Showing posts with label service. Show all posts
Showing posts with label service. Show all posts

Friday, December 8, 2017

Sermon: Thin Place



A Sermon Preached at
All Saints Episcopal Church, Pontiac, MI
A Renewal of Ministry and
Welcoming of New Rector:
The Rev. Chris Johnson
Thursday, December 7, 2017
By The Rev. Vicki K. Hesse
Director of the Whitaker Institute, Episcopal Diocese of Michigan

May the words of my mouth and
the meditation of all our hearts be acceptable to you,
O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

Scripture texts here

Bishop Gibbs, Priest Chris, congregation of All Saints,
ministry colleagues and friends,
I am honored to speak with you tonight
and begin by offering thanks…

Thanks to God for the people of All Saints
and for your parish leaders
who have faithfully guided the congregation
through a season of transition
– you have been waiting a long time for this moment!

Thanks to the Holy Spirit for bringing Chris
into discernment with All Saints
and all that resulted in his call to join you in ministry.
And I give thanks for family and friends
who have surrounded him on every side.
* Tonight is a happy occasion
to preach the good news of salvation,
in this Thin Place,
where you have been drawn together
by the One
who created
One new humanity,
who reconciled
all creation
to One God
through the One body
and who gave access
to the One Spirit,[1]
as members of the household of God.

Surprisingly, perhaps, a small seed
for this happy occasion
began in a different “Thin Place,”
where I first met Christ some 15 or 20 years ago
in the Diocese of Colorado.

Chris had sent a call out for any available churches
to help at his parish with badly needed repairs. 
Our parish bulletin that week included this invitation,
so , as a parishioner, I joined others from our church and
we showed up at Chris’s church one Saturday afternoon
for a work day across town.

Chris greeted us, gave us a quick tour of the building
and turned us loose on the stairwell for repainting and repair.
as he met other groups in various parts of the church building.
His presence was very kind
and he trusted us (amazingly)
to figure out what needed to happen. 

Thankfully, we had a professional painter
as well as several handy and skilled workers in our little group
who guided those of us that were less-gifted
and had brought, innocently enough, no tools or skills for the day.

In *that* Thin Place, I personally learned about
the joy of working on projects with parishioner-mates
whom I barely knew,
for someone who I had just met,
in a part of Denver previously unknown to me.

And I don’t remember much more about that day.
A seed was planted in my heart for
the adventures that can arise
when we somehow hear The Lord’s call
to go on ahead of him.

And, *this moment is another “Thin Place”
in the full sense of the phrase.
“Thin places,” one author writes,
“…are places where the distance
between heaven and earth collapses
and we’re able to catch glimpses of the divine.”[2] 

Thin places often disorient, confuse, or redirect us
to find new ways of being. 
Thin places jolt us out of old ways of seeing the world
to transform our vision. 
Thin places surprise us in mesmerizing geography
like the rocky peaks of Iona
where the wind and water meet the shore. 

The Celtic people say,
“Heaven and earth are only three feet apart,
but in Thin Places that distance is even shorter.”[3]

Thin places, Isaiah reminds us,
invite us to the house of the God of Jacob,
where God teaches us God’s ways
so that we may walk in Sacred paths.

Thin places surprise us
when sharp weapons are transformed for good use
– tilling the land and shaping the trees –
to feed hungry people in peace.

Thin places, the Gospel reminds us, draw us
to labor with deep soul-work
through the plentiful aching, pain and war –
to labor in the midst of wolves
who seek to destroy God’s vision of peace,
to labor with nothing but our Lov,e
to eat what is set before us,
to harvest a peace that passes understanding,
which the world cannot give,
to hold a vision for the Kingdom of God.

And, indeed, *this new pastoral relationship moment
is a Thin Place.

Sometimes the world seems very far from Thin Places.
Like when governments make laws and budgets
that hurt those already on the margins.
When society indulges in uncivil discourse
with words and name calling that wound our souls. 
When a dear loved one dies,
when a long-time relationship ends,
or when we make mistakes,
only to realize it’s too late to ask for forgiveness. 
These are places that seem far from “Thin.”

Yet in times like tonight, God makes a place “Thin,”
and that we know that
when we experience the apparent absence of God
we faithful Christians know God
in the paradoxical intimacy of Jesus,
closer than our breath.

* This Thin Place proclaims God incarnate
right here, right now,
where we cannot be wounded by the world,
where compassion fuels our empathy for one another,
where God’s wide open mercy pours out on you and me.

And so tonight in this Thin Place, I offer some charges.
Chris, will you please stand? 

I charge you:
To stay awake.
To stay alert to this Thin Place. 
To here. To presence.
As Rilke once said, “To be here is immense.”[4]
Remember that.

And now that you are here, with this congregation,
you enter the inheritance
of everything that has preceded you
– you are an heir to this place.
The Holy Spirit has chosen you
and brought you through your “forest of dreaming”
until you could emerge
on the path of life,
in *this Thin Place.

So, I charge you
to witness the ongoing work of this community,
to harvest the wisdom of the invisible, sacred world
and to know and share God’s love for you
and all God’s children
who pass before you. 

Will you, with God’s help?        

And to the congregation, All Saints.  Will you please stand? 

I charge you
to go to those Thin Places where Jesus himself intends to go,
to seek out Thin Places where your hearts burst
with love for and with ache of the world. 
to live into your heritage and mission,
fueled by your Benedictine vow of Stability –
to stay in this community
and serve the Christ among you
to challenge your passions and to find rest for your souls,
so that all nations will stream to your light.

Will you, with God’s help?        

My friends….

May God give you strength and
May God give you grace.

For indeed, this is a Thin Place.

Where the Kingdom of God has come near!
Amen.


[1] Eph 2:13-22

[2] Cited at Eric Weinstein’s March 9, 2012 New York Times article, found here: http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/11/travel/thin-places-where-we-are-jolted-out-of-old-ways-of-seeing-the-world.html
[3] Ibid.
[4] John O’Donohue, “To Bless The Space Between Us,” p. 186

Monday, May 8, 2017

Sermon: Shepherds and Sheep



A Sermon preached in 
Christ Church, Grosse Pointe, Michigan
by The Reverend Vicki Hesse, Associate
May 7, 2017, Easter 4, Year A

For online access to the readings click here.

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of all our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer.

Listen here.

Our readings today (about the gate, the shepherd and the sheep) remind me, surprisingly, of my mother’s hospitality.  Any friend of mine or my siblings was a friend of hers.  Ex-boyfriends of my sisters still hung out at our house even after they broke up. She modeled for me gracious “Southun” welcome with lighthearted humor.  Our only rule was to introduce our friends to my mother, so she knew who was in her flock-of-the-day. My mother modeled how to be a shepherd of sheep, as these texts echo today, in offering food and water and safety. These are the tasks of a shepherd, despite that fact that few of us urbanites have ever met a real shepherd (or a sheep). 

Theologian Frederick Buechner wrote about a real shepherd, named Vernon Beebe. Beebe “…used to keep sheep.  Some of them he gave names to, and some of them he didn't, but he knew them equally well either way,” he wrote. “…If one of them got lost, he didn't have a moment's peace till he found it again. If one of them got sick or hurt, he would move heaven and earth to get it well again. He would feed them out of a bottle when they were newborn lambs  … and called them in at the end of the day so the wild dogs wouldn't get them.  He would wade through snow up to his knees with a bale of hay in each hand to feed them on bitter cold winter evenings, shaking it out and putting it in the manger… under the light of a …forty-watt bulb hanging down from the low ceiling to light up their timid, greedy, foolish, half holy faces as they pushed and butted each other…”

Buechner’s description endears us to the reality of a shepherd.  And, if God is like a shepherd, there are more than just a few ways that people like you and I are like sheep. Being timid, greedy, foolish, and half holy is only part of it. Like sheep we get hungry, and hungry for more than just food. We get thirsty for more than just drink. Our souls get hungry and thirsty…”[1]

Maybe this sense of inner emptiness is what makes us know we have souls in the first place.  But once in a while that inner emptiness is filled. That is what Psalm 23 means by saying that God is a shepherd: God feeds that part of us which is hungriest and most in need of feeding. God pours a drink for the part of us which is parched and most in need of hydration. And God in Jesus is right beside us in dark valleys. 

This makes us feel warm and secure.  We like to think someone is watching out and caring for us, particularly when the world seems so cold and dangerous.  We are glad to be sheep belonging to a good shepherd.  We like being taken care of – well, at times. But at other times, we may not like the idea of being taken care of. Sometimes, we resent this care and fight it. “Mom, let me do it myself!” we might cry. Think about it – being a sheep has its disadvantages.  Sheep are not so bright.  They are fragile.  They tend to wander off and lose their way.

I remember watching my friend Mark sheer his flock one day. He just tipped the sheep on their backs and they lay, defenseless, as he clipped their wool.  To be like a sheep is to be like a child, being guided and taken care of by someone larger and stronger – always receiving and seldom giving. As children, we needed this loving care.  As we mature, we have an even deeper need.  That need, that call from God, is to care for and feed someone else. That is when we find abundant life. 

The trouble with seeing Jesus as the Good Shepherd is that it makes us sheep –helpless, needy, sheep.  The trouble with thinking of ourselves as sheep is that sheep do not ever grow up to be shepherds. 

In the story of Jesus’ resurrection appearance at the Sea of Galilee, Jesus meets Peter and the others as they were out fishing.  Once they notice that the man on the shore is Jesus, they bring him some fish, which he cooks for them.  Over breakfast, Jesus asks Peter, “Do you love me? If you do, feed my sheep.”  He doesn’t say, “I am the good shepherd and I will take care of you.” All he says is “Feed my sheep.”  To Peter and to us, Jesus says, “You, too are called to be shepherds.  Stop worrying about who is going to appreciate you and find ways to show appreciation to other people.  Start getting joy from what you can give rather than what you can get.” 

Christ is the good shepherd of the sheep AND the recruiter and trainer of shepherds.

This Christian life means both receiving and giving. The hired hand’s voice is only one-sided, stealing the opportunity for mutuality.  This Christian life means a blend - of caring for and being cared for, of giving and receiving, of loving and being loved. Like serving at Crossroads, or attending one of our Thursday Night “Getting To Us” sessions, or bringing communion to shut-ins, or volunteering at VBS. This Christian life means being led along paths we would not choose for ourselves, and being prodded by the shepherd who knows our needs better than we know own. 

This Christian life means, most profoundly, trust.  Trust that in every circumstance we are protected and led by the one who stands guard against the worst the world can do.  It does not mean that death will not come, that tragedy will not string, that our hearts will not be broken, that someone will not betray us.  Trusting the Good Shepherd means that we might sing Psalm 23½:

Even though I walk through the corridors of the ICU, I will not fear death…
Though I pass through the valley of dismay at our political process, I will not be alone…
Though people may think less of me because of my decisions, I will not lose heart…
Though my relationships are strained and my job is uncertain, I will fear no evil…for you anoint me, guard me, love me.

This is really good news!  To be free of fear, to be free of others’ unrealistic expectations, to be free of shame…THIS is a gift beyond words.  I know this because I am a specialist in fear, in uber-responsibility and paralyzing self-shame.  But then there is this Good Shepherd, Jesus, who promises to meet us in ways we cannot imagine in the most difficult places of life – and death.

And in life and in death, through the gift of the church, we learn that we do not belong to ourselves, but, ultimately, to Jesus.  He leads us to waters of baptism. He sets before us a table of love in the face of all the world’s pain. He will lead us safely home. 

May we, this day, follow where he leads and trust that he loves us beyond measure.
May we, this day, follow his voice, share in his ministry allow him to guide us into paths of service and compassion.

And with this Good Shepherd, may we have life, and have it abundantly.



Amen




[1] Frederick Buechner Sermon Illustration cited here on May 1, 2017