Showing posts with label vulnerability. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vulnerability. Show all posts

Thursday, December 20, 2018

Sermon: Wilderness Transformation

image: Pixabay, creative commons

Second Sunday of Advent, Year C
The Rev. Vicki K. Hesse,
Director of the Whitaker Institute,
Episcopal Diocese of Michigan
St. John’s Episcopal Church, Westland, MI
Sermon Preached on December 9, 2018

Good morning.  My name is Rev. Vicki Hesse.
I was last here mid-July,
when the weather was, ahem, a little sunnier!
As you may know, I serve the Diocese as the Director of the Whitaker Institute.
The Whitaker Institute is the educational arm of the Diocese.
Ask: Who here has taken a class from the Whitaker Institute? 

Our overall purpose is (slowly)
to form disciples to carry on the ministry of Jesus Christ.
(that’s a big mission, but we have a big God!)
We do this through about a dozen Dio-wide programs.

Three programs you may know include:
Safe Church courses (new curriculum, new policies),
“Academy for Vocational Leadership,”
a local school for ministry and
“Exploring Your Spiritual Journey,” aka EYSJ,
a program for anyone (lay or called to ordination)
to learn how God is calling.
So, thank you, St. John’s for your warm welcome today
Now we gather our minds and hearts
and breathe into this space
as we reflect on our gospel message today.

O Lord, take my lips and speak through them;
take our minds and think through them;
take our hearts and set them on fire with love for you. Amen.

A few years ago, I read this book called
“Eats, Shoots and Leaves” ---anyone?
This 2003 book is a funny read about punctuation. 
The summary reads,
“Anxious about the apostrophe? Confused by the comma? Stumped by the semicolon? …Join Lynne Truss
on a hilarious tour through the rules of punctuation
that is sure to sort the dashes from the hyphens.”[1]

The author bemoans our society’s current “grammatical” state.
(any teachers here?)
She uses examples from literature, history & signage
showing how meaning is very much shaped
by commas and apostrophes. 

We’ve all seen signs like this one on a storefront:
“Come inside for CD’s, VIDEO’s, DVD’s and BOOK’s!”
(with possessive apostrophes before each “s”). (pause)

Or the newspaper byline that read,
“Fan’s Fury at Stadium Inquiry”
– with the apostrophe before the s in Fan’s.
“Fan’s Fury at Stadium Inquiry”

The story sounded
“quite interesting until you look inside the paper
and discover it’s about a large mob of fans, actually,
not just the lone, hopping-mad fan
so promisingly indicated at the byline.” (p.2)

When I read the book, it made me laugh out loud
and sharpened my attention to punctuation.
See, as a proclaimer of Word(s),
I believe that words matter. 
And punctuation matters.
Stay with me, now, this does connect to the Gospel!

After reading today’s Gospel text,
I found myself reading that text from Isaiah,
which explains *why* John the Baptist was there
“as it is written in the book
of the words of the prophet Isaiah”

Gospel author Luke uses the OT
to establish one of the main themes “reversal.” 
Luke’s story prophesied a new world,
a new age, a new way of being,
to be fulfilled in the coming of Jesus,
through the voice one crying out in the wilderness: COLON

The images of reversal are many:
paths straightened, valleys filled, mountains flattened,
rough places smoothed – comma, comma, comma – then
AND All flesh shall see the salvation of God. Period.

But wait a minute, what is that colon doing there?

Isaiah 40 reads, “A voice cries out: (COLON)
‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord…”
Luke reads, “A voice cries out in the wilderness: (COLON)
Prepare the way of the Lord….”

Words matter. Punctuation matters.

Let’s set the context for the reversal story…
Imagine the story in a movie set –
starting in Rome. 
The camera zooms in, slowly, but not where we expect! 
The images pan through the known world
from imperial to regional and religious authorities
in a stark comparison of who God chooses.
The lens of the camera passes by
Emperor Tiberius – to Pontius Pilate –
to Herod – to Philip – to Lysanias
passing Annas and Caiaphas,
the religious authorities in collusion with the government, – comma, comma, comma,
until the focus rests on who and where God chooses:
John. In the wilderness.

Wait, what?

This opening scene –
the true prologue of the whole gospel of reversal - 
foreshadows what is to come.
From the surprising wilderness.

(TT)
See, in those days, trouble was pervasive.
Life was very hard for nearly everyone.
The culture, laws and geo-political rules
existed to serve those in power.
These “principalities” normalized
oppression of the “little guy” for control.
This kind of oppression was familiar to the Jewish people.

So familiar that the gospel writer hearkened back to Isaiah,
when the Jewish people were exiled to Babylon.
Captive, oppressed, away from home,
they yearned for freedom to return to Jerusalem. 
The people longed for their old lives back,  
for freedom from oppression,
for a chance to make something of their lives
without the pressure from “powers and principalities.”
pause

(TW)
The other day, watching TV, I noticed
how our consumer culture had become
oppressive and pervasive with  holiday advertising.
Gifts we “should” be buying,
fashion we need to make us “attractive.”
This consumer break was punctuated by
news stories about addiction and the opioid epidemic.
You hear the news, like I do, of the
ongoing political divisiveness rousing in us
an inability to stomach it or respond.
We hear about how lives are hard for many ppl.
 
Stories of refugees from several countries
arriving at new country borders
only to be further terrorized
for not living in their own terrorizing country of origin.

These people long for their old lives back, 
for freedom from oppression and danger
for a chance to make something of their lives
without the pressure from “powers and principalities.”

“Those days” are like “these days.”

The problem is that we don’t see
the surprising and hidden power of the wilderness.
We don’t recognize that grace often arrives
off the beaten path of power and control and oversight. 

It’s like staring at the light of a bonfire and
when you look away, it blinds you.
The presence of too much power outside
blinds us to the surprising power of God’s hope.

In the hidden power of wilderness
we can find true inspiration and creativity
and can see the possibilities for new life and grace.

For the word of God came to John. Period.
And he cried out. Colon.
In the wilderness, prepare the way…

(GT) See, the word of God transformed the wilderness. 
God’s word, through John,
affected everyone, even up to the emperor.

The word of God reversed everyone’s world order.
John challenged the people to see the wilderness
not as a place of desolation but of hope.
God called ppl, like the Babylonian exiles,
to leave their captors behind
                                 and head home through the wilderness.
God called them, like the people of Egypt,
                                 to join the exodus out of slavery
                                 into God’s promised fresh start.[2]

John’s baptism of repentance
                                 led to release from sins
– it unbound the people from that weight
Through the purification right
– and their hearts were opened
To God’s way, grounded in Love.   
To the forgiveness that set free
those trapped in darkness and death’s shadow.

The light of this ritual
revealed a new path, in the wilderness.
From the wilderness.
Born of the wilderness.

(GW) Today’s good news is that
God’s transformation comes in those places of wilderness. 

And in the wilderness, especially, God calls us to repent.

Author and Theologian Marcus Borg
offers fresh perspective on repentance: 
“The biblical meaning is
to return to God,
return from your exile,
reconnect to God.[3]
In the Greek NT, ‘repent’ means
to “go beyond the mind that you have,”
“go beyond the mind you have been given
by our environment and by our culture
and to allow Christ to shape” you a new mind and a new heart.
Both personally and socially.

A seminary classmate holds a weekly bible study with
people living with
homelessness, poverty, and food insecurity.[4]

One participant, Willie, said that for him,
wilderness is loneliness –
when you can’t connect with others
and you don’t know how.

Ty agrees, adding that
“you can have a place (a home) and still be lost (and lonely).
Or you cannot have a place but have community.”

Eugene added that
yes, when he had the most stuff was when he was the loneliest.
But now that he has this community,
even though he doesn’t have much stuff, he feels at home.

These people have gone beyond their mind’s orientation,
Both personally and socially: the way of salvation.

What is your wilderness?

Maybe your wilderness is loneliness,
and like these people,
repenting (reconnecting to God and others),
you can find a way home.

Maybe your wilderness is the daily stress
of too much to do with seemingly not enough time.
By repenting, reconnecting with God,
we can find ourselves in God’s time
and there is enough time there for important things.

In the wilderness of
our vulnerabilities, our challenges, our foibles,
our grief, our mistakes, our faults, comma, comma, comma
– yes, in the wilderness, God’s grace surprises us.  

So, this day, in preparation for Advent,
I pray that you know your wilderness
is filled through and through with grace,
for God loves you and forgives you
– even, or especially, in your wilderness.

I pray that God prepares you to notice your wilderness
and that God transforms you and your community.

And all flesh shall see the salvation of God.

Exclamation point.

Amen.

Sunday, August 23, 2015

Sermon: Jesus Fills



Sermon for August 23, 2015
Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost 
(Proper 16)
The Rev. Vicki K. Hesse
St. Philip’s In The Hills, Tucson, AZ
Listen to this sermon here.
Lord, open our lips, that our mouth shall proclaim your praise.  Amen
Pause 

I didn’t know I was hungry.

Years before I joined any church,
my friend invited me to the mid-week service
at Grace Cathedral in SF.  Church was his thing-
he was scheduled to serve as Deacon. 
I didn’t really want to go with him,
but he promised lunch in the city afterward. 

I didn’t know I was hungry.

Awkwardly, I walked into the big Cathedral. 
Looked like a big museum to me. 
We went into a side chapel.  Just three of us:
the priest, my friend the Deacon, and me.

They shared the readings,
talked a bit about the Gospel
and 20 minutes later, we shared communion.

I didn’t know I was hungry.

But, as the bread was placed in my hands,
my heart swelled up.
Rivers of tears flowed down my face,
through the lines in my mouth,
making Jesus taste salty. 

The wine touched my lips and in that little sip,
in that moment, I realized how hungry was. 
In that moment, Jesus filled me up.

I don’t remember our lunch in the city.

Pause
The GJohn does not recount the Last Supper,
but it bursts at the seams
with Eucharistic images.

Jesus continually speaks of himself as
“the bread of life”
And he invites his followers
to “partake of this bread.” 
Then he gets pretty gruesome, urging them to
“eat his flesh and drink his blood.” 
You don’t have to be a good Jew
to want to avert your eyes from such an image and
to cover your ears at such language. 
It offended many of his disciples;
they didn’t know they were hungry.

Author BBT said while Jesus had at his disposal
“… the conceptual truths of the universe,”
he did not give them something “to think about”
when he was gone,
he gave them concrete things to do –
specific ways of being together in their bodies. 

He said, “do this in remembrance of me”
not “think about this.”[1] 

Jesus taught an in-your-face confrontation
with the incarnation.[2]
He spoke not of a disembodied spirit
but the opportunity
to encounter his flesh and blood.

In Hebrew, the expression “flesh and blood”
meant something like our,
“body, mind and spirit.” 
So, for the many disciples,
to receive Jesus meant
receiving his whole “flesh and blood”.

And this got their attention.
Many of them turned back.
Many of them complained.
Many of them were offended.
They didn’t know they were hungry.

And so it is with us. This teaching is difficult. 

The startling imagery of
eating flesh and drinking blood
cuts through our liturgical refinements. 

One of my colleagues tells a story of
saying the familiar words during communion,

“This is my body, broken for you.
This is my blood, shed for you,”

when a small girl suddenly said in a loud voice,
“Ew, yuk!”
To which the congregation
stared in a horrified way,
as if someone had splattered blood
all over the altar,
which was, in effect
something like what the little girl had done
with her exclamation.[3]

pause
Sometimes,
I think we ought to wrap the altar
with “caution” tape before Holy Communion.
Because
“when we receive Jesus, when we partake,
his life clings to our bones and
courses through our veins. 
He can no more be taken from our life
than last Tuesday’s breakfast
can be plucked from our body. 
And this is the ultimate communion –
the coming together,
the union of the Savior and the saved.”[4] 

And that changes everything, does it not? 
But sometimes
we don’t know how hungry we are. 

Aside from the gruesomeness of
eating flesh and blood,
the implications are difficult. 

For as we receive Jesus,
we cannot separate his life in us
from our life in him.  

We receive this precious sacrament
and take him into ourselves. 
It means we love one another as Jesus loves us.
It means we are called to deny ourselves
and take up the cross. 
It means we give up our possessions
and our obsessions.

When we receive Jesus, we become a disciple –
and that changes everything. 
It means we reach out and help each other.
It means we trust one another.
It means we seek reconciliation.
It means we feed the hungry, clothe the naked,
heal the sick, give water to the thirsty,
visit the prisoners. 
The implications are difficult.
We are offended.
Sometimes we don’t know how hungry we are.

Pause

Over and over in the Gospel of John,
Jesus offered images of himself
as the bread of life,
meant to strengthen and
encourage the community.

Seeing how many disciples turned back,
Jesus asked the twelve apostles,
“do you, too, wish to go away?”
And Peter takes the cue,
transformed in that moment by the offer so dear.
“Lord, to whom can we go?
You have the words of eternal life.”

In other words, Peter said,
You are the only one
who can satisfy our deep hunger.
You are the living God.
You are the one who holds us together.
You are the source of Love and Life.
Peter confessed how hungry they were
and Jesus filled them up.

And not only those disciples,
but generations of Christians.

For,
“The first thing the world knew about Christians
was that they ate together.”
At the beginning of every week,
Christians everywhere
celebrated the day the whole world changed and
toasted the resurrection.
They shared a meal and offered
prayers of thanksgiving,
or eucharisteo, for the bread and wine.”[5] 

St. Paul wrote to the Corinthians,
“when you gather to eat,
you should all eat together.”[6]
As they gathered,
they remembered Jesus’ presence among them.
Some early communities began
to send a piece of the bread from their communion service
to other gatherings of Christians
to be added to their meal. 
They knew how hungry they were and
offered that bread
to fill and strengthen the bond of unity
between all Christians,
like our Lay Eucharistic Ministers
do on 2nd and 4th Sundays.[7]


These early Christians
knew how hungry they were,
They knew that Jesus filled them up.

Does this offend you? 
Do you, too, wish to go away?
Are you hungry?

The good news is that even today,
Jesus strengthens and encourages our community. 
Jesus is the only one who can
satisfy our deep hunger. 
Jesus offers us his body and his blood
every week, every day, every moment.

When we receive Jesus
into our mind body and soul,
into our pain, struggle, and loss,
into our joy, enthusiasm, and hope,
when we receive Jesus,
we are The Saved in union with The Savior.
When we receive Jesus,
we know him in our body and our blood.
Jesus fills us with unmerited grace. 

And so we come to receive him. 
We come:
vulnerable, kneeling,
hands cupped and surrendering,
in a public confession of hunger. 
“The Body of Christ, the Bread of Heaven”
and Jesus descends into our hands. 
“The Blood of Christ, the Cup of Salvation”
and Jesus slips into our lips.[8]

In response, we proclaim
that great mystery of faith –
Christ has died, Christ has risen,
Christ will come again.

Come, bring your deepest hunger,
and Jesus will fill you up to overflowing.

Amen


[1] Barbara Brown Taylor, An Altar In The World: A Geography of Faith, (New York, HarperCollins, 2009), 44
[2] Inspired by Martin Copenhaver’s sermon “Eating Jesus” cited at http://day1.org/4043-eating_jesus
[3] Ibid. Copenhaver
[4] Ibid. Copenhaver
[5] Rachel Held Evans, Searching for Sunday: Loving, Leaving and Finding the Church, (Santa Rosa, Thomas Nelson Books, 2015), 125
[6] 1 Corinthians 11:33
[7] Ibid., Evans, 127
[8] Ibid., Evans 142-143