The world is a frightening place, and our call is frightening, too. But find a quiet place to listen for God, pray, and then get back out there to serve, because God is with you.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 15 B
Texts: Mark 6:14-29 (30-32 added); 2 Samuel 6:1-5, 12b-19; Psalm 24

Dear friends in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

There’s a striking difference in the strategy John the Baptist and Jesus used proclaiming God’s reign in the world.

John was fiery. He called those who came to hear him “families of snakes” and threatened them with divine destruction. He publicly called out a corrupt, sexually promiscuous ruler for his immorality.

Jesus did have a few angry moments, but mostly didn’t preach fire and brimstone. He spoke of God’s love. He called people to follow God with their whole lives, their hearts as well as their bodies. He spent time with those considered worthless or unredeemable.

But both of them were killed for their preaching and ministry. John was beheaded by a weak king who couldn’t bear to have people make fun of him. Jesus was executed by a weak governor who couldn’t stand up to threats of going over his head.

It’s risky living God’s Good News in the world.

Standing up for what’s right and just and holy gets you into trouble. Even today, people get arrested for it. Get beaten up by mobs. Or law enforcement officers.

“People” do. But do we? Are we even scratching the surface of following Jesus if we’re not getting into any difficulty for it? And what should we do – follow John’s blazing model? Jesus’ one-person-at-a-time way?

What does God need us to do, us, we who are here right now, in a world in which too many of God’s children are starving, oppressed, and abused, in a nation where families are separated from each other to prove a paranoid political point and children are traumatized, in a city where racial tension and inequity are constantly with us?

Our answer begins with Jesus’ reaction to today’s horrible story.

This is a turning point for Jesus.

After hearing of John’s death, Jesus and the disciples go to a deserted place by themselves. Jesus needed that time apart to contemplate and reflect on his path, in light of John’s brutal death. “If they kill John for preaching against the king, what will they do to me?” And he insists on his disciples coming. They, too, needed time to pray and think. John’s death made this very real for everyone following Jesus. If anyone thought this was just a walk in the park, now they knew it wasn’t.

So Jesus and the disciples separate from the crowds, pray, find quiet room to contemplate what they’ll do next.

And Jesus doesn’t decide to change his path. He decides to re-engage.

When the crowds eventually find him and the others in their quiet place, out in the wilderness, by the end of that day they’re all hungry, thousands of them, and have no food.

So Jesus does what Jesus does, he feeds them. He preaches God’s rule and reign. He does miracles. He calls people to follow. He also starts losing lots of disciples, but keeps at it.

He could have quit. Sent all the disciples home. If death happens to those who preach God’s reign, it will likely happen to Jesus. He knows this now, and soon starts predicting his own suffering and death. But he and some disciples keep going, in spite of the consequences they now understand. And that’s our entry into this story.

This is also our turning point.

Like Jesus and the others, we can have different strategies. Any of us might feel called, like John the Baptist or Dr. King, to stand up and cry out against rulers, against injustice. That’s always a faithful way of following, the prophetic way.

But then there’s Jesus’ strategy. He calls individuals to attend to their inner truth, their hearts. Jesus changes hearts, one by one, calls people to be transformed from within until they look like the love of God in their lives and actions. Jesus believes transformed people, people whose lives are not their own but are shaped by God’s powerful love, will change the world in ways that can’t be resisted. A society that is just and free, where all thrive, all have enough, all live in love with each other, and all care for the creation, a society that God dreams about, is seen as an idealistic impossibility by a cynical world. But Jesus knows if people’s hearts are actually changed, such a society and world are not only possible, they’re the only probability.

To put it in terms for today: we can protest tearing children away from their families at the border, and shame the president into rescinding the order and returning the children. That’s happening. That’s important. But a society filled with people shaped by God’s love would never use children as pawns to fuel paranoia and hatred and racism in the first place. That’s Jesus’ goal. Not only band-aids to fix individual injustices. A dramatic renewing of the heart of all God’s children for the healing of all things.

We see how things are now, like Jesus and the others. It’s time to find a quiet place and listen for God.

Because some kind of path needs to emerge here. Some strategy. As many have reminded us, deciding to do nothing is still deciding something. Doing nothing is saying all’s right with the world, and there’s nothing needed, no change, no justice, no peace. Doing nothing says we’ve never heard of God’s astonishing love for the world and God’s dream for a holy, healed, safe place for all God’s children to thrive.

Here each week it’s one of our quiet places to reflect on our role in a world that has terrifying stories like today’s Gospel as front-page news nearly every day. But it would be wise for you to find other places, too, to get away in prayer, to be with others who walk with you in faith. To reflect, pray, contemplate on what it is God needs of you this week, and what transformation God has done in you already that gives you the ability to do that work.

And then, when the crowds, when life finds you in that deserted place (and it will), go and do. Act. Engage.

But do it with King David in mind. The ark of the covenant, the sign of the presence of God, stolen years ago, is finally brought back to Israel’s heart, the tent of worship.

And David dances. He dances for joy in front of the ark as it comes up the roads, the joy of knowing God is in the midst of the people. That’s the conviction that sent Jesus back out, and the disciples. And now you.

You have met Christ Jesus and have been changed. He’s called you to follow, started to transform your heart to be in beat with God’s and is showing you a path to proclaim God’s Good News with your life.

And God is with you on the path. Whatever happens, whatever consequences you might face for faithfully serving God in love and mercy, for working for justice and God’s healing, know this: you can dance. Every day. Because God is with you in your serving, and will never leave you. Because God will make justice and righteousness flow down like waters as more and more hearts are changed. And because when you know God is with you, what else can you do but dance?

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

 

It is only through our weakness and “thorns in our flesh” that God will heal the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 14 B
Texts: 2 Corinthians 12:2-10; Mark 6:1-13

Dear friends in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

Do we miss the point of the cross of Christ because of how we look at it?

We make that scene outside Jerusalem into something to behold, an epic tableau for our creative skill. Massive movies, paintings in all media and sizes, deeply moving music, sculptures of marble and gold, countless novels and stories, there’s no limit to our imagination of that day.

The cross is for us the turning point in history, when the God of all time and space endured humiliation and death. We’ve pondered and argued and fought for two thousand years over the theological meaning of this moment on that Judean hillside. This image is the center of our faith.

But that makes it really hard to understand individually what we’re to be doing when Jesus calls us to take up our crosses and follow him. It’s more than just that none of us will ever be hung on a cross. Our dramatizing and idolizing this moment makes it exceedingly difficult to grasp what a cross would look like for you. For me. What does it mean to walk the path of the cross, when “the cross” is such an enormous image for us?

But there’s hope.

When the cross is seen in the eyes of Jesus himself, or of the apostle Paul, and they speak of our lives following that path, all the grandeur and spectacle fades out, and the real truth about the cross remains clear. You can see what you are called to be and do. What your cross might look like.

Christ says today: “My grace is sufficient for you. For my power is made complete in weakness.” That’s your path.

The experiences of Jesus and Paul today reveal this truth.

Jesus is riding a wave of popularity. He’s healing, drawing crowds, teaching with wisdom and authority no one heard from the official teachers. And then he goes home. And it’s a disaster. All they can see is Mary and Joseph’s kid who grew up there. They’re amazed, but they discount him, they’re offended by him. And astonishingly, Jesus can’t do any works of power there. He is literally weakened by their unbelief.

We think of Paul as the Church’s greatest apostle. But this second letter to Corinth is riddled with his anxiety and insecurity. His own churches have criticized him, accused him of deceiving them. Other more impressive apostles have come to Corinth. They dress well, speak beautifully, let the Corinthians pay for them. By contrast, Paul was awkward, paid his own way, didn’t speak terribly well, didn’t dress nicely. So now they’re rejecting him.

But in Paul’s pain and sadness he finds the opportunity to remind his people that this is always the way of Christ. We are clay jars, flawed, he says. I get it, I’m not impressive. But it’s God’s power working in my weakness that’s the grace you need.

Now, Paul did ask God to stop his pain. He wanted this “thorn in his side” removed. Maybe it was his lack of impressive speaking skills, or how easily his people seemed to turn on him. But what Paul learned instead is what Jesus learned in Nazareth: God’s power is only complete in weakness.

It’s impossible to overstate how important this is.

After Jesus’ disgrace in Nazareth, remarkably then he sends out his disciples. Not exactly when they’d feel most confident in their ability to serve God as Jesus served, right after he fell on his face in failure. Yet he sends them. Right then. On top of it, he sends them without support, no food, no bag, no money. Nothing but God’s good news and their weakness.

And so he sends you, like them, because that’s the whole message. God’s power will only be known in weakness, not strength. In failure, not success.

Following Jesus is an exercise in accepted humility, as disciples realize their flaws and weaknesses, as they look at the enormous, daunting tasks of healing needed in this world with dismay. That’s precisely when disciples, when you, are able to see God at work.

That’s the point of the cross. God’s mission in the world only happens at the point of brokenness and loss. In everyday weakness God will heal all things.

These weaknesses, these thorns in your side, are the true sign of God’s grace at work.

Is your thorn self-doubt? You don’t have skills to make a difference for God in your life? There are so many more powerful people, more talented people? God can’t use you with your flaws? My power is made complete in weakness, God says. I can work with your doubt.

Is your thorn pride? Are you horrified to think of following Christ in a way that makes people laugh at you, think less of you? Are you unable to love and forgive some because you don’t want to be seen backing down? My power is made complete in weakness, God says. I can work with your pride.

Is your thorn fear? Are you afraid to love as Christ loves? To reach out to your neighbor in pain because you don’t know how it will be received? To speak up in that coffee shop or workplace when someone is mistreated, because you don’t want to get in trouble? Do you fear what would happen to your comfortable life if you took seriously Jesus’ commands to love, to give away your wealth, to put your neighbor’s needs first? My power is made complete in weakness, God says. I can work with your fear.

Weakness and failure aren’t something we might experience. They’re the whole point of Christ’s path. Look at how the first disciples were sent out. True love for the other always loses, always lets go, always gives away. It is out of his weakness and shame that Paul found the cross’s deepest promise and gives it to us, the best we could ever have as flawed people who desperately want to follow Jesus but don’t know how: “My grace is sufficient for you,” Paul heard and shared with us. “My power is completed in your weakness.”

This is God’s way and it works. Even if the Church often misses the point.

The Church typically thinks the way to be faithful is to run the world. Control the kingdom, or the democracy, have the armies, get the power. We did that for centuries and look what we made: crusades, inquisitions, oppression, suffering, killing.

This is never Christ’s way. Yes, as citizens we should vote, absolutely. Get engaged politically: we need to start fixing things. Christians of skill and talent should serve in public office. But control’s not our main strategy. Or God’s.

The strategy is that every day, every hour, followers of Christ love as Christ loves. Through weaknesses displayed for everyone to see. Vulnerable to mocking or distrust, to attack and hatred. You have some place today that needs you to be God’s love. Even in your flaws, your weakness. Every healing God has done in Christ in the world, every change Christians have made in society happened when they followed Christ in weakness and vulnerability and God worked through that to bring life.

Maybe the paintings and sculptures and movies were always the problem.

Don’t get me wrong, Michelangelo’s Pieta is one of the most moving things I’ve ever seen. But if we spent less time idolizing the scene at Calvary and more time understanding the failure at Nazareth foreshadowing the cross, we’d be less confused about our own paths.

So go, be Christ as you are called. As you’ve been baptized to do. What love-mischief can you and God be up to today for the healing of the world?

But make no mistake, it will happen in your weakness and failings, in what you lack, more than anything else. That’s when Christ’s disciples really start looking like their Master. And that’s when the world really starts knowing the truth about God’s healing and transforming love.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

 

Elizabeth and Zechariah receive amazing promises about what their son will do for the world, but they probably will not live to see those promises come to fruition. They stand with us on the long road to salvation, playing their part in God’s unfolding story.

 Vicar Jessica Christy
The Feast of St. John the Baptist
Text: Luke 1:57-80

“Prepare the way of the Lord!” That was John’s cry in the desert: prepare! As he taught and baptized his people, he knew that his mission was never an end in itself. Instead, he was merely getting ready, laying the groundwork for someone even greater. Tragically, he was killed before he could fully see what he had been preparing the world for. He never got to witness the wonder of Jesus’ death and resurrection. But even though he couldn’t know exactly how God’s promises were going to be fulfilled, he knew that their fulfillment was at hand, and he lived by that faith. That bold witness is what we honor today.

But funny enough, today’s Gospel isn’t really about John. The Baptist is a baby. Instead, we read about his parents, Elizabeth and Zechariah – and they are even one step farther removed from seeing God’s promises fulfilled. Their job is to prepare the way for the preparer, and they understand that well. They see an unbroken chain between their lives and the coming Christ. They know themselves to be in the midst of God’s unfolding story – not the beginning, and not the end, but along the way on the road towards salvation.

On one hand, this is a joyful place for them to be. They had given up on having children, and now, they not only have a son, but a chosen son who will usher in the Messiah. They are living in a time when ancient prophecies are being fulfilled, when God is showing up in a new and exciting way. They know their Scripture, so they know what God is planning for the world. They know that they are standing on the brink of a new era of mercy and salvation, life and peace. God’s light is dawning after a long and painful night. They clearly see where this story is headed, and it is good. Their role in God’s plans is good.

But on the other hand, their role is also bittersweet. Their story is one of amazement, but also of loss and longing. They are already very old, Luke says, when John is born – so old that it is a miracle that they are having a child at all. So how much of their son’s life will they be present for before they die? Luke doesn’t tell us. Will they get to be proud of his preaching, and of the great crowds that he inspires? Will they ever shake their heads at their strange child’s diet and choice of clothing? Will they get to see their nephew, Jesus, teaching and healing and transforming the world, and know in their hearts that this is what they had been waiting for? Or, more likely, are they preparing the way for promises that they will never live to see fulfilled? When they bring this child into the world, they are embarking on a journey, knowing full well that they probably won’t make it to the destination.

And that’s where we are. We stand with Elizabeth and Zechariah on the long road. We are living in the middle of a sacred story that we will probably not see brought to completion, not in our lifetimes. In faith, we proclaim that the story of this earth will end in joy, when all things are reconciled with God. With Zechariah, we announce that God is coming to forgive sins, to scatter darkness and death, and to bring long-awaited peace. We hold fast to that truth, because in the end, God’s victory is the only truth that matters. But the day-to-day reality of how we live that promise, that’s a harder task. We are in the middle of a long human journey, far from the beginning of the story, but with no clear happy ending in sight. All we can do is take the world that we have been given and do our part to bring it just a bit closer to the reign of God. We love each other, we strive for justice and peace, and we try to leave the world a little less broken than we found it. And then we pass the torch on to the next generation and hope they can build on what we’ve done.

This is hard work, because the world around us says that our shared story is going to end poorly. The news screams it out every day. The church, we are told, is declining, our country is in turmoil, our planet is getting hotter. The world is filled with powerful cruelty, powerful evil, and especially after this painful week, it doesn’t look like that evil will be going anywhere soon. We would have good reason to be overcome with despair. We would have good reason to suspect that we have spent centuries preparing the way for promises that will never be brought to fruition. Even though we say the dawn is coming, it’s easy to feel like the night is going to last forever, like we’re on a journey that’s twisting and turning but ultimately going nowhere. The forces of despair or strong, and the only way to fight back against them is with stories of God’s unquenchable, unconquerable love for the world.

The stories that we tell matter. They matter because we can’t anticipate God’s reign if we don’t believe that God is really coming. Are shaping ourselves with God’s stories of love and mercy and hope, or are we giving in to the world’s stories of futility? Whose truths are we choosing to live by? To see the difference this makes, we need only look to Zechariah. Zechariah is in the middle of the mess, just like us, but he speaks words of hope, not of sadness or regrets, because he is confident in God’s story. He looks back at the long, hard history of his people, and he would have every right to see it as a story of disappointment after disappointment and tragedy after tragedy. But instead he clings to the history of God’s loving promises, from Abraham, through David and the prophets, to his own day – and there he finds the assurance that God’s work isn’t done. He knows that the Holy Spirit is at work in the world, and that the Spirit has given him a part to play to pave the way for Christ.

If we believe that the light of Christ is dawning on all things, then we too have a part to play. We are called to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. The road is long and uncertain, and may at times feel futile. But we can go out with good courage, because on the other side of that uncertainty is God’s sure victory. God’s morning is coming. Blessed are we who are granted a chance to see that, no matter what shadows the world may throw at us. Blessed are we who prepare to greet the dawn. Because when we stand vigil, waiting and preparing and hoping for Christ’s light, then Christ’s light begins to rise in us, and then we know that our preparations are not in vain.

Amen.