Sermon: Who Does He Think He Is?

Photo by Cris DiNoto on Unsplash

Sermon Preached on July 8, 2018

Proper 9B RCL

The Rev. Vicki K. Hesse,

Director of the Whitaker Institute, Episcopal Diocese of Michigan

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Lansing

Good morning.  My name is Rev. Vicki Hesse and

I serve the Diocese as the Director of the Whitaker Institute.

Who here has taken a class from the Whitaker Institute? 

The Whitaker Institute is the educational arm of the Diocese.

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 forming in three ways:

by educating, equipping and empowering

members of our faith community with lifelong formation.

Three programs you may know include:

Safe Church courses (now being revised),

“Academy for Vocational Leadership,” a local school for ordained ministry and

“Exploring Your Spiritual Journey,” aka EYSJ,

for anyone (lay or called to ordination) to learn how God is calling them.

These are only three of several programs.

Perhaps there will be time at coffee hour

to learn more about learning and working together

for mutual transformation.

So thank you Priest Nikki, in absentia, for your invitation to be here today. 

Now, we take a deep breath and remember

we are always in God’s loving presence.

May the words of my mouth

and the mediation of all our hearts be acceptable to you,

O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

Intro: Story of Archbishop Tutu not being welcomed

Usually, a small town celebrates, or even exaggerates,

the success story of a local who has made it big. 

So isn’t it curious when the opposite is true?

Archbishop Desmond Tutu is and was respected

around the world

for his courage and witness

during Apartheid in South Africa.

But did you know that at home, in South Africa,

Archbishop Tutu had a different experience?

His own people wondered who he thought he was.

Matthew Willman, documentary photographer,

interviewing Archbishop Tutu[1], once asked:

“You were often protested against,

wrongly quoted and many times lied about

during the long years of apartheid.

Many believed what the newspapers wrote, …

did this influence your character and goals in life?”

Tutu responded:

“In fact no, I would have hoped…

that to some extent, the main aspect of who I was, was already in place.

What many people would not easily believe

is that actually, I am in fact I am quite reserved.

They will say, ‘What?! that exuberant outgoing Bishop? that very abrasive guy?”

(laughing out loud) but it’s true…..

Tutu continues,

“[That time] was painful but I learnt to try to develop

a skin of a Rhinoceros.

I will tell you this: the reason why it was painful

was because … one of my weaknesses, one of my several weaknesses,

is that I love to be loved and nothing could have been more excruciating

than to be vilified as a matter of cause.’

                   Tutu concludes,

“… I mean Our Lord Himself said

‘A prophet is not without honor except in his own country, his own City.’

So it wasn’t surprising and to some extent it attested to the authenticity of what [I was] doing.”

Even Archbishop Tutu offended, repulsed, even scandalized some people.

TT: They took offense at him. Who does he think he is?

Today’s gospel reading begins

with this story of Jesus in his hometown.

Does it strike you as strange, that the people of Nazareth

rejected Jesus?

Many were astounded at his teaching

and wondered, “where did he get all this knowledge?” 

In those days, the society ruled by honor and shame

“fixed” your social status based on your status at birth.

This defined who you would always be.

So, perhaps they considered it impossible

that Jesus would amount to anything. 

The low-status, manual laborer: the carpenter.  

The “son of that Mary” (with questionable fatherhood)

with those other brothers and unnamed sisters…

It is clear from this reading that

Jesus offended, repulsed, even scandalized some people.

Eugene Peterson’s “The Message[2]” translation

provokes a fresh perspective, offers that

the people who think they know Jesus,

ask, “who does he think he is?”

TW: We take offense at him. Who do we think he is?

This translation is very convicting, for what about us?  Who do we think he is?

Who is this simple, brown-skinned manual laborer,

this son of Mary, this refugee from Egypt,

this immigrant in our midst?

Is this Jesus really the one who can heal us from our grief, from our illness,

from our wounded hearts and broken relationships?

Is he really the one to take our fear away, to calm the storms of our lives,

to cool our sun-baked garden with refreshing waters of life?

Is Jesus really the Son of God whom we proclaim with our whole heart? 

For if Jesus is the way, the truth and the life,

how can his teaching guide us, St. Michael’s congregation to nourish God’s people?

According to the 2018 Kids Count Data Book[3],

released by the Annie E. Casey Foundation,

Michigan state’s rankings have fallen or stagnated

in the four areas of

1.      Economic wellbeing,

2.      Education

3.      Family and community

And

4.      Health

The numbers reflect the priorities of our state’s leaders –

for if we Michiganders want a talented workforce in the future,

then early childhood education and

deeper relationships between communities and families matter.

However, this report tells the story

of undercounting about 62,000 kids in Michigan

who live in high-poverty areas.

Now more than 1 in 5 children live in poverty.

If Jesus teaches that we are to reach out to those who are hungry

and to let the little children come to us,

are we offended, or spurred into action, by this report?

Who do we think he is?

Is he offending, repulsing or scandalizing us?

GT He called them to get over it, go out and proclaim

And when we see ourselves in this light,

perhaps we can empathize, then, with the twelve

who were then called, sent out and given authority. 

Jesus, in response to this rejected stance by the people,

offered the disciples a holy invitation.

Get over it – get over the fact of this unbelieving, broken and crying world:

get out there, he implied.

Jesus invited and ordered the disciples

to a simple yet hard, transient evangelical life of service,

living on the kindness of strangers and

trusting that Jesus does know what he is talking about. 

Although he did not shake off the dust when they rejected him, (his human side)

he told the disciples to do just that when their message was refused.

For Jesus knew that the human nature of disciples

was to believe through their experience. 

And that once they experienced transformed lives and healed hearts and bodies, 

once they did the work and proclaimed the good news of Jesus’ expansive love,

then they could know in their soul

the transformative power of Love and grace and forgiveness.

GW He calls us to get over it, go out and proclaim

And that also applies to Jesus disciples today – us! 

He calls us to get over ourselves,

and go out and heal the hurting, broken world through our service:

forgiving those who hurt us

and comforting those who are in pain,

standing up for people made poor

by engaging our community, families with children,

and joining with people who are outcast or are refugees

like those whose gardens fill St. Mike’s plot.

For it is with the loving, liberating and life-giving Love of God that  

we can know who Jesus is..

“We do have one thing the disciples did not,

and that makes all the difference.

We have experienced

the faithfulness of God in Jesus crucified and risen.

So, we may marvel at the unbelief around us,

but still, we go forth –

proclaiming and practicing our faith in Christ.”[4]

Your actions matter – they do!

not because you are earning God’s favor,

but because you are responding to God’s holy invitation. 

God has chosen you, through your baptism,

not only for salvation

but also for meaningful, consequential lives here and now. 

What you do matters and this week,

Jesus anoints you and commissions you

to be agents of grace.

God blesses all of your actions – profound and ordinary. 

God blesses you to do God’s work in the world

with joy and love and grace.

Amen

---

[1] Cited by Martha Spong at this cite on July 1, 2018  https://marthaspong.com/2012/07/07/shake-the-dust-off-your-chucks/

[2] Cited at https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark+6%3A1-13&version=MSG on July 5, 2018

[3] Cited at http://www.aecf.org/resources/2018-kids-count-data-book/ on July 6, 2018

[4] Mark G. Vitalis Hoffman, Commentary on Mark 6:1-13 cited at https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=339 on July 2, 2018

Sermon: Jesus Grabs Us

A Sermon preached in 

Christ Church, Grosse Pointe, Michigan
by The Reverend Vicki Hesse, Associate

The 10th Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 14, Year A)
13 August 2017

Listen here.

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.

A few winters ago, my partner and I went dog sledding in Minnesota. The morning of our first run, our small group gathered together and learned how to harness the dogs, how to lead them (on their back legs), and how to call out GEE and HAW to steer the rig down the path.  As we talked inside, the 35 anxious dogs outside howled, barked, & pulled their chains in anticipation. Once we went out, all we could hear was a cacophony of canines. Pick Me! Pick Me!  the dogs cried, only fueling our anticipation for the upcoming adventure.  

Battered by the sound of barking, fingers frozen from 40-below temps, we wrestled the harnesses on the dogs, slid across the icy path toward the sled, spilled dogfood bowls, called out to each other. With frantic, barking, jumpy dogs hitched, the guides yelled and we jumped on board, released the sled tether and yelled “Hike Hike!”  

At once, the dogs pulled with the speed and strength and agility of an American Ninja Warrior, and we heard….nothing. The sound of sheer silence. Just barely audible ~ the sound of satisfied breathing, cantering paws padding through snow and the edge of the sled’s runners cutting through the ice.  

Today’s gospel text sets a scene of chaos with a mix of fear and anticipation. For the disciples’ boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land and the wind was against them. When they saw Jesus walking out to them, the power of their fear intensified.  The wind roared, the rig of the sails clanked back and forth, the disciples yelled, the overturned buckets and unleashed stays and clips banged on the deck. The wind howled in the hoods of their rain jackets. At last, Jesus yelled, “take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” 

At the invitation of Jesus, Peter got out of the boat, trying out a new authority conferred upon him.  He started walking on the water with the speed and strength and agility of an American Ninja Warrior and he hears…nothing. The sound of sheer silence. 

But then Peter noticed the wind, barely audible at first, and it crashed into his silent bubble – the strong wind, the noise, the chaos around him became his reality.  Peter was overcome by fear[1]. He cried out, “Lord, save me!” His fear was justified; it was a storm that fumed powerfully enough to sink the boat and drown the whole crew.  Peter had good reasons to be afraid.

And so do we (have good reasons to be afraid.) The fear is palpable: the clanging noise of North Korea and US escalating threats, the empty harvest buckets and record famine in Africa, the roar of climate-change-fueled storms sweeping across North America, the shroud of 1967 Detroit banging on the deck of our sense of identity, while a hurricane of fear storms through the state of Virginia as extremist groups gather in Charlottesville and clash violently with counter-protestors; all while, the waves of change seem to crash on the shore of our congregation in the midst of personnel departures.

We can be overcome by our fear. That fear can be debilitating, paralyzing us. The power of fear robs the family of God’s people of the abundant life that God intends.  We cry out, “Lord, save me!”

But that’s not the whole story, because immediately, Jesus reached out his hand and caught Peter. When Peter saw the conflict of the storm and heard the persecution of the wind, he began to sink under the power of fear. Jesus immediately reached out and grabbed him, saving him and restoring him to his vocation. The wind ceased. The fear relented.

In the grip of Jesus, the disciples recognized that the power of God’s promise of flourishing life and steadfast love was the antidote to fear. “Truly you are the Son of God.”

Today, Jesus reaches out his hand and grabs us. Jesus makes the first move, grabbing us out of the chaos– not depending on us, not giving up on us, not waiting on us. Fears are often real. Fears are understandable. Fears are also debilitating.  

And Jesus grabs us, as his disciples, and demands we use the authority conferred on us at our baptism: to pray for peace and to be the embodiment of God’s love and justice. 

• That means speaking out against bigotry and hatred (and the violence that occurred) in Charlottesville. 
• That means denouncing white nationalism and white supremacy, both an affront to the Gospel born under the power of fear. Because racism is a sin. 
• That means praying for those injured or died in the violence and the safety of all who live in Charlottesville. 
• That means persevering in resisting evil, hatred, violence and prejudice in any form.
• That means taking measurable steps to build bridges and to be agents of our Lord's mercy, grace, truth and love.

For our story is not over – the future is open! For God is with us and for us And God is not done with us yet. Jesus catches us today and restores us to our vocation, calling out to us to do God’s work in the world, untethered from the power of fear and under the full sail power of God’s promise. 

Long Pause

Over the last three months, I have said goodbye to many people, places and things around Christ Church.  The fear of finality that comes with saying that is palpable.  Goodbyes are tough for me and this transition is no different, doling out an overdose of emotions that defy words.

Dr. Ira Byock, a palliative care physician, has coined a phrase[2] to help with goodbyes, “the four things that matter most.” These are: Please forgive me. I forgive you. Thank you. I love you. Dr. Byock reminds us, “When we say the four things that matter most – or when we say goodbye, in whatever form – there's going to be real work involved.” Why? because these eleven words – they are not words. They are entry points for sacred connections.  They are admissions of our humanity. They are words made flesh of our incarnate God.

So, today, here are four things that matter most.

First, please forgive me.  In today’s Gospel, Jesus laments having to catch Peter, “you of little faith, why did you doubt?” He’s not rebuking, he is lamenting. The disciples had so much going for them, yet there in that boat without Jesus for the first time, they doubted, which grieved Jesus. This week, I felt convicted for the various ways that I have doubted the power of Love; how I might have gotten in the way of the gospel. 

Please forgive me for speaking in haste, for not meeting your expectations, for fostering a misunderstanding that still might not be resolved, for singing out of tune, for not speaking more prophetically, for “things done and things left undone.” 

God forgives me, this I know. +

Second, I forgive you.  I forgive you for any times that you might have doubted Love; for serious and for simple mistakes; for petty squabbles; for your outrageous hopes, expansive dreams, & brazen humanness; for challenging me to imagine greater, to love quicker, to grasp lighter; for things done and things left undone. God forgives you, this I know.+

Thirdly, Thank you. Thank you for being The Church. For gathering and sharing in each other’s company at times of joy and times of sorrow; for caring for each other with home communion, intercessory prayer, and listening with the ear of your heart; for risking looking weird by walking the labyrinth or praying spontaneously by candle light in Miller Hall when the power went out; for planting seeds of hope to invite/welcome/connect our community; for drenching me with profoundly moving Anglican choral music, for coming directly to me when we disagreed, for telling me your name at least three times before I got it. And so we especially thank God for calling us to serve together in this place, for this season.

And the fourth thing that matters most: I love you. I love you for being disciples on a journey with me. I love your for being my Christian sisters and brothers who love deeply and yearn to know God. I love you because Jesus loves you.  And that love knows no bounds.  That love arises from the One who loved at the dawn of creation.  That love moves in our tears and catches in our throat and spills out through our smiles. I love you.  God loves you.

Even when we doubt, and even when we say goodbye and even when we don’t have the words. Please forgive me. I forgive you. Thank you. I love you.

So be at peace with each other, be forgiving of each other 

and be extravagant with God’s love.

Amen

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[1] Portions of sermon inspired by David Lose, “In the Meantime…” cited here on August 8, 2017.

[2] From November 2013 Interview by Krista Tippett, OnBeing, titled, “Contemplating Mortality” at this site: https://onbeing.org/programs/ira-byock-contemplating-mortality/