Sermon: Jesus is There. And There.

Photo by Edwin Andrade on Unsplash

Sermon Preached on July 22, 2018

Proper 11B RCL

The Rev. Vicki K. Hesse,

Director of the Whitaker Institute, 

Episcopal Diocese of Michigan

All Saints Episcopal Church, East Lansing, MI

Listen here

Good morning.  My name is Rev. Vicki Hesse.

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 that

educate, equip and empower

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 Pastor Kit, who is on vacation this week,

for your invitation to be here today. 

Intro

Some of you were raised Episcopalian,

others came to this church from other denominations. 

My early denomination was church of the outdoor sports-

hiking, biking, riding.

And early in my conscious adult relationship with God,

before I was baptized,

my friend Mary Ann invited me

to a deserted place to rest awhile. 

We both had busy lives in IT – she in CT and me in CO. 

We needed to rest.

She had heard about this retreat being offered in Wyoming

by author Marcus Borg and

she thought that I might be interested.

The ranch was sparsely inhabited,

with a lodge and half a dozen cabins

scattered throughout the gray, sage-dotted hills

with a barn and corral where they kept horses for trail rides.

I mostly went because Mary Ann was a good friend

and I needed a break.

At the first evening after dinner,

we gathered in the living room.

We introduced ourselves, why we were there and what we hoped for.

I sheepishly gave my reason as rest and time with my friend.

Others were there for more profound reasons.

Soon, Borg began delving into scripture with

a review of his (then) most recent book,

Reading the Bible Again for the First Time. 

As he told of the metaphorical and

image-packed understanding of the bible,

I was drawn in.

God captured me through a passion of learning and discovery

that placed inside me a deep desire to know more

and to feel God’s love and forgiveness. 

During those seven days,

I could hardly wait for the evening sessions. 

Those sessions healed my scars

from bible-thumping-literalists

that I had previously experienced.

Who knew that learning could be so healing?

Well, apparently Jesus did. 

Because in today’s gospel story,

we hear about how when the disciples had

“come away to the deserted place,”

they and Jesus were met at their retreat destination. 

So many people recognized them

and arrived ahead of them

that the place seemed to Jesus like they were

in a field of sheep without a shepherd. 

So what did he do? He taught them. 

Jesus knew that learning could be so healing. 

Interestingly, the term we read here as

“deserted” or “uninhabited” place

is same word used in the opening chapter of the gospel,

“describing both where

Jesus spent forty days in the desert before his ministry began

and

the place to which he withdrew to pray after his first healing miracles.”[1]

Jesus must have sensed their combined fatigue

and excitement like he had felt

and invited them to pray together.

And that is where we, too, can find Jesus.

In deserted, uninhabited places. 

Not only in comfortable spa-like settings,

where we feel God’s presence when times are good.

But also in

Those dry prayer-free parts of our inner lives

where God seems so distance.  There is Jesus.

Those parched, painful, grieving places we know

when our best friend dies or

our when our aunt receives a diagnosis of cancer.  There is Jesus.

Those dehydrated, isolated places

where no one seems to know that we are despairing

with harsh questions about why anything matters.  There is Jesus.

Those wind-swept, uncivil, political bantering places

that are so pervasive in our society. There is Jesus.

Do you want to meet Jesus?

Go so those deserted, uninhabited places.  There is Jesus.

Just know, however, that a crowd might be there.

For when the crowd sees the disciples in the boat

Leaving the shore, they run ahead and greet them.

So deserted places remain so for only a short time.

There, the people are rushing about seeking healing.

Yearning for God.

Aching in pain.

Complaining about the negative society.

Lamenting oppression and discrimination.

Throughout the whole region, in villages or cities or farms,

wherever Jesus goes,

they beg for healing love. They beg for healing heartache. They beg for forgiveness. They beg for liberation from debts. They beg for kindness from others.

And that is where Jesus is, in the midst of them.

(pause)

Earlier this year,

Whitaker hosted priest Mike Kinman,

who was Dean of the Cathedral in St. Louis, MO.

He was there during that wilderness experience

of the city during the Ferguson shooting of Michael Brown.

The riots came near the church, he said,  

so he and a group of clergy spoke on the phone

and agreed to meet in the next day

for a panel discussion about the situation.

And there, he was convicted for not wanting to meet Jesus. 

For one of the Baptist pastors got up from the panel discussion

and went out into the crowd. 

Calling Kinman to join him. 

As he did so, with some trepidation,

Kinman met the participants in what is now known

as the #blacklivesmatter movement. 

These protestors were vulnerable. They were different from him. 

Mostly young, black, women, who spoke truth to power and with passion. 

Kinman recalled something like,

“that is where I met Jesus that day, in the midst of the crowd,

in the movement of the spirit, with the chaos and fear

and love that the crowd shared.

"My pastor friend said to me,

“If you want to meet Jesus, you gotta get out on the street.”

He was right.  I felt very vulnerable and very loved by God.”[2]

Kinman continued, “How do you know when you have met Jesus?

“You weep more. You laugh more. You get more confused.

You struggle more.”

And you know you are beloved,

made in the image of God, and nothing can take that away from you.”[3]

So there was this crowd

And there was Jesus, in the midst of it. 

The people begged him that they might touch “even the fringe of his cloak.” 

They begged to be in his personal space, where you can feel the healing. 

That’s what Kinman experienced.

That’s what we experience, too, when we are serving others,

in the presence of their vulnerability

and in the sharing of our vulnerability.

That vulnerability is the fringe of Jesus’ cloak.

The good news today is that

God in Jesus loves you and forgives you

whether you recognize him or not.

You can seek him out in deserted, uninhabited places of your life.

Or you can jump into the fray of people

milling about like sheep without a shepherd. 

In these seemly dissimilar places, Jesus is there. 

You will recognize him.

And, Jesus already recognizes you.

Jesus is working in your life already

in more ways that you can ask or imagine. 

So rest awhile in his love.

Feel that peace that the world cannot give –

that comes through the presence of Jesus. 

Come close to the fringe and be healed.

Amen

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[1] Commentary on Gospel of Mark, New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume VIII, page 600

[2] From my memory at Epiphanies Conference, February 21,2018. St. John’s Episcopal Church, Royal Oak, MI

[3] Article by The Rev. Jonathan Sams, The Record – a publication of The Episcopal Diocese of Michigan

Sermon: Co-Workers In The Kingdom

A Sermon preached in Christ Church, Grosse Pointe, Michigan
by The Reverend Vicki Hesse, Associate

The 2nd Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 6, Year A)
18 June 2017

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

Listen here.

Earlier this week, I set out to research how sheep act if they are without a shepherd. I found this article from 2005, Associated Press, about 450 sheep who jumped to their death in Turkey.  The article^[1] reported how, “…first one sheep jumped and then the stunned Turkish shepherds, who had left the herd to graze while they had breakfast, watched as nearly 1500 others followed, each leaping off the same cliff.  In the end, 450 dead animals lay on top of one another in a billowy white pile…those who jumped later were saved as the pile got higher and the fall more cushioned.”

And, surprising me more, was the fact that this was not the only article reporting this kind of behavior. Apparently, sheep are notorious for bad behavior if left to themselves. Once spooked whole flocks can be lost – due to lightening or predators. Their nature is also to live in community with each other.

Jesus must have seen that notoriously bad sheep behavior before. He recognized a similarity with the following crowds, acting like spooked sheep. The people were stressed by life, starting with small living quarters – whole families in one-room upstairs, above the one-stall animal room. They were helpless to avoid the stench of poor sewer systems draining down the middle of the streets. They were often slaves of wealthy Roman citizens, harassed by their owners. They were helpless under the weight of heavy taxes, which for Jewish people could add up to more than half their income.  Additionally, any illness – physical or mental – would surely mean loss – of homes, of livelihood, of family members.  When Jesus saw those crowds, harassed and helpless, he had compassion on them.

The crowds today are no different. They are stressed by life: Harassed by the conflicting schedules of softball and dance and choir and homework and morning breakfast meetings that go until lunch. Harassed by the city inspector (or the neighbor’s expectations) to keep the front yard mowed and the trash cans off the curb. Harassed trying to schlep the groceries in the house with a kid under one arm, the dog running on a leash and the elderly parent calling on the cell phone. Harassed under the tyranny of emails, texts and voice mail demanding immediate response. They are helpless to fulfill promises made to attend an event for a colleague while defraying the cries of a spouse who states they are not home enough. They are helpless to heal their best friend’s cancer or their brother’s addictions or their own loss of memory.  They are harassed and helpless living under the weight of 21^st century velocity of life and the incarnational limits of humanity.

When Jesus sees these crowds – sees us, harassed and helpless, he has compassion on them – on us. Feeling harassed and helpless is not a sign of failure but of being human.

And just as sovereign rulers had done for thousands of years before him at their accession, Jesus promised to turn the world upside-down and proclaimed amnesty; freedom in the Kingdom of Heaven from abusive taxation, from unjust legal penalties, and from physical – or mental – illness.  Jesus proclaimed the good news and had compassion –felt in his guts, so deeply. 

And these harassed and helpless crowds were so ready for freedom – so ready for the “harvest.” They were so desperate to receive what had long been promised to the gathered people of Israel.

Jesus knew that shepherding requires co-workers.  Not perfect people, but the people he had. So, out of the crowds, Jesus called over the disciples.  He qualified them to be co-workers in the field, giving them authority and the tools to heal in his name.

{In true Gospel of Matthew style, emphasizing Jesus’ call to the Jewish people, he directs them to the flock of Israel.  He will get to the Gentiles and Samaritans later – and does so by the end of the Gospel, commanding them to go and baptize all nations (v. 28:19)}.

With his focus toward the house of Israel, Jesus emphasized community for people of faith to live and flourish. Notice he called together people who disagree?  Matthew, a tax collector and minion of Rome and Simon the Cananean, a Zealot and enemy of Rome.  Yes, even in his first vestry, there were people on both sides of the Roman aisle who worked together for the Kingdom of Heaven, in the service of community, doing God’s work in the world.

So you know what comes next, right?  It is so obvious what today’s gospel message is about. But if it is so obvious what happens next, how are we so comfortable standing by? Let’s be curious about that. Yep, today’s gospel message is that Jesus summons us, not perfect people, but the ones he has.  He reminds us, by the authority of our baptism to have compassion on the crowds. 

Jesus summons us today, to have compassion so we can bring back to the flock those who have gone astray. 

Jesus summons us today to be wounded healers, to cure the sickness of isolation and loneliness, to raise the dead at heart, reminding them that nothing can ever separate them from God’s love.

Jesus summons us today to cleanse the “lepers” by touching and seeing people who feel untouchable and unseen because of age, gender identity, sexual orientation, skin color, ethnicity, religious (or even non-religious) understanding, or seen as disaffected by our community.

Jesus summons us today to welcome back friends who have broken with us, betrayed us, resented us… to cast out the demon of guilt and to forgive over and over and over. 

Jesus summons us today to become co-workers of his grace and love. 

And when we feel harassed and helpless, Jesus asks us to get real.  Because what matters most is that God came in Jesus in the first place to tell us that God loves not the persons we are trying to be or have promised to be or want to be, but the ones we are. 

A few years ago, during our Ashes To Go prayer offering on the running trail in Tucson, a purple-haired and pierced mother showed up with her teenage daughter.  We prayed together, the lay healers and I, and offered the Ash Wednesday prayer, ashes to ashes and dust to dust.  Through tears, we invited her to come pray with us at our parish – just over the bridge across there. 

The next year, the same woman showed up with her daughter. She shared how helpless she felt to help her mother’s illness, so could we pray for her, too? 

The third year… she did not show up.

So we went back to church for the late afternoon family Ash Wednesday service.  As I reached out to begin the imposition of ashes, the first & second person in line was this woman and her daughter.  I was so surprised I said, Oh, you came!  Yes, of course, she replied, this is my church, this is my community that prays with me. News is that this woman has begun participating in the weekly healing service, offering her healing prayer to others.  Through her harassed life, she found a world of freedom by becoming a co-worker with Jesus in the Kingdom of Heaven.  And every Ash Wednesday I see her face in my heart and her countenance, ready to hear the good news of freedom.

My sisters and brothers, we have received deep compassion without payment and today, Jesus asks that we give without payment.

Amen

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[1] Cited at http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/4665511.stm  on June 15, 2017