Sermon: Human Need Knows No Law

Sermon Preached on June 3, 2018

Proper 4B RCL

The Rev. Vicki K. Hesse

St. John’s Episcopal Church, Clinton

Video found here.

Good morning.   

Thank you for the invitation to be with you today. 

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,

“Exploring Your Spiritual Journey” for anyone (lay or called to ordination) and

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

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 Rev. Susie, 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.

Sabbath.  Our first reading offered an exposition

on this 4^th of the ten commandments,

“Observe the sabbath day and keep in holy.”

The gospel text, set on the Sabbath,

challenges us with a message

of love and compassion in the face of human need.

Sabbath.  What is the Sabbath?

The dictionary says,

“A day of religious observance and abstinence from work,

kept by Jews from Friday evening to Saturday evening,

and by most Christians on Sunday.”

In his book, The Sabbath[1],

Rabbi Abraham Heschel defines Sabbath

– that portion of Torah “Law” as,

“…a Divine paradigm of understanding time.” (show book)

In the prologue, Rabbi Heschel’s daughter

describes the “anticipatory delight” of preparing for Sabbath as a child.

She writes:

When my father raised his Kiddush cup on Friday evenings,

closed his eyes and chanted the prayer sanctifying the wine,

I always felt a rush of emotion. 

As he chanted with an old, sacred family melody,

he blessed the wine and the Sabbath with his prayer,

and I also felt he was blessing my life and that of everyone at the table….

I felt transformed, emotionally and physically. 

The sense of peace that came upon us

as we kindled the candle lights

was created, in part, by the hectic tension of Fridays. 

Preparation for a holy day,

my father often said, was as important as the day itself. 

When suddenly it was time, twenty minutes before sunset,

whatever hadn’t been finished in the kitchen we simply left behind

as we lit the candles and blessed the arrival of the Sabbath. 

My father wrote,

“The Sabbath comes like a caress, wiping away fear, sorrow and somber memories.”[2]

Rabbi Heschel teaches about this spiritual practice of sanctifying time.

Perhaps a book study for your next group?

In our Christian tradition, certain practices evolved from Judaism,

such as confession, worship, and adoration

– all of which mark time as holy.

You know, of course, that in the book of Genesis,

at the end of the creation story, “God blessed the seventh day and made it holy.”

Heschel, “…for six days a week

we live under the tyranny of space:

on the Sabbath we try to become attuned to holiness in time. 

It is day we are called to share what is eternal –

from “the world of creation” to the “creation of the world.”

This sacred time invites you

to hear the soft whisper of God’s voice,

“ye shall not kindle any fire.”

No fire, not in my heart, or for my needs, or with others.

For many years, my Sabbath agenda

has been rest and renewal, soft and gentle.

So there we have context

why the gospel today made me squirm:

a confrontation between holy law-keeping and holy people-saving.

The clue for me was Jesus’ anger.

The Gospel begins with the Pharisees confrontation.

They valued that law-to-keep-Sabbath over human need.

With a little exploration, it turns out that

“unlawful eating of food on the sabbath” was fake news.

Jesus didn’t break a sabbath law.

The law about which the Pharisees had a problem

was one that forbids harvesting a neighbor’s crop

(Deut 23: 24-25 if you are interested).

Jesus explains that what David did

(eating the bread of the presence when they were hungry)

was far worse than just rubbing kernels of grain together for a snack.

And although the Pharisees mixed up the details of their complaint,

Jesus knew their intentions.

Then, real trouble began.

He blew their socks off with this new paradigm:

“the sabbath was made for humankind,

not humankind for the sabbath.”

Jesus’ offered a new idea: human need knows no Law. 

Mercy and compassion overruled compliance with the 4^th commandment. 

Jesus turned the Law upside-down.

Then, Jesus did it again. He provoked them:

“Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath?”

But they were silent.

Jesus then conveyed his humanity

– looking at them with anger.

Time stopped. Jesus kindled a fire in his heart!

He was grieved at their hardness of heart.

The bubble over Jesus’ head was surely written in all caps:

“HUMAN NEED KNOWS NO LAW!”

and afterwards, the man stretched out his hand, it was restored.

And… Jesus’ upside-down gospel tests us.

Sometimes, our society, our institutions, or our government,

also value the law over human need.

See, the validity of any institution

lies outside of itself. 

Just as

“the sabbath was made for humankind, not humankind for the sabbath,”

The Church was made for humankind, not humankind for the church.

So, the church’s true and only authority lies in its service to humankind.

The holiness of the church arises, surprisingly,

from the church’s own power

(from a faith community’s ability)

to adjust to changing times,

through ministries that respond

to the community’s human needs.

When we, in the church, ask, “Does this ministry fit into our tradition?”

– that is when Jesus asks us to turn the question upside down with,

“Does this ministry do good to humankind?”

Sometimes, we wonder how can we keep Sabbath

with all the need in the world? 

How can we serve others

when we are aging and less able? 

Jesus turns the question upside down when human needs are at stake.

Because in human-serving ministries,

the Holy Spirit invigorates participants

and provides the will and courage

to become the beloved community.

To be concrete, a little research on “human need” in Lenawee county

revealed that the “meal gap” is large.

The Meal Gap is the difference between

those who actually receive meal assistance

(~11% of county residents who are on SNAP, or WIC, or free lunch at school)

and

those whose income level qualifies them to receive assistance

but they do not pursue it, for many reasons

          (~75% of county residents[3])

The human need right here is for nearly 65,000 people

who live in this Meal Gap zone.

These people can use assistance to meet their hunger. 

You, the congregation of St. John’s in Clinton,

can make a difference with this potential “freezer meal ministry”

or by partnering with an organization like “Neighbors of Hope.”

Our gospel text today offers a timeless perspective:

God prioritizes human need over human law.

So what if…

What if the sanctity of keeping sabbath law in Jesus’ day

is like the sanctity of our national anthem on Memorial day? [4] 

I wonder if Jesus would take a knee while everyone else remains standing.

What if the sanctity of keeping sabbath law in Jesus’ day

is like the sanctity of our national immigration law,

which punishes people who “break the law” seek refuge at the US border

by separating them from their children?

I wonder if Jesus would welcome them with hospitality and offer an abundant life.

Today’s Gospel message to prioritize human need over human law

might trigger anger to arise in us. 

That anger – grounded in the yearning for God’s justice –

might fuel us to respond to the human need. 

That anger – fueled by our feeling out of control

might invite us to discover how our personal power might be threatened. 

That anger – manifest in our own atrophied hands

might be just the boost we need to respond to human need.

And turn our world upside down.

The good news today is that Jesus stretches out his hands to us. 

He is with us in the holiness of this time,

empowering us to offer our whole lives

to serve human need above human law. 

So today, during communion,

I invite you to come forward,

to stretch out your hand,

to be blessed and empowered in the name of Jesus

to join with him in the business of

serving human need over human law. 

Stretch our your hands. 

Become the beloved community

that makes God’s love real in the world. 

Come, stretch out your hands

so that Jesus can meet you in eternity of Sabbath

and delight in your presence with all of God’s creation.

Come, be restored!

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[1] Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Sabbath: its meaning for modern man, (New York, Farrar Straus and Giroux, 1951)

[2] Heschel, vii-viii

[3] According to the 2017 Mind The Meal Gap by Feeding America, downloaded on May 28, 2018.

[4] Facebook posting by friend and pastoral mentor, Tommy Airey author for Radical Discipleship, following his work in the Poor People’s Campaign: A National Call for Moral Revival in Lansing, MI on May 31, 2018.

Sermon: Lost and Found

A Sermon preached in 

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

The Fourth Sunday Of Lent, Year C

6 March 2016 

In the Name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Listen to this sermon here.

I did not know that I was lost. 

I did not know that I was lost. 

Not until I hit bottom

through a complicated season in my life –

at the confluence of

addictions, grief, transition,

and employment layoff. 

I must say,

sitting in that place in my life

that seemed to be a pigsty

was truly a deep low. 

I did not know that I was lost. 

Every time I hear today’s gospel story,

the parable of the prodigal son,

I relate closely with the son. 

The son, who rejected his father,

partied away his inheritance,

lost everything, and hit bottom. 

I relate to the son who realized,

as he was sitting with the pigs,

that he needed restoration and reconciliation.  I relate to the son who is welcomed,

despite what he did. 

The familiar parable of the prodigal son

begins with context:

the people crowding near Jesus were tax collectors and sinners. 

This bothered the Pharisees and scribes.

They discounted Jesus’ legitimacy as a teacher

by criticizing his relationships

with people who had sinned.

In response, Jesus tells 3 parables, revealing that the God of whom he speaks

is a God of compassion, joyously welcoming

repentant sinners into God’s house. 

Well, that is the simple and short version. 

We know it’s more complicated

when humans get involved. 

Rembrandt’s seventeenth-century painting provides rich depth to the story,

about which Henri Nouwen wrote during a particular struggle in his life.  

From the first viewing until six years later, Nouwen wrestled with God about his journey

of being lost and found.

He saw himself first in the son,

then in the brother and

finally in the father.

As we gaze on the image, we, too, can see ourselves in three ways

reflected in this profound painting.

First the painting draws us toward the son

at the moment of The Return.

But from what has the son returned? 

In one short sentence, the gospel tell us

that the son had asked from his father

his share of the inheritance

even before the father had died.

It is easy to gloss over what that meant,

which was hurtful, offensive, and

“tantamount to wishing his father was dead.”[1] 

 

Although Rembrandt did not paint

that precursor scene of the parable,

the depth of the pain and conviction of the son is palpable; it is reflected in

the depth of the compassion and conviction

the father expresses;

the depth of a father’s love shown

in the embrace. 

Rembrandt’s portrayal wonderfully captures

the extent of the son’s poverty.

His shaven head, as a prisoner.

His ragged clothes, barely covering his body. His torn shoes so worn,

exposing feet of suffering and misery.

The only shred of dignity is his sword –

the sword of truth that linked him

to the father during his Away –

and gave him permission to return.

God wants to restore us to our full dignity

so God plants this sword of truth

in our souls at our birth, at our baptism,

or even before we are born,

as we are knitted together in the womb. 

Pause

Second, the painting draws our eyes

toward the tall, stern elder who

dominates the right side of the painting. 

The brother and his father have a similar look:

both bearded, wearing large red cloaks,

light their faces. 

But what differences!

the brother’s facial expression

reflects his resentment for having lived his dutiful and obedient life without fanfare.

We all know many

elder sons and elder daughters

who are lost while still at home –

filled with judgment and condemnation,

anger and bitterness, where joy cannot exist. 

Although light reflects the joy of the house,

the elder son cannot accept it.

By his erect stance, we see how lost he is.

This portrayal of the elder is not lost on me;

my choice to compare, to be resentful,

to despair while desiring love

yet not able to let go of resentment.

How can the elder son also be found? 

Only by God who does not force love,

but goes out to the elder son.

“You are with me always.” 

We, too, have the choice

to stay in the darkness or

to step into the light and

invoke the spiritual disciplines

of trust and gratitude,

accepting God’s gift.

Without trust, we cannot be found. 

Without gratitude, we cannot walk in light.

pause

Third, the painting

draws our eyes toward the father,

whom Rembrandt captured physically:

(half-blind, mustached & bearded,

dressed in gold-embroidered deep red cloak,

a cloak spread out like wings,

with large hands on the shoulders of the son.) 

And, whom Rembrandt captured spiritually:

With infinite compassion,

unconditional love and

everlasting forgiveness. 

At once, human and divine natures fuse.

At once, the wholeness of the father represents

the God that I want to believe in:

one who is present and tactile,

one who stretches out arms of blessing,

one who always waits and does not push,

one who keeps approaching us,

offering strong love and belonging.

Look closely at the hands of the father,

they are markedly different. [Nouwen writes [2] ]

“The father’s left hand is strong and muscular,

fingers spread out, covering a large part

of the son’s shoulder and back. 

The hand not only touches, but also it holds.

The right hand is refined, soft, and tender. 

The fingers are close to each other and elegant. 

This hand caresses, strokes, and offers consolation. This is a mother’s hand.

Rembrandt invites us, through these hands

to see God as both Father and Mother,

one who is strong and encouraging

as well as soft and caring. 

He confirms and she consoles.”

In this image, we are challenged:

Are we not called to be this father

to ourselves, our neighbors and our creation?  Are we not called

to accept, to welcome, and to love others

with trust and gratitude for the differences they bring into our lives? 

I did not know that I was lost,

but in my lostness, God found me. 

In my elder brother resentment and bitter heart, God softened me.

In the image of the father, I am confronted

as a mature person in faith and wisdom,

to be that person, too.

God calls us to welcome returning people

into our lives, in our community, in our world. 

It is a spiritual discipline to choose life and choose joy, not death and cynicism.

In the image of the father, God calls us

“To be not just the one who is forgiven,

but to forgive. 

Not just the one who is welcomed home,

but the one who welcomes home;

not just the one who receives compassion,

but the one who offers it as well.”[3]

Rembrandt’s painting offers so much.

The textures, the colors, the hues,

the message beneath the message –

all this invites us to see ourselves. 

Are you lost? 

Because today’s good news, captured by Rembrandt, is that

God’s love is greater than we can ever know. 

Our compassionate God

welcomes us home,

blesses us with strong and caressing hands,

comes out and calls us

to share in love

and

invites us, too,

to welcome, bless and love

just as God first loved us.

Welcome home.

Amen

 

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[1] Henri Nouwen, Return of The Prodigal Son, (xxx,xxx, 1983), p. 35

[2] Nouwen, p. 99

[3] Nouwen, p. 122