The Mid-Week Missive is based on Community Rules: An Episcopal Manual by Ian Markham and Kathryn Glover, both administrators at Virginia Theological Seminary. I am working my way through this book, reading and writing  through the lens of our Life Together as part of the Christ the King Episcopal Church family, as well as part of the Diocese of the Central Gulf Coast. 

Rule #19: Don’t Hide the Mistakes and the Problems. Markham and Glover’s reflection on this rule can be found in their book, which can be purchased here. 

How does this rule apply to our Life Together at Christ the King? In their reflection on Rule #19, Ian Markham and Kathryn Glover say, “Christian community is one that expects mistakes and expects problems. There is a temptation to hide the mistakes and hope the problems will go just away. They do not. The honest and most helpful way forward is to come clean: to identify the mistake and describe the problem…Honest early on can create better and more attractive alternatives for resolution and forgiveness.”  

The season of Advent is an excellent time to practice the holy discipline of being honest with ourselves in such a way that we do not feel like we need to hide our shortcomings, mistakes, or problems – as individuals and as a parish. Like Lent, Advent is a good time to “take inventory” of what is going well in our lives and in our parish what needs some work. There is no shame in being imperfect. Only Christ is perfect. As we begin a new year in our church calendar, how might we have the courage to begin naming and claiming our mistakes? This practice is not for the sake of beating ourselves up or pointing fingers. This practice is for the sake of taking a positive step on our journeys towards reconciliation with God, others, and ourselves.

Isn’t it interesting that as we begin a new year on the Church calendar today, rather than talking about the beginning of time, we are talking about the end? Indeed, today’s liturgy – the collect, scripture lessons, hymns, and service music - tell us that we are by no means still in “Ordinary Time.”

The Collect of the Day for 1st Advent plunges us into the dichotomy between this mortal life and life immortal. It reminds us that at the moment of Christ’s second coming, whether we are living or dead, we will face his judgment. This is heavy stuff indeed, so much so that many - if not most - Christians choose side-step the second Advent - Christ’s Second Coming - and instead focus on the first Advent – Christ’s nativity. The nativity – with its emphasis on birth - indeed is much more comforting and joyful than death and final judgment. And many people have chosen the Episcopal Church precisely because they grew tired of their tradition focusing on things like judgment and hell. I would grow tired of a church that talked about that all the time too. But on the flip side, I have grown tired of churches that never speak of the things that make us uncomfortable. The Season of Advent offers a corrective to the theologically flimsy Moral Therapeutic Deism and Golden Rule Christianity that is so prevalent in many churches today. The Season of Advent boldly invites us to ponder our own mortality, as well as what will happen when Christ comes again. Only when we can come to grips with our own mortality will we be able to faithfully and authentically celebrate the meaning and consequence of the  1st and 2nd comings of Christ. So all of this being said…Happy New Year!

We must remember that during the High Middle Ages, death was an ever-present reality. Living conditions were wretched, and life expectancy was low, and the emergence of the Black Plague made things even worse. In those conditions, one couldn’t help but to have death on their minds. So Christians looked to the Church’s scriptures and tradition to help make sense of the awful reality in which they were living. After all, if the Church doesn’t have anything meaningful to say about this situation, what good is it?

The 1662 Book of Common Prayer included the following in the liturgy of the Daily Office: “Man, that is born of a woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay. In the midst of life we are death.” While this might seem overly morbid to our post-modern ears, it was pastoral wisdom when it was written. When the plague hit London in 1665, indeed, these words were likely on the tip of every faithful Christian’s tongue. We may not have nearly as many health-related risks as folks did in the Middle Ages, but we still have biological limitations. No matter how advanced our society becomes, we will all die. And thus the Church is still called to give us the language, theology, framework, and community for dealing with death. Just as in generations past, if we can’t look to our faith tradition for wisdom and guidance as it pertains to death, to whom or what will we turn?

I think that one reason we as a society struggle to talk about death as openly as did those in generations past is that we have sanitized – and become sanitized to – the reality of death. The discovery of bacteria and infection, and the resulting emphasis on sanitation, was a landmark moment for humankind. Modern medicine, plumbing, vaccinations, and other medical progress has decreased infant mortality rates, increased life expectancy, and overall has lengthened and increased our quality of life. That is a very good thing. But a consequence of modern medicine and family structures is that we actually see death with our own eyes far less often. This is the first period of time in human history that people are more likely to die outside their own home – be it a hospital, nursing home, or Hospice Care facility. And when somebody dies, we don’t even like to say that they have died. The preferred figure of speech is to say that they have “passed away.” If you read obituaries in the paper, you’ll notice that we don't have funerals any more - we have Celebrations of Life. And the “celebration” that is being referred to is no longer the resurrection of Christ from the dead, and what that means for us when we die. The celebration simply begins and ends with the person whose life is being celebrated. If someone from generations past read a modern-day obituary of someone they knew, they might show up to the church expecting a birthday party rather than a funeral.

Thankfully, the funeral service in the Book of Common Prayer is called Burial of the Dead. And I hope that never changes. The service for the Burial of the Dead, in my opinion, is one of the most powerful, theologically rich services in the Prayer Book. It is simultaneously solemn and uplifting in a deeply reverent way. It doesn’t comfort us by evading or denying death. It provides comfort and solace by proclaiming what we believe to be true in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Perhaps another reason that we are so uncomfortable with death is that for many of us, life is relatively pretty good.  But for those whose life here on earth is terribly difficult, death can be seen as a release from bondage. For slaves or other people living in abject poverty and oppression, death brought about a freedom that they never experienced in this life. But if our lives here are pretty good, death doesn’t seem like the better option. So do all that we can to extend our lives here on earth, and once death is imminent, we approach it like almost as if it were embarrassing inconvenience as opposed to natural a part of God’s created order.

As such, while our ancestors spent much of their religious life focusing on preparing for a good, holy death, we tend not to do so. Of course, much of our religious life should be spent on how to live our lives here and now. But our scriptures and tradition call us to deal with the reality death as well. The Apostle Paul urges us to lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light. And historically, Advent was the season that was set aside to ponder and prepare for these things. The four Sundays of Advent were set aside to meditate on what became to be known as the Four Last Things – Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell. The scripture lessons and collects during Advent still address these themes, but amazingly, we seem to skillfully find a way to avoid talking about them altogether.

The Advent wreath is an excellent example of how we have shifted our focus during the season Advent. Today, for most churches, the four exterior candles on the Advent wreath no longer represent the Four Last Things - Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell. They now are said to signify “Faith, Hope, Joy, and Peace.” Now don’t get me wrong – who doesn’t love faith, hope, joy, and peace? I certainly do. And when Emily and I gather around the table with Julian and Madeleine to light our Advent wreath, I’m much more comfortable saying, “This is the peace candle” than I am saying, “This is the hell candle.” I will likely defend my discomfort by saying that our children are too young to hear about things like death, judgment, and hell. But why? And what about adults? Why blame it on children? Why are we adults still so uncomfortable with these aspects of the human condition and Christian tradition?

The writers of The Living Church magazine remind us that the Four Last Things instill humility and acceptance of our limitations. We are not God, no matter how advanced we become with modern medicine and science. We will always be finite, mortal beings. And as such, we will all die. But we don’t have to die alone or in vain. Christ himself died, so that he – God incarnate -  could fully experience the human condition, even death. But in Christ, death no longer has the last word. And Christ’s Body – the Church – gives us a community within which we are equipped to live a holy life and die and holy death. May we all live a holy, good life, and when it is time for us to die, may we all die a good, holy death.

Last night, Emily and I went to see “A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood” – the new film about Mr. Rogers, from the TV Show “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood.” I cried for what seemed like the entire movie – it was that good. The film focused on the time when Mr. Rogers appeared on the cover of Esquire magazine, as part of their feature story on real life heroes. Of course, when he was interviewed for the article, Mr. Rogers bristled at the notion that he was a “hero.” But of course, he was a hero… his heroic deeds were just different from those in comic books and action thriller movies. His heroism wasn’t based on redemptive violence – beating the “bad guy” at his own game - which tends to be the typical storyline of hero stories. Mr. Rogers’ heroism was based on empathy, compassion, and  making people feel special. Mr. Rogers had a deep well of love – and he had the gift of sharing it with others. Of course, as an ordained Presbyterian minister and deeply prayerful person, the love Mr. Rogers had and shared was none other than Gospel love. It was the love of Jesus Christ working in and through him. The irony of the story was that the person who made the cover of the feature story on heroes was actually an anti-hero of sorts.

I know I say this sort of thing a lot, but the timing of my watching this film couldn’t have been more providential. Because today is Christ the King Sunday – the day when we acknowledge and celebrate that it is Jesus Christ who is the true king of the world. And if there ever was an anti-hero, it was Jesus…just read our gospel lesson for today. If you who have been coming to church most every Sunday for the past six months, today’s Gospel lesson should almost hit you like a sucker punch in the gut. Where did that come from? For the past 6 months, ever since Jesus turned his face towards Jerusalem, we have been hearing story after story of Jesus’ teachings…mostly through the telling of parables. There haven’t been miraculous healings or events. The Season After Pentecost – Ordinary Time – focuses on the teaching of Jesus. The goal is to use this very long “season of green” to allow these teachings to do their work on us, so that our faith grows deeper as we approach the new year.  

But today’s Gospel lesson is a shocker. We go from stories that are deeply challenging – both intellectually and spiritually – to Jesus being nailed to a cross, moments away from death. He is hanging between two criminals who are also being crucified, and being mocked by both his own people as well as the Roman soldiers.  And what does Jesus say? “Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing.” After being unjustly arrested, tried, beaten, and sentenced to death, the words and actions that Jesus come up with are forgiveness. Not revenge. Not redemptive violence. Not anger or hate.

The inscription that hung over Jesus’ head read, “This is the King of the Jews.” Of course, this sign was meant to further the mockery by the Roman empire. In other words, “Hey Jewish people – this is what your king looks like.” Of course, the irony of the whole thing is that this is what lordship, kingship, power, and heroism looks like to Jesus. The anti-hero indeed. Today marks the lest Sunday of the year on the Church calendar. Next Sunday – the 1st Sunday of Advent – is New Years’ Day for the Church. We will begin again. Isn’t it interesting that today, our final Sunday of the year, is how we wrap up six months of parables and teachings? About six months ago, Jesus turned his face towards Jerusalem, and here he is. In today’s lesson, Jesus doesn’t tell us a parable…he is the parable. Here is our Lord. Here is our King. Loving and forgiving everyone – even those who beat, mocked, and killed him – until the very end. A hero indeed.

“Anyone unwilling to work should not eat.” As you can imagine, this line from Paul’s 2nd letter to the Thessalonians has been used by many “bible-based” Christians to discourage the feeding of the poor. And for those who choose to read the scriptures in that manner, it’s hard to argue any other interpretation. It says right there – in black and white – that in order to eat, one should have to work to earn their meal. But working for what you receive isn’t believed by many to be a just a Christian value, it is believed by many to be a American value as well. And the validity of the ethic of being required to work for what you receive is at the heart of many of our theological and political debates.

But we first need to look at hospitality customs in the biblical world before we appropriate Paul’s words to our context today. Presbyterian minister Elizabeth Forney points out that in biblical times, the ethics of hospitality were directed towards two distinct classes of people: the resident alien and the traveler. And in most cases, those two were not distinguished from one another – they simply referred to anybody outside of one’s community or tribe. In the book of Deuteronomy, Moses says,  “For the Lord your God...loves the strangers, providing them food and clothing. You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” Hospitality was expected to be offered even to one’s enemies, as we hear in Psalm 23 – “You prepare a table for me even in the presence of my enemies.”

And in the New Testament, we hear in the book of Hebrews, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” Jesus himself was the king of the free handout – whether it was wine at a wedding banquet, loaves and fishes, healings, blessings, or even raising someone from the dead. In none of those cases did he inquire whether or not the recipients had worked hard enough to earn the gift. The gift was simply given in love – because Jesus had it and others needed it.

But we must not confuse the immigrant alien, stranger, traveler, or even our enemy with someone from within our community…someone with whom we have a relationship. And that is what Paul is talking about in his 2nd letter to the Christian Church in Thessalonica. Apparently, some members of the church had begun shirking their responsibilities at home, in the marketplace, and in church because of their expectation that Jesus was coming soon. And because a number of community members were not doing their fair share of the work, the community was beginning to suffer. Paul points out to the Thessalonians that when he and Timothy were there with them, they carried their load of the work. And they expect others in the community to do the same.

Earlier this year, we had a Wednesday book group that read and discussed Joan Chittister’s commentary on the Rule of Benedict. This Rule of Life for monastic communities was written in the early 5th century and is still the standard bearer for Christian community living. Benedictine monasteries were known for their deep commitment to hospitality to strangers and travelers with no questions asked. But they were also equally committed to holding the community together by members carrying their fair share of the load – each to his own ability. John McQuiston, who attends CtK when he is visiting here from Memphis, wrote a commentary on Benedict’s Rule. In it, he writes, No one is excused from rendering personal service to others. No one is exempted from performing the mundane tasks of daily life. Rendering service to others is necessary to our own fitness. Exempting someone from commonplace chores endangers them to vanity.” In other words, just like Paul was saying to a Christian community 500 years earlier – the community suffers when all members are not taking the responsibility to do their fair share of the work, each to their own ability.

And almost 2,000 years after Paul wrote to a small church in Northern Greece, and 1,500 years after Benedict crafted a Rule of Life for a monastery in central Italy, Christians all over the world are still wrestling with how to be in community with one another. We are still trying to figure out how to faithfully live into our baptismal covenants and be The Body of Christ. And Paul’s letters to the churches he founded and Benedict’s Rule are great resources for making sense and practical use of this vocation that we are living in to centuries later.

As the rector here at Christ the King, I feel obligated to point out that each year, only about half of our households make a pledge of their time, talent, and treasure to the life and ministries of Christ the King. I am deeply grateful for those who are so committed to ensuring that the mission and ministries at Christ the King will continue next year and beyond. And I am also astonished at how much Christ the King has accomplished through the years with only half of our households making a contribution of their resources. And then I begin to wonder what it might be like if that were no longer the case. Of course I’m preaching to the choir because those who attend church on Sundays are usually the ones who are doing the work to keep the church going. And please don’t get me wrong – we are not facing a financial crisis here like so many other mainline churches are. We are not in decline. We are not opening a line of credit at the bank to pay our bills and staff like so many other churches are doing these days. When Bishop Russell visits us next week, he will not be meeting with our vestry to discuss our future as a viable parish. He will see a parish that is for the most part healthy and thriving. And that is due to the faithful work that so many of us have done and continue to do here at Christ the King. And we could just leave it at that. But y’all know me well enough by now that I can’t just “leave it at that.” I can’t help but to wonder what it might be like to go in to a budget process with the mindset of “what new ministry are we going to start” or “what new population of people might we be able to serve” as opposed to “how can we keep what we have?” What sort of difference might we be able to make in the lives of our parishioners who we are not currently reaching, as well as the lives of those in our surrounding community that we are not reaching, if we were “all in” – not “50% in” – here at Christ the King? We have done and are still doing a pretty darn good job with only half of our households making a commitment to the mission and ministries of Christ the King. But again, I just can’t leave it at that. Like Paul, and like Benedict, I can’t help but to expect that, as Christ’s very own Body in the world, we should be all in – each to our own ability and means. Christ himself showed us what it looks like to be “all in.” And we are now his Body in the world. Are we faithfully representing his body in the world? Christ went “all in” for us? Are we willing to do the same for him?

In our gospel lesson today, some Sadducees are doing to Jesus exactly what some of the Pharisees would do – they tried to trap him by proposing a sort of “lose-lose” scenario for him to answer in front of a crowd. But Jesus always seemed able to respond to these antagonistic encounters with wisdom and grace, and today’s story is no exception.

Jesus’ response to the Sadducees is profound, and one that we would do well to heed to. Jesus reminded them that God “is God not of the dead, but of the living.” In other words, our mutual relationship with God isn’t some sort of life insurance policy for when we die. God is the God of the living; God is for the here and now; God’s love, mercy, grace, and justice are for today. That being the case, how does that inform the decisions that we make? How does that change how we go about our lives in the present moment?

Many of you know that this past week, our Children & Youth Ministry Renovation Team co-hosted a Christian Formation Summit with our consultants from Ministry Architects. We had 22 participants on Wednesday evening, and it was a very productive, enlightening, and hopeful workshop that will help chart the course for our Christian Formation calendar, cycle, and milestones for children and youth.

One belief, perspective, or world view that comes up quite often throughout the Christian Church when discussing the importance of children and youth ministry is that we should invest in these ministries because the church is dying, and these children and youth are our only hope for the future survival of the Church. It is often said – with very good intentions – that “our children and youth are the Church of the future.” But I think that what Jesus said to the Sadducees in our lesson today is important for us to consider in this context. God “is God not of the dead, but of the living.” God is for the here and now. With that in mind, I think that it is critical for us to recognize that our children and youth are the Church in the here and now, not just in the future. Investing in children’s and youth ministry shouldn’t be seen a sort of life insurance policy or trust fund for the future survival of a dying Church. How short-sighted is that? Don’t we want our children and youth to thrive now so that we as a church can thrive now? I want to enjoy the fruits of the investing in children and youth in this life right now.

I am reading a book called “Growing Young: 6 Essential Strategies to Help Young People Discover and Love Your Church.” It was published by the Fuller Youth Institute from Fuller Theological Seminary in California. The three authors spent a great deal of time doing research and gathering data from a wide variety of churches all over the country. They looked at Mainline Protestant, Catholic, Orthodox, and non-Denominational churches that were large and small, rural, urban, and suburban, old, new, and everything in between. One thing that they discovered is that the Churches that were thriving and healthy were those that looked at children’s and youth ministry as a priority for the here and now as well as for the future. And another thing that they noticed is that investment in children’s and youth ministry not only helped those ministries to thrive, but it actually empowered the adult ministries to thrive as well. In other words, in healthy, thriving churches, these different age-groups of ministry aren’t siloed – they are shared. The health of one area of ministry helps the health of another area, and vice-versa.

When I speak of investing in children’s and youth ministry, I am speaking of financial investment as well as volunteering. The research team for Growing Young pointed out that thriving churches require an investment of both money and people. Those that had a large financial investment only – and did not supplement it with a broad, committed adult volunteer base – did not succeed. And the same goes for those churches that tried to build a healthy children’s and youth program on volunteers alone.

The well-known proverb that says that you can see what one values the most by looking at their checkbook and their calendar rings true for churches as well as individuals. In the history of our church, financially speaking, Christ the King’s annual operating budget has not and currently does not reflect a priority for children and youth ministry. We have done well in the area of volunteers for the most part, but we have a lot of catching up to do financially.

In 2017, we received a $100,000 gift from a young couple in our church because they wanted to see this trend change. This gift enabled us to hire the consultants from Ministry Architects to do an assessment of our programs, and then to coach and consult us for 18 months. They came last Spring to do a Children’s and Youth Visioning Summit and then last week to do a Christian Formation Summit. Our Renovation Team has had monthly video conference calls with one of the consultants, and I have a monthly call with the lead consultant. Beth – our children’s minister – also has had regular coaching calls with one of our consultants. It has been a very productive, educational 18 months for all of us on the team.

We are now approaching the end of our contract with Ministry Architects, and we are awaiting a recommendation from them as to how we should proceed with children’s and youth ministry at Christ the King. We still have money left from the initial $100,000 gift that can be applied to future staffing and programmatic needs for our children and youth ministries. But that gift obviously will run its course, and it will be then be up to the rest of us to prayerfully discern how we might keep the momentum going in this critically important area of ministry.

I feel like we are approaching an exciting crossroads here at Christ the King. And I truly mean that when I say that I think it is exciting. We are approaching a moment and place in time when we can take the next step in the life of our parish. We have always done a faithful job of taking faithful risks in order to grow and thrive – whether it was starting a bible study in South Walton which would grow to become Christ the King in the Double Wide; or the leap of faith we took when we built the building we are in now; or the leap of faith we took when we started our parish day school. All of these milestones involved prayerful discernment combined with generous financial seed money. As we approach this next milestone, I am keenly aware of the potential of a repeated pattern in our wonderful history as a parish. We have received generous seed money to facilitate and empower our prayerful discernment. For the past 18 months, our Children’s and Youth Ministry Renovation Team has been hard at work making sure that any investment that our parish makes will be a wise one, and that whatever we choose to build will be done on a solid, prayerful, informed foundation.

Jesus calls us to be the Church of the here and now, as well as the church of the future. We currently have 71 children and youth in our parish. They are the church here and now. We are the church here and now. Let us respond to Jesus’ call to follow the God of the living, so that we – young and old - might faithfully and boldly Be the Church of the living.

Parables oftentimes hold up two extreme opposites in order to communicate a point. Last week, we looked at justice through the perspectives of an unjust judge and God. This week, we are looking at prayer in the temple through the perspectives of a tax collector and a Pharisee. Jesus doesn’t employ much nuance in today’s parable. It is easy for us to hear this story and discern that we do not want to be like the self-righteous Pharisee, nor do we want to associate with anyone who acts like that. It is easy for us to discern that humility is better than arrogance, pride, or self-righteousness. So beyond this helpful reminder, what else are we to make of this parable? 

Episcopal priest and spiritual director Martin Smith does a good job of observing that our gospel lesson and psalm both “reflect on the temple as [being] the symbol of religion’s goal.” In the parable, both the tax collector and the Pharisee have gone to the temple to pray. But that is where their similarities end. Smith points out that the “Pharisee’s prayer is to keep things the same. No transformation is required or expected, so prayer can piously, reassuringly, review the status quo…[On the other hand], the tax collector has no spiritual assets, but comes to the temple needy for transformation. God could change his state through the power of grace and mercy. But that yearning for transformation is the faith that God recognizes, and so the tax collector is changed by forgiveness. The Pharisee, wedded to the status quo of his own success, has unknowingly divorced himself from God.”

Again, the way this parable is told, it is easy for us to see who the “good guy” is and who the “bad guy” is. But in all reality, most of us here are not as righteous and pious as the Pharisee or as despicable as the tax collector. So what do we make of this parable when most - if not all - of us land somewhere in between?

I think that wherever we fall on the spectrum between the Pharisee and the tax collector, we do well to heed Martin Smith’s emphasis on transformation. When we engage in the act of worship, we are being invited into that liminal space that involves openness and vulnerability. And through this daring – dare I say dangerous - act of prayer and praise, we are making space for us to be transformed by the power of the Holy Spirit. But we must approach this sacred act and space with a willingness to be changed. Otherwise, we end up being like the Pharisee in the parable – only here to affirm what we already believe about God, others, and ourselves…and only here to maintain the status quo in ourselves and the church.

The tax collector in our story comes to worship in the temple with contrition in his heart – seeking to be transformed by the God’s grace, love, and mercy. It doesn’t appear that he feels entitled to such forgiveness, but rather, he feels a desperate need of it. And that is exactly what he received. What might it be like for us to approach prayer and worship with the same hope for transformation? Perhaps the transformation won’t always come in the form of forgiveness. Sometimes it might be in the form of clarity on a vocational call or important decision. Other times it might be a deep sense of adoration and awe when the bread and wine are transformed into Christ’s body and blood. Maybe the passing of the peace ends up being an authentic moment for reconciliation rather than just a handshake. But we must be willing to be vulnerable enough to be transformed. If our prayers are limited to only thanking God for our blessings – for the way things are and the way we are – we become frighteningly close to the Pharisee. We must, like the tax collector, be willing to approach God with the humility - even fear and trembling - in our hearts, so that we can fully experience the transformative power of the Gospel. We must access the courageous vulnerability and faithful humility of the hemorrhaging woman who touches Jesus’ cloak, the Samaritan woman at the well, Cornelius the Centurion, and the Apostle Paul. We must be willing and able to be transformed by our encounter with the living, loving God in Jesus Christ.

I have recently witnessed such transformation through the program that my wife Emily facilitates, which, oddly enough, is called Communities of Transformation. This group meets every Tuesday evening and is designed to be a means for journeying with people who have decided to make positive change in their lives. Each season, there are around 30-40 people involved in the program. Anywhere from 6-10 people are there as “participants” – they are the ones who are there to turn their lives around in some tangible way. The issues they are dealing with and the goals they are setting include financial, vocational, personal/relational, spiritual, and physical. The other 20-30 people who are involved with the program also work on goals in these areas, but they are called “volunteers.” They are there to shepherd and mentor the participants. We have had between 15-20 members of Christ the King participate in this program – myself included – and it is absolutely remarkable. But the truly remarkable thing to me has to do with the blurring of the categories between “participant” and “volunteer.” The caricature between participant and volunteer is that the participants are the ones who “have it all together,” and they are there to help the participants, who for one reason or another do not currently “have it all together.” But as it turns out, we have come to recognize that there is very little that separates the two groups. None of us have it all together. None of us are all entirely squared away and though all of us have our struggles and issues, none of us are totally lost or irredeemable. In other words, none of us are the Pharisee or the Tax Collector in terms of our piety. We are all somewhere in between. And that realization has been truly remarkable, and made the space for deep transformation to occur for all of us who are involved.

The times that have not gone so well have been when folks have gotten involved to help fix other people. One such person had accomplished a lot in his life, mentored a lot of people before, and was there to help others. But he struggled with the structure of the program because the volunteers are required to set and work on their own goals and issues. He said he didn’t have any issues and therefore didn’t need to set any goals. All the goals he had set for his life had been accomplished, so he was there to help others do the same. On one hand, we were truly grateful for his willingness to be there and to be a part of the program. But in the end, it simply didn’t work out, because he – like the Pharisee in our parable today -  wasn’t able to see his own need for growth and transformation.

Prison ministry is very similar, in that most who get involved do it initially to minister to others. After all, we who are not incarcerated clearly have our lives in order more than those who are behind the bars. But sure enough, every time I have participated in prison ministry, God has always found a way to blur those lines between civilian and inmate – between tax collector and Pharisee. I always find myself being humbled, grateful, and the recipient of God’s grace, mercy, and love when I have ministered to those in prison.

The context of our parable today is prayer in the Temple, and my first examples dealt with worship in Church. What attitude do we bring with us when we come here to pray and worship? Are we the tax collector or the Pharisee? But this parable isn’t only a parable for worship and prayer. As I have pointed out, this parable extends beyond the temple and the sanctuary and out into the world. How might we be open and vulnerable enough to receive God’s grace, mercy, and love today in worship, and then go out into the world to share it with others, knowing that in God’s economy, we are likely to be the ones who are most transformed.

Today’s reading from the Book of Genesis gives us the opportunity to explore what wrestling with one’s demons or “shadow side” might be like: grappling with the family system into which we are born; tussling with our own identity; and sparring with our own sense of self (or, as is most common, our lack of a sense of self).   

In many ways Jacob was no different than many of us today.  He was engaged in a wrestling match not only with God, but with himself.  He grew up in the shadows of his grandfather Abraham, his father Isaac, and his twin brother Esau.  His name – Jacob – means “heel-catcher", "supplanter", or "leg-puller," because he was said to have come out of Rebekah’s womb grabbing for the heel of his minutes-older brother Esau.  How many of us grew up grabbing at the heels of our older siblings, parents, or relatives, trying to catch up with them so to speak?  I know that I did!

At this point in Jacob’s narrative, most everything that he has gotten in life has been by his own cunning, kniving, leg-pulling ways.  He deceived Isaac and Esau years ago, and as a result, he received the blessing from his father that should have gone to Esau.  And after spending twenty years with his uncle Laban, he deceived him as well by slipping away into the night with his two daughters Rachel and Leah.  But now as Jacob is journeying back to the Promised Land – where God has commanded him to go – he gets word from his servants that his brother Esau awaits him on the other side of the river with an army of 400 men.  His brother who he deceived and cheated out of their father’s blessing that was rightfully his.  How could this be?  He had received God’s blessing through the dream on the stone pillow at Bethel.  In another dream God commanded him to return home to the Promised Land.  Was this all a trap?  Was his reckoning with Esau finally due?  Was his leg-pulling finally going to catch up with him? 

On his journey to the Promised Land, Jacob got his two wives Rachel and Leah, their eleven children, and all of their servants and livestock safely across the Jabbok River to settle in for the night before the next day’s encounter with Esau and his formidable army.  But rather than spending the night with his family, Jacob doubled back across the river to spend the night alone.  He had some issues that he needed to sort through.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve doubled back across the river before.  Perhaps that’s why I like the Jacob narrative so much.  So many times in my life, in order for me to proceed forward to take on a new challenge, I have first needed to take a few steps backwards.  And almost always, those steps backwards were steps away from home – away from the family system into which I was born and formed.  So much of my formation happened at home, but even more my growth and development happened when I crossed back to the other side of the river and did some wrestling.  So figuratively speaking, I walk with a limp just like Jacob – a constant reminder of my struggles with myself and with God.  I imagine that all of us here today walk with a limp of some sort or another. 

That night by the Jabbok River, before Jacob could return with his new family to his old home, before Jacob could face the wrath of his older brother Esau, he had to face himself, and all of his demons, shadows, and darkness.  And what a face-off it was!

There are many interpretations of exactly with whom it was that Jacob wrestled that night.  But one not-so-common reading of this passage - but one that I find very illuminating – is that Jacob was not only wrestling with God, but he was also confronting his shadow side.  And as daybreak approached, Jacob hadn’t  prevailed.  But Jacob’s shadow side - his undifferentiated self – “struck him on the hip socket” – imposing on him a lifelong injury, while also demanding to be turned loose by Jacob.  You see, self-awareness in the form of daylight was approaching, and our shadow sides do not like daylight.  They prefer the safety of the shadows of darkness.  But Jacob held tightly to himself, even though he was severely injured, and before he let go of that part of himself, he demanded a blessing. 

You see, God had blessed Jacob.  Isaac had blessed Jacob. But Jacob had never blessed himself.  And in order for him to go on as his own person in life, with a healthy sense of identity – out from the shadows of his father and brother, Jacob needed to have one final showdown with God and himself.  Jacob demanded a blessing from his own worst enemy – himself - and he received it.  And with this blessing, he received a new name.  He was no longer just Jacob-the-leg-puller, Jacob-the-supplanter, or Jacob-the heel-grabber – he was now named Israel.  His shadow side finally blessed him after he had striven with both God and himself.  And from then on, Jacob had a new name.  A new identity.  He was finally moving closer to being a self-differentiated person, which is very difficult to do.

Now you’ve heard me say that if you a reading a story in the Bible, and it involves water - especially a river - then something important is going to happen.  Well, this theory certainly holds true today!  It’s no accident that this wrestling match happened by a river.  This was Jacob’s baptism.  His new birth.  His cleansing.  And now he had a new name.  But even though he had a new name and a new identity, he was still injured from his past.  He forever walked with a limp, which served as a reminder that for him, he didn’t come to his own sense of self without a mighty struggle.

Jacob had an angry Esau and an army of 400 men waiting for him.  But his biggest battle was with himself and with God the night before.  Once he wrestled with and blessed himself, he not only prevailed then and there, but he prevailed on the other side of the river as well.  When I think of this sequence of events in Jacob’s life, I am reminded of the night many generations later when Jesus was arrested.  He didn’t have an army of 400 men to face – for him it was the chief priest and elders, Roman soldiers, Pontius Pilate, and the cross that waited. 

The disciples accompanied Jesus to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray, but at one point Jesus decided that he – like Jacob – needed to be by himself.  He crossed back over the river so to speak, and wrestled with himself and his Father, asking that this cup be removed from him, but only if it was his Father’s will.  I don’t think Jacob could have faced Esau and his army if he hadn’t crossed back over the river the night before, and I don’t think Jesus could have faced the cross without crossing back over to Gethsemane the night before as well.  We can access our deepest strength, faith, courage, and wisdom only after we have striven with our deepest demons, enemies, and fears, and only after we have striven with God.

As we continue our individual journeys as children of God as well as our journey together as the Body of Christ here at Christ the King, I encourage each of us from time to time to cross back over the river and take on the shadows and demons that wait for us.  I trust that if we have the courage to do so, we, like Jacob, and like Jesus, will be blessed and encounter new life in ways that we might have never imagined.

The Mid-Week Missive is based on Community Rules: An Episcopal Manual by Ian Markham and Kathryn Glover, both administrators at Virginia Theological Seminary. I am working my way through this book, reading and writing  through the lens of our Life Together as part of the Christ the King Episcopal Church family, as well as part of the Diocese of the Central Gulf Coast. 

Rule #18: Strive for Excellence. Markham and Glover’s reflection on this rule can be found in their book, which can be purchased here. 

How does this rule apply to our Life Together at Christ the King? Note the word “strive.” There is grace there. As long as we strive for excellence, the result will be a faithful use of the gifts and time with which God has blessed us. As we are in the midst of the annual pledge drive at CtK, how might we include Rule #18 in our pledge to God and our parish? There isn’t a box to check that says, “I will [continue to] strive for excellence in 2020,” but perhaps that can be a personal pledge that we make to God and ourselves.

On a personal note, I am humbled and inspired by the excellence I see around me here at CtK, from our staff, to our Parish Day School, to the faithful servant leaders who contribute to and carry out the ministries here at CtK. An example: on Sunday mornings, when I face the altar and cross to say the opening Collect for Purity, I am always stunned at the beauty of the altar flowers. The “simply elegant” beauty of the arrangements are an example of striving for (and achieving!) excellence. And it is an example of the faithful stewardship of time, talent, and treasure. Thanks be to God for the St. Theresa Flower Guild, and all of the other faithful servant leaders of our parish!

 “How long O Lord?” The prophet Habakkuk’s cry of lament comes during an era of Judah’s history when violence, evil, lawlessness, and injustice prevailed. And things were about to get worse for Judah, as they were soon to be captured and exiled by the Babylonians. Indeed, for Habakkuk - and the few righteous who remained - it had been too long of a wait for God to implement justice. So the prophet called out, “O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not listen? Or cry to you ‘Violence!’ and you will not save? Why do you make me see wrongdoing and look at trouble?”

The reality is, we have it much better than the ancient Israelites during Habakkuk’s time. And we have it much better than the followers of Jesus during the first century Roman occupation of Israel. During those eras, the people of God were victims of violence and injustice from the outside forces of Babylon and Rome, as well as moral and social decay from within. Being subject to outside powers served as a constant reminder that they were not in control, and at times, it made them wonder if their God was even in control. Had God abandoned them? Or was their God simply less powerful than the gods of their enemies?

These difficult questions were in their very own DNA, as their ancestors had asked the same questions when they were living as slaves under Pharaoh in Egypt. The Israelite family system was marked by eras of slavery, violence, and injustice. You have heard me say before that the Bible was written by oppressed communities for oppressed communities. This doesn’t mean that there is nothing in the Bible for those of us today who are in positions of power and privilege. Quite the contrary. It just means that we have to hold these texts up in front of us like a mirror, and allow them to transform us.

So texts like this can pose a challenge as well as an opportunity for us in our relatively comfortable context. Besides reading about it in the Bible, most of us have to hear about injustice being done to others to be made aware of it. We have to read about it or watch it on the news. Most of the time, it is others who are the victims of injustice and corruption. So as followers of Jesus, we are called to do the difficult work of learning about people and communities for whom – in the words of Habakkuk – “the law becomes slack and justice never prevails.” And then, we have to do the even more difficult work of not just learning about the plight of the oppressed, but advocating on their behalf. Due to our relative positions of power and privilege, we as 21st-century American Christians have a unique opportunity to not just lament injustice, but also to do something about it. Fortunately, we are not under the heel of Pharaoh, Babylon, or Caesar. We are in a better position to advocate for and implement justice. But with that blessing comes the responsibility not to collude with or become Pharaoh, Babylon, or Caesar.

So how might we hold our texts for today up as a mirror in such a way that we can become advocates for those who cannot advocate for themselves? And in the face of this difficult work, how might Jesus “increase our faith” as the apostles in today’s Gospel lesson demanded? One specific context where we can take our emboldened faith into action is prisons and the criminal justice system. One thing that I love about the time I have spent participating in prison ministry is that is has put me with groups of other Christians – on both sides of the bars - with whom I otherwise shared very little in common – politically, theologically, or socially. But when it comes to answering Christ’s call for us to visit him in prison, all of those differences seem to fade away. I can say with conviction say that the closest I have felt to living out Christ’s call to discipleship – to take up my cross and follow him - has been when I have participated in prison ministry.

Not too long ago, our Adult Forum class read and discussed “The Sun Does Shine” by Anthony Ray Hinton. His story tugged at our hearts and gave us an excellent glimpse of how the criminal justice system initially failed to execute justice. And the only way that justice was ultimately served in this case was through the tireless, courageous, and faithful efforts of attorney Bryan Stevenson and the Equal Justice Initiative. Someone had to stand up for what was good, right, and just.

Last week, our Adult Forum class began a new study called “Outrageous Justice,” which is a book and study guide published by Prison Fellowship, a Christian prison ministry organization that believes that, “Every person is made in the image of God, [and] no life is beyond His reach. Founded in 1976, Prison Fellowship® exists to serve all those affected by crime and incarceration, and to see lives and communities restored in and out of prison—one transformed life at a time.”

What I love about Prison Fellowship and the Outrageous Justice curriculum is that their focus is on justice – not just for the incarcerated but for the victims and communities who are affected by crime as well. In chapter 2 of the book, it mentions that “justice and mercy intersected at the cross.” We need both, otherwise we end up with cheap grace or unbridled justice. The book goes on to say that “God’s desire for justice extends even farther than atonement for sin and provision of salvation. In fact, the Bible exhorts Christ-followers to live justly and love mercy in their daily lives.”

And this exhortation is a thread that runs through our lessons for today. Keep in mind that Paul wrote his letters to Timothy from prison. But also note that Paul didn’t let his incarcerated status define him. His baptismal status was what defined him. And Paul did a faithful job of remaining grounded in his baptismal identity.

And one way that we can remain grounded in our baptismal identity is to find ways to advocate for justice for those who cannot advocate for themselves. Prison Ministry is one of many ways we can do this. Keep in mind that there are numerous ways you can participate in prison ministry without going into the prisons. Go to the Prison Fellowship website and join us for our Sunday Forum for many ideas of how you can get involved. Also, you can speak with Libby Fisher and me about our Diocesan Commission for Prison Ministry if you’d like to get involved at the diocesan level.

But if we go out from here inspired to advocate for the prisoner who cannot advocate for themselves, we must be sure that we do so grounded in our Christian faith and identity. It is incumbent on us to be able to make the connection between our baptisms, our weekly feasting on Christ’s Body and Blood, and our mission in the world. If we do one without the other, we are not making the critical connection between faith and works.

Michaela Bruzzeze points out that in our readings today, Paul encourages Timothy to "bear your share of hardship for the gospel with the strength that comes from God." And in today's gospel, Jesus assures the disciples that even the smallest amount of faith can move … firmly rooted trees. Surely, then, our faith can also strengthen us in the face of evil and injustice.” In other words, we can’t fight the good fight alone. As it says in today’s psalm, “Commit your way to the Lord and put your trust in him, and he will bring it to pass. He will make your righteousness as clear as the light and your just dealing as the noonday.” When we advocate for justice, we need the grounding and support of our community of faith, as well as an utter dependence on God’s mercy and grace.

The Mid-Week Missive is based on Community Rules: An Episcopal Manual by Ian Markham and Kathryn Glover, both administrators at Virginia Theological Seminary. I am working my way through this book, reading and writing  through the lens of our Life Together as part of the Christ the King Episcopal Church family, as well as part of the Diocese of the Central Gulf Coast. 

Rule #17: Turn Every Worry into a Prayer. Markham and Glover’s reflection on this rule can be found in their book, which can be purchased here. 

How does this rule apply to our Life Together at Christ the King? Just this past Monday (September 30), our Daily Office gospel reading was Matthew 6:25-34 (an excerpt from the Sermon on the Mount). In it, Jesus says,

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.”

No disrespect to our Lord and Savior, but my response to this challenge is, “easier said than done!” Quite frankly, I worry a lot. But rather than feel bad about this natural tendency of mine, I can actually turn this into an opportunity to grow closer to God.

Markham and Glover suggest that we turn our worries into prayer. So for those of us who worry a lot, we have the opportunity to pray a lot. And that is a redemptive solution – the more we worry, the more we pray! And ultimately, our constant prayer will transform our hearts and minds in such a way that we worry far less than we used to.

Of course, when we get to where we are able to worry less, we shouldn’t pray any less – our prayers will change just as we will have changed. And such is the pattern of Christ’s redemptive grace…thanks be to God!