ life was written at the end of the first century, at least 50 years after Jesus’ death.  You’ll recall it is the first part of a two-part narrative, with the Acts of the Apostles being the second part.

 

When we read much of Acts in our Easter season, I was struck that there’s a whole lot of baptizing going on.  The Ethiopian eunuch and the jailer and his family are just two of many examples.  Then, as I was reading today’s verses, it occurred to me that Luke’s Gospel was written to help early Christians – who, like those in Acts, were being baptized into the faith – to live into their baptism.

 

In our second reading for today, from Colossians, we hear what’s at stake in our baptism: “when you were buried with him in baptism, you were also raised with him through faith in the power of God…God made you alive together with him.”

 

Luke’s Gospel suggests that disciples – including us today – live out our baptism when we follow Jesus on his journey.  More so than in the other Gospels, Jesus is on the road traveling all over the place.  He stops along the way to heal and preach, often telling parables.  As we’ve noted in the past, he does a lot of eating.  Often, he’s associating with women, tax collectors, and others who were on the margins of society.

 

The other notable activity in Luke’s Gospel is Jesus at prayer.  In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus prays at his baptism.  Often, he goes off to pray by himself.  In chapter 6, he spends the entire night in prayer.  And, of course, he prays in the Garden of Gethsemane before his crucifixion.

 

It’s striking, too, that Luke’s Gospel ends with the disciples in the Temple praying after Jesus’ resurrection.

 

Today’s Gospel reading takes on even greater significance because, just a few verses ago, at the end of chapter nine, Jesus’ journey takes an important turn.  It says that “Jesus set his face toward Jerusalem.”  And, just to make sure the disciples understand what’s up, Jesus predicts that he will be rejected and put to death.

 

No wonder, then, the disciples ask Jesus to teach them to pray.

 

So, what is that we learn about prayer that is powerful enough to overcome rejection and death?

First, today’s reading encourages us to pray repeatedly: “When you pray – whenever you pray” this is the prayer that is the framework and model for all our prayers.  

 

Second, this prayer is about our very existence: the bread that sustains us, the food – and everything else – that nourishes us.  You’ll recall that, just before Jesus sets his face to Jerusalem, he fed the multitudes with the five loaves and two fishes.  As down-to-earth as this petition is, it would have also been as reminder to Luke’s readers that their prayers are part of the messianic banquet, the Eucharist they celebrated each Sunday.

 

Third, we are encouraged to pray together.  The “you” here is plural.  Our prayers are always communal, and the most effective prayers are those offered for us by others.  And that’s why we have the parable of the persistent friend.

 

In this little puzzle of a parable, there are so many friends; everyone is a friend of everyone else.  That’s the point of friendship, isn’t it?  You can’t say no.

 

To be sure, we often fail as friends.  At times, even our friends’ persistence fails to persuade us.  We can’t escape the judgment implicit in today’s reading: as parents – and as friends – we are evil.  And for some of us our prayers – our knocking persistently on God’s door – takes place in the dark night of our souls.  In the confusion of our daily lives or sometimes in our despair, we are tempted to give up, just as we are tempted not to respond when our friends appeal to us.

 

But Luke’s parable suggests that – despite these temptations, despite those dark nights, despite our fear that God is not listening – we are praying as part of an amazing friendship circle.

 

Finally, what makes this prayer circle so powerful is that we are praying with Jesus.  Our prayers get special hearing because they are the prayers of Jesus on our behalf.  

 

Once again, our reading from Colossians may say this best: “As you have received Christ Jesus the Lord, continue to live in him, rooted and built up in him and established in faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.”

 

Throughout his Gospel, Luke invites us to go back in time and follow Jesus during his life all those years ago.  At the same time, though, Luke proclaims the good news that the Jesus who is doing all this healing, teaching, and feeding is the Risen Christ present among us right now.  As was the case for the disciples on the road to Emmaus, this Risen Christ is here among us as we pray over the bread that sustains our bodies and our spirit.

 

Let us continue to pray with this Risen Christ and with each other.  Amen.

Reflection for May 1, 2022 

Third Sunday after Easter 

Lawrence DiCostanzo 

Acts 9:1-6, 7-20 

Revelation 5:11-14 

John 21:1-19 

Psalm 30 

It is hard to believe and I can hardly believe it, but this is my 18threflection since early 2020. Thank you so much for this privilege. I love to do it, and I appreciate your trust. 

Today, the Gospel passage is packed with messages. My connection to it began in 1949 when our parents gave me and my brother a skinny child’s book called “The Easter Story.” I still have it. There is one story and one 

picture in the book that have always, always lived with me. This is the story and picture of a young and slim and elegant Jesus on the beach cooking fish. I don’t know why this image has stayed with me since childhood. But now I think that the memory of the story and picture are really, quite simply, a 

grace. 

Today’s Gospel passage has Jesus cooking on the beach. The passage is part of what is called the appendix to John’s Gospel. But I think that the passage is actually an extremely important capstone to the Gospel. And I’m really glad that it got tacked on so long ago. For one thing, it is the third and last time Jesus appears to his disciples after his resurrection. And three seems a special number. For another, food features in it just as food features strongly in all of the Gospels, just as it features strongly in our lives and in our liturgy. 

Eating the bread and fish that Jesus cooked on the shore of Lake Tiberias (which is more familiar to us as the Sea of Galilee) and sitting around with him and your friends must have been a relaxed and happy time for Peter and the disciples who had joined him when he went back to fishing. They knew that the man on the shore was the Lord, and they knew that the last time they had eaten with him was on the night before his passion and death. By contrast with the Last Supper, how peaceful this meal on the beach must have been. I think back to the fires on the beach in my childhood and to how meals on the sand were part of our summer life. Even today we can

appreciate this meal on the shores of the Sea of Galilee because eating in company is one of the most beautiful things of life. 

In contrast to the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, John’s story of the Last Supper before Jesus’ passion and death does not narrate the institution of the Eucharist. John has very long chapters on the Last Supper. And they contain a lot, but they do not contain the Eucharist. (John 13 – 17) 

But I think that this meal on the beach is John’s own special narration of the institution of the Eucharist. John tells about it through the power of a story that resonates with our daily lives. 

I have two reasons for saying that John is talking about the Eucharist in this story. 

The first is that Jesus’ love for these companions is so evident because he goes to where they are and he feeds them. He actually does the cooking. This is a communion of love. 

The second reason is that Jesus sends these guys forth into the post-Easter future. So, this is a passage about “going forth” and being “sent forth” just as we are sent and go forth after the Eucharist. 

Let’s think about the first reason, the love in this story. If you are like me, you hear all the time that God loves you. But you really want to know how this love comes into your heart, how you feel it, how you visualize it. 

In John’s Gospel, Jesus says a couple of important things about love at the Last Supper. He says that the greatest love is to lay down one’s life for his friends. (16:12) And, in fact, this is what Jesus is about to do. But Jesus goes on very nicely to talk about “friends.” And an important part of what 

he says is “You are my friends . . . I shall not call you servants anymore.” (16:13) In the prayer that closes the Last Supper scene, Jesus says that he prays for everyone who hears the Word – that’s us – and he says, “May they all be one, Father, may they all be one in us, as you are in me and I in you.” (18:20-21) 

Jesus is saying that we are his friends. And as we gather together in this Christian enterprise, if you will, we actually can identify with Jesus. He

makes an effort to get this point across because, at the Last Supper, he also says that he is the vine and we are the branches. (15: 5) 

This is a true friendship that is manifested in the quiet of the companionship of the meal on the beach. It is a kind of friendship that is close and intimate. We can say, metaphorically, to Jesus around the fire, “Would you mind passing me a little more bread?” 

This is love and friendship that is a Eucharist. We participate in it most mindfully and sacredly in the Communion service. But we also participate in it when we have a meal together. This is peace mixed with love, love mixed with peace, as we metaphorically eat on the beach. As Jesus also said at the Last Supper, “My peace I give you; my peace I leave with you.” (14:27) 

So, don’t be afraid of Our Lord. He is not distant. He is your friend. And he manifests as your friend in your heart, in the liturgy, and in scripture. 

I said that the Eucharist narrative here includes both love and a going forth and sending forth. So, how about the going forth? 

In today’s Gospel, Jesus has a conversation with Peter. I think that Peter is one of the most attractive characters in the Gospels. He says: “Be quiet, Jesus, don’t talk about crucifixion.” And then Jesus scolds him. Matt. 16: 22 – 23) He says: “I’ll never betray you.” And then he does. (Mark 14: 72) He says: “Don’t you wash my feet, Lord.” And then, after Jesus takes this as a teaching moment, he says: “Wash all of me!” (John 13: 6 – 9) He is the guy who jumps out of the boat to swim to Jesus on the shore. (John 21: 7) And he is the guy who jumps out of another boat to walk to Jesus on the water. (Matt. 14: 28 – 29) 

There is a lot of Peter in all of us. And through Peter, we receive the “sending forth” of this Eucharistic moment. Three times, Jesus says to him: “Feed my lambs.” This is a kind of sending forth summarized in what we call the post-communion prayer which closes with the words: “Send us now into the world in peace, and grant us strength and courage to love and serve you with gladness and singleness of heart.” In our dual Christian identity of lamb and feeder of lambs, we do our best in the world to be loved and to love others.

So, we have a meal on the beach that is a communion of love and we have a sending forth. Now, how about the somber way in which this Gospel passage closes? The chilling prediction of Peter’s martyrdom? Well, let’s hope none of us gets martyred or has to face the ultimate cost of discipleship. But we all know that the world is not a great place in many, many, many respects – war, famine, the political power of money, and so forth. And we know that we and other persons suffer greatly or even a little. We are all sometimes taken to a place where we do not want to go – illness, the troubles of our children, helplessness, the fear of war, and so forth. 

How do we respond to this uneasy tension between the victory of Jesus’ resurrection and the defeats we see all around us? Well, here is where the Eucharistic moment comes to help us. Here is where we keep going back to the beach and keep being sent forth — over and over and over. This is where the Eucharist and Eucharistic moments of love give us each other and give us joy. 

So, my last question today, how does joy work? Tish Harrison Warren is the New York Times’ opinion writer on religion. She is a Christian. And she has recently written very well and succinctly about joy. I’m going to quote some of what she wrote last Sunday, April 24. 

Joy . . . does not refuse to face grief or sorrow. But it does say that they are not all there is and that they are not all that needs to be faced. . . . This means that death is real, but there’s something greater than death. Injustice is real, but it’s not the end of the story. Heartbreak is real, but it gives way to redemption. Suf ering is real, but it cannot erase beauty. 

Let’s go to the beach, everybody, in this Easter season. “Hey, Jesus, can I have another beer?” 

Thank you and Amen

St. Alban’s Church  

Acts 9: 36 – 43 

May 8, 2022 Psalm 23 

Fourth Sunday of Easter Revelation 7: 9 – 17 

Pastor Jim Stickney John 10: 22 – 30 

My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they  follow me. 

Our Psalm for today is the 23rd Psalm, perhaps the most  famous of the Psalms. It evokes images of the boy David,  who was taken from tending sheep to be King. We find comforting images, the table of feasting spread  despite the presence of troublemakers, the sense of being  guided to green pastures and still waters, and especially  the promise of God’s being with us when we walk in  death’s valley. 

In the tenth chapter of the Gospel of John, we hear Jesus  spelling out in some detail what this image of the good  shepherd really means — putting one’s life on the line for  the sake of the sheep, standing up to the wolves who are  prowling as the flock journeys safely through the valley of  the shadow of death. 

In this tenth chapter of John’s Gospel, Jesus tries to  reassure anxious people that he is on the lookout for them  even as they impatiently wait for further clarity. Jesus  declares that he knows his sheep, and they know his  unique voice.

My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they  follow me. 

In a spiritual sense, those who listened to Jesus felt the  frustration of not knowing whether or not He was their  long-awaited Messiah. He kept things vague. Jesus’  listeners want him to state right out whether or not he is  the Messiah! They are frustrated that Jesus is waiting for  what he calls “his hour”. Like us, they want clarity. And  like us, they cope with not-knowing, with suspense. 

To help his hearers, and us, to be patient with ambiguity  and suspense, Jesus uses the image of the Good Shepherd,  with the idea of caring for the flock. The prayer composed  for this Sunday gives a clear summary of the theme: 

“O God, whose Son Jesus is the good shepherd of your  people, grant that when we hear his voice we may know  him who calls us each by name, and follow where he  leads….” [Book of Common Prayer, p. 225]. 

Amidst this talk of sheep and shepherd, I recall a very  earthy reflection I heard from a fellow seminarian from  the great state of Montana. He told us that the sheep not  only know the distinct voice of their shepherd, but that the sheep also know the shepherd’s smell. He or she smells  “sheepy”, like them! Can we imagine things being just that  intimate between us and God?

My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they  follow me. 

Do we really believe that the Creator of all that exists, the  Uncreated One, beyond all human projection and imaging,  the One who’s simple “Let there be!” initiated the Big Bang  or the Seven Days or whatever creation story we use — could that infinitely powerful God take the time and care  to know me, and to love me? 

Some of us have powerful imaginations, and can take the  idea of “infinity” and understand that such a divine power  is boundless, and not limited by space-time. But others  among us need a more human way of understanding God’s  love — and so we have the Word of God, the Logos, the  Wisdom of God, Sophia, born among us, living among us,  dying at human hands, and rising for us. 

Most of us know that there are many millions of Christians  around the world who call themselves “Orthodox”. They  are located mostly in the East, in the countries of Greece  and Russia and Ukraine and in other Eastern countries. 

When the Orthodox explain how Christ Jesus relates to  human beings, they are rather bolder than most Anglicans  or Roman Catholics. They can say 

Christ Jesus became as we are, so that we might  become as He is.

They speak freely of the divinization of our humanity.  What does “divinization” mean? Just this: By following  Christ’s teachings and example, we participate in divinity. But Jesus does not leave it at that. Following Christ cannot  be just about our own souls. He says, I have other sheep  who do not belong to this fold. Who is Jesus talking  about? Jesus means other people, those not in this flock of  his Christian followers. 

One of the Archbishops of Canterbury declared that the  Christian church is the only organization that exists for the  benefit of those who are not its members. I pray that we  can always support those in the church who turn our  attention to those who do not yet know, or have forgotten,  the shepherding truth of God’s love. 

My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they  follow me.