The Rev’d Richard G. Proctor, OA

Christ the King Episcopal Church

All Saints’ Sunday: 11/7/21

I’d like to begin today by inviting you to turn to page 312 in your Red Book of Common Prayer. The first paragraph addresses when it is preferable to celebrate the sacrament of Holy Baptism. [read paragraph]

Why does it matter when we get baptized? What if these dates don’t line up with our family travel plans? What if these dates aren’t convenient for us? Shouldn’t I get to decide when I want my child or me to be baptized? These are all questions I have had to answer as a priest. And I understand; there is indeed a deeply personal component to the sacrament of baptism. In a theologically profound way, baptism is – in part - about “me and my salvation.” And I don’t think that we should discount that side of the equation. And that is why, up until 1979, the norm for baptisms in the Episcopal Church was that they were done privately, on whatever date was convenient for the family and the priest.

One of the most radical changes brought forth by the 1979 Book of Common Prayer was the shift to the recommendations that I had us read just a moment ago. Baptism was to be celebrated within the community of believers – within the Body of Christ into which the person was being grafted. This shift in focus is actually very radical, because it reminds us that once we are baptized, our primary familial identity shifts from our immediate family to our church family.

Now turn with me to the bottom page 307. Whenever you see the italicized capital letter “N”, that means name. Elsewhere in the prayer book, you will see two italicized N’s, indicating that the presider is to say the person’s first and last name. But in a few moments, when I baptize James, you can see here that I will only use his first name. If someone ever asks you “What is your Christian name?” they mean, “What is your first name?” Because once you are a Christian, your last name is no longer your primary identity. You become a member of a much larger, deeper, wider, and older family. You become a member of Christ’s very own Body.

So that is why baptisms in most cases are not to be private, family-only events. Baptism, though deeply individual and personal, is also more than that. It is deeply individual and personal, but within the larger framework of the community of believers into which the baptized are being reborn – or born again into new life in Christ.

And our belief that James’ family is about to get a whole lot larger and older today is why the Church choose All Saints’ Day – or the Sunday after All Saints’ Day – to be one of the four most preferred dates for baptism. Yes, James is about to be initiated into the Body of Christ that is represented by Christ the King Episcopal Church. But his Christian family will be larger than the 305 or so baptized members here at Christ the King. It will be much larger than the Episcopal Church, or the worldwide Anglican Communion. James is going to be grafted into the Body of Christian Saints – capital “S” and lowercase “s” who have gone before him. James will be the brother of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Mary, Martha, and Mary Magdalene. Paul, Timothy, and Titus. Francis and Clare of Assisi. All of the Saints who we remember today as being exemplary models for faithful, devoted, courageous Christian living. They are his brothers and sisters in Christ.

But today we also celebrate All Souls’ Day, which is always the day after All Saints’ Day - November 2. All Souls’ Day – or the Commemoration of All Faithful Departed – is when we celebrate and remember those Christians who didn’t make the “Hall of Fame” so to speak. The faithful, devoted, courageous Christians who never became famous for it. Sunday school and Vacation Bible School teachers. Choir directors. Youth Group leaders. Teachers. Administrators. Coaches. Doctors. Nurses. Counselors. Artists. Musicians. Mothers. Fathers. All who went before us today and modeled what it is like to live one’s life as a Christian – what it is like to love God and love your neighbor. Yes indeed, James’ family tree is about to get much, much larger and more diverse.

But today isn’t only about the capital “S” Saints and lower case “s” saints. And it’s not only about James and for James. Another reason that the Prayer Book has us celebrate the sacrament of Holy Baptism at a public service within the community of believers is so that those of us here today who witness this holy mystery can remember and reflect on our own baptisms.

And today is also for those who are not yet baptized. I can’t think of a better way to invite someone to consider “taking the plunge” than to have them witness this simultaneously solemn and joyful holy mystery. Telling people about it is one thing – having them witness and participate in it themselves is much more impactful and faithful to our calling to be evangelists. So today is for the rest of us too.

Think about it. Back in the day of private, family-only baptisms, those who do not have children of their own may never have had the opportunity to witness and participate in a service of Holy Baptism aside from their own. And they may not even remember that one if they were baptized as an infant. That is why we are all here today. And that is why we will all renew our own Baptismal Covenant in a few moments. Today is James’ special day. But it is our special day. Let us rejoice and be glad in it!

The Rev’d Richard G. Proctor, OA

Christ the King Episcopal Church

Proper 26, Year B 10.31.21

Love God and love your neighbor. These two commandments are what Jesus considered to be the “first of all.” And if we just so happen to miss the one day of the year when we are reminded of this in the gospel lesson, the Prayer Book makes space for us to say it every week at the beginning of the service.

I observe that option because I know that many of us – if not most – are rather preoccupied when we come here to worship. We have a lot on our hearts and minds. We miss a lot of what happens. You might see someone later today who asks you if you how today’s sermon was and your likely response might be, “I can’t remember.”

“Well, what was it about?”

“I can’t really remember.”

Don’t feel bad about that. There are about two or three decades of my life where that would have been the answer. So, my hope is that if all else that we say, hear, and do in this hour of worship goes in one ear and out the other - if we at least hear the great commandment week in and week out, it will stick.  Love God and love your neighbor. Everything else that we do in worship and afterwards stems from this great commandment.

That being the case, when I was looking at the various youth confirmation curriculums to use this year, I was overwhelmed with the number of options. The one that I landed on – Journey to Adulthood – caught my eye because it breaks up the units into these categories – loving God, loving your neighbor, and loving yourself – in that order.

My hope is that when these youth grow up here at CtK hearing the Great Commandment every Sunday at the beginning of the worship service, once they begin confirmation class, they will be able to dig deeper into what all of this really looks like.

So, this Fall, we began with a couple of weeks looking at what our scriptures and tradition tell us about what it looks like to Love God with all our hearts, souls, and minds. Needless to say, to become a mature Christian is a lifelong vocation. So, any class you take is simply a launching point for further engagement.

When we got to the “Love your neighbor as yourself” commandment, it was the Sunday before the Feast of St. Francis, who happens to be one of the most beloved saints due to his affiliation with the blessing of our pets.  So, for the month of October, the youth have been learning about the ancient and modern-day saints of the Church as a means for seeing what loving God and neighbors looks like with actual flesh and bones. Each youth was assigned a saint to read and learn about and report to the class. We heard about Macrina, William Wilberforce, Maximilian Kolbe, Evelyn Underhill, Mother Theresa, Constance and the Martyrs of Memphis, the Martyrs of Japan, Florence Nightingale, and others.

All of this work has been leading up to tomorrow, which is the Feast of All Saints. It is important to me that our youth dive deeper into the meaning of this high holy day of the Christian year. One of the drawbacks of the Protestant Reformation was that it suppressed the observance of Christian saints. Instead of honoring the bravest, most faithful and groundbreaking Christians in all eras, the Protestant Reformers decided to lean on the teaching that “we are all saints. All of us are equal in the eyes of God. God doesn’t love St. Augustine more than me. So why should St. Augustine get a special day?” After all, shouldn’t everybody get a trophy?

Well, I can tell you that, yes, it is true that God loves all of us equally. But I can also tell you that I deeply believe that the Church should recognize and honor those Christians who have lived exemplary lives. I need Augustine of Hippo and Benedict of Nursia and Francis and Claire of Assisi and Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Martin Luther King, Jr. and Mother Theresa to show me what Christian living looks like. They simply are better Christians than I am. I need their stories to challenge and inspire me.

The way I explained it to our youth is that in sports or in rock and roll or country music, we have a Hall of Fame. Just because you played in the NFL doesn’t mean that you make it to the Hall of Fame. Everybody will still get their NFL pension check when they retire. But everybody doesn’t get a Hall of Fame induction and trophy. And that is ok.

Young aspiring country musicians will be better served listening to and studying the music of Hank Williams Sr. than that of Billy Cyrus. Hank Sr. left a legacy that is worth remembering and learning from. Don’t get me wrong - God loves Hank Williams and Billy Ray Cyrus equally – but the Country Music Hall of Fame doesn’t. And that is a good thing.

Since the Feast of All Saints’ falls on a Monday this year, we will observe the option to celebrate it on the Sunday afterwards, which will be next week. We will also have a baptism, which is customary for the Feast of All Saints. It is important for us to make the connection between the sacrament of Holy Baptism and the Feast of All Saints. James Kennedy – the son of Jason and Heather Kennedy – will be grafted into Christ’s very own Body – the Church. He will be grafted into the Body of all saints who have gone before him, and those who will follow. In this sense – the Protestants got it right. James will be just as baptized as the Apostle Paul and St. Thomas Aquinas. God loves him just as much as God loves all of those in the Christian Saints Hall of Fame.

But as James grows up here at Christ the King, he will learn what it’s like to love God and love one’s neighbor from his Sunday School teachers, VBS leaders, youth leaders, and all of us who will surround him with and model Christ’s love. But he will also hear and the learn the stories of the Saints – those from the Bible and those from the centuries that follow. He needs to hear those stories too. And so do our teenagers. And so do we.

Next Sunday at 9:15am in Sandefur Hall, we will have a combined youth and adult class that explores the Sacrament of Holy Baptism, and how we understand it in the Episcopal Church. The Kennedy family will be there with James, his godparents – Rachel and Jimmy Azzolini – and the rest of their family. My dream would be that it will be just as well-attended as the worship service and baptism that follows. We all need to be reminded of our own baptisms, and what the implications are for our own lives and salvation. You have probably heard me say before that “everything begins with baptism.” Everything we do in church flows from the font to the altar and into the world. First and foremost, to be a saint is to be baptized. Not all of us – very few in fact – will make the “Christian Saints Hall of Fame.” And that is ok.

But all of us can be baptized. And all of us can aspire to be the best Christians we are able to be here and now – Hall of Fame or not. If we live our lives grounded in our baptisms and following the great commandment to love God and love our neighbor, that is all God requires of us. 

The Rev’d Richard Gillespie Proctor

Christ the King Episcopal Church

Proper 25, Year B: October 24, 2021

“Take heart…get up…he is calling you…”

These words are arguably the most important ones in our gospel lesson today.

The story of Blind Bartimaeus is about more than just the restoration of his eyesight. It is about his identity and his vocation as a child of God. Yes, a major part – and the part that we all remember the most– is the restoration of his eyesight - his physical healing. But we also must see the deeper, spiritual, ontological change that happens deep within Bartimaeus.

Bartimaeus began to be changed – or healed – before his eyesight was restored.

While still technically blind, he was already beginning to be able to see differently.

When Jesus came through Jericho, and was walking w/ disciples on the road, and the crowds were gathering to see what all the fuss was about, Bartimaeus called out “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

This use of these words – “Son of David, have mercy on me” shows that Bartimaeus could already see better than the others. “Son of David” was a messianic reference – meaning that Bartimaeus saw that Jesus was not just a talented teacher, prophet, or healer. Jesus was none other than the Son of David – the Messiah who Israel had been waiting for. This was a radical claim, and one that took deep, spiritual insight, and a deep, abiding faith.

This use of words must have caught Jesus’ ear, so he invited Bartimaeus to come closer to him. This is when Jesus’ disciples said to Bartimaeus, “Take heart, get up, he is calling you.”

This was the first sign that the deep shift in Bartimaeus was his ability to “see” Jesus as the Son of David – to “see” Jesus as the Messiah.

The second sign in the shift in Bartimaeus was when he threw off his cloak and came to Jesus. As a blind beggar, his cloak was what he sat on, slept on, and what was used to catch the coins that were tossed to him when he was begging. It was likely not only his most important possession, but it was his only possession – and he threw it off. There was deep symbolism in that action. Contrast this action to our Gospel lesson two weeks ago, when Jesus told the rich man to sell all of his possessions and give money to the poor, and the rich man was unable to do that.

Meanwhile, in our story today, Bartimaeus gave away his only possession. Clearly, his action shows that his healing and transformation had already begun.

When Bartimaeus gets to Jesus, Jesus asks him, “What do you want me to do for you?” Again, two weeks ago, the rich man asked Jesus how to attain eternal life. Last week, Jesus’ very own disciples – James and John – asked Jesus to grant them a seat on either side of his throne in the kingdom of heaven. This week, Bartimaeus simply asks Jesus to “let him see again.” Bartimaeus just wants to be able to see.

Jesus must have not only been impressed with Bartimaeus’ ability to “see” him as the Son of David – the Messiah – as well as someone who could heal his infirmity. He was also deeply moved by Bartimaeus’ humility. He’s not asking Jesus to grant him any special status on earth or in heaven. He simply wants to be made whole again.

So, Jesus grants Bartimaeus his wish, and restores his sight. But that is not the end of the story of Jesus and Bartimaeus. The last sentence of the gospel lesson tells us that once Bartimaeus’ sight was restored, he followed Jesus on “the way.”

“The Way” is the trek to Jerusalem, which is where Jesus and his disciples were headed. “The Way” was to the Triumphal entry into the Holy City. The Way was to the cross and the grave. The Way was to the empty tomb and resurrection.

The way was to journey with Jesus, and for Jesus to journey with him – and us.

The way for Bartimaeus – and for us –is “The Way, the Truth, and the Life.” When we have the courage, faith, and intuition like Bartimaeus to follow Jesus along the way, we too can be deeply transformed, healed, and made whole again.

So let us “Take heart…and get up…he is calling us.”

One part of our liturgy that we oftentimes overlook is the Collect of the Day. While at least one of our scripture lessons will get addressed in the homily, the Collect of the Day comes and goes very quickly.

I first began to appreciate the depth and breadth of the Collects when I developed the practice of praying Morning and Evening Prayer every day. In that case, the Collect of the Day, which is introduced in worship on Sunday, is then prayed as many as 13 more times that following week. So, by the end of the week, that collect has been the one consistent, constant thing in our morning and evening common prayer. As such, it can work on us in profound ways - particularly if we agree with the Anglican axiom that “our praying shapes our believing.”  

So today, I’d like to focus my homily on our Collect of the Day. Let me read it again – and if you’d like to read along, it can be found on page 183/235 in the red Book of Common Prayer in your pew rack.

Almighty and everlasting God, in Christ you have revealed your glory among the nations: Preserve the works of your mercy, that your Church throughout the world may persevere with steadfast faith in the confession of your Name…

I’ve always struggled with the phrase “preserve the works of your mercy.” It almost seems to imply scarcity, as if God’s works of mercy are like a natural resource that is scarce, and therefore needs to be preserved. And this perceived scarcity goes against my belief that God is a God of abundance, not scarcity. Our scriptures time and time again tell us that with God, there is always enough love, mercy, and grace to go around. So, if that is what we believe, why would we need to ask God to set aside - or “preserve” - some works of mercy? Would it be “just in case” God runs out of mercy one day?

Perhaps the reason that this prayer caught my attention is because of the constant message of scarcity with which we are being bombarded in the news these days. Grocery store shelves are once again in risk of being bare. Christmas is going to be ruined this year because there won’t be enough toys – for children and adults - due to supply chain issues.

There is also a scarcity of labor – particularly in the medical profession and service industry. All of this scarcity creates an atmosphere of anxiety, blame, and negative energy. In a country and culture of immediate gratification and bigger, faster, better, and more, scarcity is indeed a crisis, whether perceived or real.

Perhaps that is why the first clause of the Collect of the Day for Proper 24 has always bothered me. The secular world operates in scarcity economics and politics, whereas God operates in abundance in all areas of life. From the creation story to the Revelation to John, - and all the stories in between - our God is a God of abundance. So why would God have to “preserve” God’s works of mercy?

When we say “All things come of thee O Lord, and of thine own have we given thee” at the Presentation of the Gifts at the Offertory, we are proclaiming that out of God’s abundance comes our own. We are faithfully and boldly proclaiming that as God’s people, we are a people of abundance, and as such, we are not afraid to give back to God what God has given us. It is a profoundly important part of our worship service every week, and it is deeply countercultural – dare I say even radical in the scarcity-obsessed world in which we live.

So, we give out of our own abundance as a gracious response to God’s abundance, and my experience has been that to give from a position of gratitude for God’s abundance is so much more joyful than giving out of position of perceived scarcity. In other words, I don’t want us to give to the to the church in order to simply preserve what we have, or keep the bills paid. That to me doesn’t sound like life changing, transformative mission and ministry. That to me doesn’t sound like the Gospel of Jesus Christ. That sounds like a Historic Preservation Society.

But both as an English Major in college and as a seminary student, we were always reminded to keep reading the entire text before we make any final decisions as to its meaning. And such is the case for our Collect of the Day.

So let us examine the second clause of the Collect: Preserve the works of your mercy, that your Church throughout the world may persevere with steadfast faith in the confession of your Name…

This is a brilliant play on words, as it lifts up the tension between preserving and persevering. I believe that both missionally and pastorally speaking, perseverance is much bolder and more faithful than preservation. I am much more drawn to a God and to a Church that empowers me to persevere than a God or a church that is merely trying to preserve what is already there. Perseverance points to transformation and new life in the face of adversity. Preservation points to fear of change and a lack of willingness to step out in faith.

A couple of weeks ago, we had a wedding here at Christ the King. It was abundantly clear to me and everybody here just how much in love this young couple was – and it was a beautiful thing to behold. But as wonderful and romantic as this was to witness, I reminded the couple that love that is grounded in our own capacity to love can only go so far. This was not a reflection on them as people, but a reflection on the limitations of human love.

As happy as they are now, in order to stay with it for the long haul, their marriage – and all marriages - will need to be grounded in the love that can only be found in Jesus Christ. That love will not only preserve what they already have, it will allow them to persevere through what life will throw at them in the years to come. And it is God’s abundance that will sustain them, not their own. Marriage is about God’s persevering love being shared with us so that we can experience and share it with one another.

Over the past 19 months through the covid-19 pandemic, Christ the King has been a Church that chose to abide in God’s persevering love. We didn’t hunker down and try to preserve what we have. We did quite the opposite. We created a new full-time position for children’s and youth ministry, built a new school building, renovated our education building, and we have more projects in line to complete. We chose to believe that our God is a God of abundance, not scarcity. We chose to abide in God’s persevering love. As our Collect of the Day so beautifully says, we are a church that has persevered through steadfast faith in the confession of the name of Jesus Christ. And it is a joy to serve in a church that chooses to persevere rather than preserve.

Let’s continue to operate out of a theology of abundance and perseverance as opposed to a theology of scarcity or historic preservation. Through life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, God has called us to something much more profound than mere preservation. We are called to persevere in our proclamation that with God, there is always enough love, mercy, and grace to go around. And we are called to persevere in our proclamation that that none of this would be possible on our own. Our own goodness isn’t good enough. It is Jesus Christ who empowers us to persevere in God’s abundant love. And that is why we persevere in our proclamation that Christ is King. Amen.

The rich person in today’s Gospel lesson is all of us. I say this because I believe that there is an innate longing in all of us for eternal life. We don’t want our life here on earth to be all that there is, and we don’t want death to get the last word with us. That is just human nature. And that being the case, we also long to know what we need to do to inherit eternal life. Religion – and particularly the Judeo-Christian tradition – gives us language, doctrine, and practices to help us put a frame around these existential questions with which we wrestle. So, I think that the question that the rich man posed to Jesus is very much the question that we all have, whether we are able to articulate it or not. 

 I’ve heard it put this way before – most people, if they ran into Jesus on the street today, and could only ask him one question, would likely ask him exactly what the rich man asked him – “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Of course, we’d have many, many other questions we’d like to ask him, but if we only could have one, we might as well get to the essential question of salvation. After all, it sure would be terrible to not know the key to life eternal but to know exactly how Jesus was able to feed all those people with just a few loaves and fishes. 

But the rich person’s story is our story too in another way. The rich man was a very righteous person. He was a faithful Jew who took his religious life very seriously. He observed and obeyed the Jewish law, and clearly was a productive citizen. In very general terms, we could call him a “good person.” When somebody like him dies today, the obituary is very flattering, describing a lot of accomplishments and a life well-lived.

So, all of this being the case, how is it that the story ends the way that it does? Don’t all “good people” inherit eternal life? If so, why does the man walk away from his conversation with Jesus grieving instead of feeling affirmed or included?

The reason that we oftentimes give for the rich man going away grieving is that Jesus’ answer to him was very simple, yet also seemingly impossible for the man. The seemingly straight-forward, simple part of Jesus’ answer was “follow me.”  But Jesus’ sensed that there was something standing in between this man and his willingness to follow Jesus – his wealth and his possessions. So, Jesus told the man to sell all that he had, give the money to the poor, and then follow him. And perhaps that was simply too much for the man to bear.

That is not an unfaithful interpretation of this text. But today, I’d like to offer another angle to this deeply fertile text. One thing that is oftentimes lost in this conversation is what comes immediately before Jesus’ directive to the man. St. Mark writes, “Jesus, looking at him, loved him.” In other words, Jesus wasn’t speaking to the rich man from a place of self-righteousness, self-importance, or pie-in-the-sky piety. It was important for Mark to include this critically important detail that “Jesus looking at the man, loved him.” Jesus looked at him. Jesus saw him. He understood the man in all of his goodness and all of his badness. He understood the inner turmoil that this man carried – the deep desire to inherit eternal life, coupled with his inability to give up the things that were deeply important to him.

One of my favorite songs by the Eagles is Desperado. I’m not always a sucker ffor Greatest Hits – I oftentimes go for the B-sides. But Greatest Hits are greatest hits for a reason – they’re just plain great. Such is the case with Desperado.

I understand the song being about a cowboy-type figure who has got a bit of the Lone Ranger syndrome – rugged and tough, seemingly free to wander in and out of relationships, and by virtue of that – sad and alone. One verse reads:

Desperado
Oh, you ain't getting no younger
Your pain and your hunger
They're driving you home
And freedom, oh, freedom
Well that's just some people talking
Your prison is walking through this world all alone

I see the Prodigal Son in Luke’s Gospel as a Desperado figure. And I see the rich man in today’s Gospel lesson the same way – while having material wealth, he appears to have a deep longing for something more. He indeed is walking through the world alone.

The final refrain of Desperado sums up the heart of the matter when Don Henley sings over and over, “You’ve gotta let somebody love you, before it’s too late.”

In our story today, Jesus looked at the man and loved him. And then Jesus invited the man to follow him. That was the invitation to eternal life. I wonder if it was Jesus’ gaze into the man’s eyes – the gaze that said “I see you, in all of your goodness and all of your badness, and I love you” – that made the man walk away grieving. Perhaps it wasn’t the command to sell his possessions that stood in the way of the man and eternal life. Perhaps it was the fear of being seen and being loved in a way that he simply couldn’t come to grips with.

And if we are honest with ourselves, being seen and loved in the way that Jesus sees and loves us can be terrifying. It can make us feel exposed and vulnerable. He might ask us to give up something that we do not want to part with, even though that thing might serve as a stumbling block between ourselves and following Jesus. He may tell us something we need to hear, not what we want to hear. He might not affirm us – he might transform us. The sort of love that Jesus embodies and invites us to practice is, more times than not, sacrificial love. It is the love of the refiner’s fire.

This fear of being seen and lovingly challenged is why so many of us resist going to a therapist. We are afraid of being seen, and we are afraid of being exposed. The same goes for pastoral care, spiritual direction, or 12-Step groups. Many of us ask not to be added to the parish prayer list. Many of us want everyone to assume that we are doing just fine.

But many of us are not doing just fine. We are desperate to be seen and loved by Jesus. But we are also terrified of the transformative, sacrificial love with which  Jesus sees and loves us. We are like the man in today’s story – we want to be happy. We want to be well. And we want to inherit eternal life. But we are also terrified of the sort of love that Jesus invites us into. Because this love always requires much of us. It doesn’t require good works or good deeds. It requires that we follow Jesus. And the path that Jesus leads us on – the path to eternal life – goes straight to the cross. The good works and good deeds are the fruit of this love, not the requirement.

Our story today reminds us that Jesus didn’t die on the cross to affirm us or coddle us or tell us that we are really just fine the way we are. He died on the cross so that we might have eternal life. He took humankind’s brokenness, pain, and sin upon himself so that we might be healed from it all.

And with that self-sacrificing love comes an invitation for us to humble ourselves enough to allow him to look at us and see us – and to love us. And our call as Christians is not to run away from that love, but to allow ourselves to be transformed by it as we follow Jesus.

In one way or another – we are all the Desperado in that great Eagles song. And perhaps our most essential calling is to have the courage to let somebody love us –that somebody being Jesus - before it’s too late.

This week’s Gospel story is a direct continuation from the story last week, and I’d like to take this story as a whole rather than two separate ones. So here is basically how it goes: Jesus and the disciples were walking down the road, and the disciples were arguing about who was the greatest among them. When Jesus learned what they were arguing about, his response was, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all."

In other words, rather than striving for greatness, strive for humility. Jesus then picked up a child to make his point to his disciples. And while he was holding this child in his arms, he said to his ultra-competitive disciples: "Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me."

A profoundly tender moment with a provocative illustration.

So how did the disciples respond? "Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us." Really? Jesus is holding this child, teaching his disciples about servant leadership and humility, and this is what they say? Were they even listening to Jesus?

Once again, we see this same theme of competitiveness, or concern about who is “the greatest.” The twelve disciples want to be the only ones with the power and authority to heal and cast out demons. And this really makes Jesus mad.

After all, Jesus was still holding a child in his arms when John ignores what he is saying and changes the subject. It was as if John didn’t even notice the child or take heed to Jesus’ pronouncement that “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all." Did John not hear him? Since Jesus was holding a child, did John not take him seriously?

So, a clearly agitated Jesus brings the focus back on the child, and says, "If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea.” Very strong words…but Jesus was just getting started!

·      “If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire.”

·      “And if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life lame than to have two feet and to be thrown into hell.”

·      And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out; it is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into hell, where their worm never dies, and the fire is never quenched.”

So, what do we do with this today? Are we to take Jesus’ words literally? Clearly his own disciples didn’t take his words literally. And clearly Jesus didn’t enforce this either, or he would have had a bunch of maimed disciples following him around. And Christians throughout history have never taken these words from Jesus literally.

I think that Jesus’ words are so shocking, and so strong, that like John, even we get distracted and miss the point. While we are trying to make sense of Jesus’ hyperbole-filled tirade, we’re forgetting the whole point of the story. Twice, the disciples have gotten caught up in being competitive:

·      Last week: Who is the greatest?

·      This week: Other folks are healing people in Jesus’ name. And the disciples want to be the only ones who are allowed to do that.

Peter has declared that Jesus is the messiah. But ever since, the disciples have been struggling with how to be a disciple of the messiah, and what it means to be a disciple of the messiah. To them, it appears that they believed that “membership has its privileges.” To them, being in the inner circle of the savior of the world meant that they would be defined by greatness the way that ancient Rome defined greatness: power, privilege, and competitiveness.

When Pope Francis was elected, and moved from Buenos Aires to the

Vatican City, he didn’t move into the papal palace where the other popes lived. Rather, he chose to live in a modest two-room suite in the Vatican’s guesthouse on the edge of St. Peter’s Square. And he has been known to sneak out to be with poor, but to the chagrin of his security team.

When he made his first visit to the United States after becoming the Pope, he preached some sermons and made some speeches about addressing economic inequality, protecting the environment, advancing religious freedom, and welcoming and integrating immigrants and refugees into our communities. Some American Catholics have been upset that his focus on the poor and marginalized is undercutting the Catholic Church’s focus on battling abortion and other social issues.

He’s even been called a communist by some U.S. critics. But in a speech he made in Washington, DC, he noted that he is “a Catholic, not a communist,”

and said, “I am certain I have never said anything more than what is in the social doctrine of the church.” And I think that this struggle we are seeing between the Pope and some Catholics is like the struggle Jesus was having with his disciples.

Pope Francis is, in many ways, redefining power, and reminding us  what it means to be a Christian. And Christianity to Pope Francis looks nothing like the Christianity that Vatican City is used to, or the Christianity that the United States is used to. Pope Francis is not only identifying with the weak and powerless, but he is also in many ways entering into solidarity with them. And this is very upsetting for some of his followers, just like Jesus holding up a helpless child as a model for discipleship upset Jesus’ disciples.

And when people get upset with the pope, they oftentimes tell him to stick to theology, or church matters, and stop meddling in politics. But again, Pope Francis reiterates that he is just sticking to the social teaching of the church. Nothing more, nothing less.

In his brief time as the Pope, Francis has most definitely adhered to the Christian call to afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted. When Jesus was comforting a child by holding her in his arms, Jesus was afflicting his disciples by saying things like, “if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out...”

This wasn’t a commandment that Jesus etched in stone and planned on enforcing. This was Jesus afflicting the comfortable so to speak. This was Jesus trying and trying to get his disciples to truly understand what it meant to be his follower. If they thought that being in Jesus’ inner circle meant having a life of power and privilege, they had another thing coming. And Jesus was set on making it clear to Peter, James, John, and the rest of the disciples that “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all."

And such is our call today as Christians. Lord, give us the courage to be last, for your sake, for our sake, and for the sake of others.

Today’s lessons from James and Mark are, in one way or another, a scriptural call for us to care for the least of these in our midst. James’ prophetic admonition that “faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead” has served as a call to action for generations of Christians. I think that most Christians understand that a significant part of our baptismal identity and calling is to serve and care for those who are in need. Some Christian individuals and some Christian congregations are more faithful to this call than others. But regardless of how well we have responded to this calling, I think that the question set before us today isn’t as much about if we should care for others as it is how we care for them.

In today’s Gospel lesson, Jesus models for us how we are to go about being healers in a broken world. Whenever we read about Jesus’ miraculous healings, we might, initially at least, find ourselves reacting like those who saw it with their own eyes, being “astounded beyond measure.” Yes, the casting out of the demon from the daughter of the Syrophoenician woman – and a long-distance healing at that! – was indeed astounding. And so was the restoring of the voice and hearing of the man who was dumb and mute. And so were all of Jesus’ healings – that is why we call them miracles! But I think that the takeaway from these miraculous healings should be more than simply saying, “There’s our proof. Jesus must have been God if he was able to perform a miracle such as this.” In these miracles is a model for compassionate healing.

If, through my own baptism, I am called to be a healer in this wounded, broken world, how might I do this? And what if putting my fingers in someone’s ears or spitting and touching their tongue doesn’t work as well for me as it did for Jesus? If I don’t have the miraculous healing powers of Jesus, can I still be a healer of the sick?

The answer is, of course, yes. Jesus wasn’t just a miraculous healer; he was a compassionate healer. In other words, Jesus’ healings were rooted and grounded in love. And the true miracle was the depth and breadth of Jesus’ love. And it is that love to which we are called to sacramentally respond. We are called to be outward and visible signs of Christ’s love and grace.

And so, through our baptisms in Christ, we are sent out, empowered by the Holy Spirit - with compassion…with love – to be healers in a wounded and broken world. But to use the image set forth by the great Dutch Catholic theologian Henri Nouwen, what if our call is to be wounded healers?

In his classic book, The Wounded Healer, Nouwen writes, “when the imitation of Christ does not mean to live a life like Christ, but to live your life as authentically as Christ lived his, then there are many ways and forms in which a [person] can be a Christian.”

This approach to being a Christian whose faith is alive and not dead opens up a whole new understanding of how we might engage in the sort of “good works” that James refers to in his letter. What if the call to be compassionate healers like Christ is more about being authentic in our vulnerability than being miracle workers? It was the Syrophoenician woman’s deep, vulnerable authenticity that had such a profound impact on Jesus, and led to the miraculous healing of her daughter. One might say that the miracle began with the woman herself, and her faithful, humble, and courageous dialogue with Jesus.

When speaking of our call to be wounded healers, Henri Nouwen asks, “Who can listen to a story of loneliness and despair without taking the risk of experiencing similar pains in [their] own heart and even losing [their] precious peace of mind? In short: “Who can take away suffering without entering it?”

And it is there that Nouwen touches on perhaps the way we can best serve as miraculous – yes, miraculous - healers in our broken world. The call to enter into suffering for the sake of someone else is indeed a miracle. The prophet Isaiah foretold the suffering of Christ when he wrote: “upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed.”

In other words, Jesus – the great physician – suffered the ultimate wound for us. He wasn’t too proud to be vulnerable, and open up himself as a living sacrifice for all of humanity. Later on in Mark’s gospel we will hear Jesus cry from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” I imagine that the demon-possessed; the deaf, mute, and blind; the hemorrhaging; and the paralyzed people whom Jesus healed and made whole also felt forsaken by God. And Henri Nouwen would say that the true miracle of Jesus’ healing is that he was able to “take away their suffering – and ours – by entering into it.

During the Prayers of the People today we will pray for Communities of Transformation – a ministry of Caring and Sharing in which Emily and I participate every Tuesday evening. We co-facilitate the Awaken class, which is “a small group of people who come together to explore life experiences, learn from each other and make some choices about our personal role in creating our future.” Those who serve as mentors in COT are not charged with “fixing” those who are seeking to make changes in their lives. Rather, we are to walk alongside them, bringing our full, authentic, vulnerable, beautifully broken selves to the group. We are called to be wounded healers, so that those who graduate from the program can themselves become wounded healers themselves.

So, Christ, the healer in whose name we bear witness in our own attempts to heal others was himself a wounded healer. And so are we. Our baptisms don’t inoculate us from the wounds that life will give us. Our baptisms serve as our call to faithfully, humbly, and yes, courageously – follow Jesus - the archetypal wounded healer - as we seek to bring his healing to others.

On highest holy day of the year for Jewish people - Yom Kippur - they recite the confessional, which says “Before a person is healed, he must acknowledge his illness. Before a person finds light, she must know her own darkness. And before a people is forgiven, it must confess its sins. We confess our sins and those of our fellows for we are responsible, one for another. Heal us Adonai, and lead us through darkness to light.”

I would add that before we can participate in the healing of others, we must acknowledge our own illness. Only then – when we join in others’ suffering - can we be an authentic, healing presence in the world, and participate in the healing journey from darkness into light.

So, in our efforts to take James’ advice and couple our faith with good works, we must remember that in healing ministries, it’s not about having miraculous powers to heal. It is about being in touch with our own wounds and suffering first. And then being willing to authentically into enter the suffering of others with compassion, love, and grace. Christ’s promise for us is that when we faithfully live into this calling, he will not forsake us. And as the Apostle Paul reminds us, [Jesus] died for all, so that those who live might live no longer for themselves, but for him who died and was raised for them.

Who do you say that I am? This question that Jesus posed to his disciples in today’s gospel reading has become a favorite question for interviews with candidates for ordination. “So, you’ve learned all this fancy, ivory-tower theology in seminary…You’ve passed your ordination exams…you’ve proven that you can articulate a theologically orthodox understanding of who Jesus is…All that being said…Who do you say that Jesus is?”

It’s not a bad or unfair question to ask. But I do think that it is unfair to expect each person to have some sort of novel, creative, earth-shattering response to the question. For instance, why should we scoff when a candidate says, “In my personal experience, I have found Jesus to be the way, the truth, and the life?”  

And it’s not only candidates for ordination that are faced with the pressure to come up with an emotionally gripping and spiritually profound answer. Search committees ask this question to clergy and bishops as well. And I get it. We want our spiritual leaders to be able to speak, preach, and teach about Jesus in a way that feels personal rather than formulaic. We want to be sure that they know and love Jesus in their hearts as well as their minds.

But over the past few decades, I am afraid that the pendulum has swung too far away from the “what has the Church said about who Jesus is” and towards the “who do you personally say that Jesus is” camp. And really, it’s more like “How does Jesus make you feel?” or “Who do you feel that Jesus is?”

Another place that I see this approach to learning about Jesus is teenage confirmation classes. The current trend is to emphasize the importance of a teenager being able to personally articulate who they understand Jesus to be – and how they feel about it. And I get that… and I agree with it. When I took confirmation class in seventh grade, all we had to do was memorize the Nicene Creed. I don’t recall ever being asked to consider how any of that related to my life, or what it might be like to have a personal relationship with Jesus. And I regret that and would never hold that up as a model for teaching the faith to teenagers – or anyone else for that matter. I would have loved to have been challenged to do more than memorize and regurgitate the Nicene Creed to my confirmation teacher.

But one of the Episcopal Church’s current confirmation curriculums is called  “Confirm, not Conform” (indicating that the youth will not be pressured into conforming to any sort of doctrine). In both cases, it seems that the primary locus of authority has shifted away from the ancient witness of our scriptures and tradition and towards the individual teenager’s personal experience.

So I believe that it is important for us, when teaching the faith, to use the Church’s scriptures and ancient tradition as the foundation upon which we build everything else. Of course I am interested in having folks critically engage the material, asking the tough questions, and finding a way to make a personal connection. That is all part of it. But we have to give folks – youth and adults - a foundational starting point.

I think that is why Peter was able to answer Jesus’ pointed question so well. Peter knew the Jewish scriptures and traditions. And he knew Jesus. And because of that, Peter was able to connect what he knew about the Jewish faith with what he knew about his personal experiences with Jesus, he was able to make the faith claim that Jesus was indeed the messiah whom his people had been waiting for. But Peter had to know the foundations of his faith and what the messiah was before he could claim that Jesus was indeed the one who was to come.

Yes, Peter was impulsive and emotional. But Peter also knew the faith. Later he would end up putting his heart and his mind to good use when he became the rock upon which the Church was built.

A week from today we will begin our teenage confirmation class here at Christ the King. Clearly that was on my mind when I read our gospel lesson for today. A major goal of our confirmation class will be to encourage our youth to think critically about the Christian faith- to engage it on a deeper level spiritually, intellectually, and emotionally. When we are finished with the class this Spring, I want these teenagers to be able to articulate not only who they say Jesus is, but who the Church has said that Jesus is for the past 2,000 years. I believe that there is great wisdom and value in teaching the ancient faith to our youth today.

And I think that there is great wisdom in using Peter as a role model for us as we explore who we say that Jesus is. That’s because in today’s gospel lesson, Peter actually starts off by getting it right. He is the first of the twelve disciples to make the claim that Jesus is the messiah. Now, after 2,000+ years of affirming Peter’s claim about who we believe Jesus to be, it could be easy for us to overlook the profound insight and discernment that Peter showed when he called Jesus the messiah. At that point, Jesus hadn’t even risen from the dead, yet Peter got it. He knew who he believed Jesus to be, and he wasn’t afraid to say so.

But just like when he boldly stepped out in faith and walked on water towards Jesus before losing his faith and sinking, in today’s lesson, Peter starts out strong but ends up being scolded. And that is why I like Peter, and why I thank God for him. When I attempt to step out boldly in faith, but end up making a big mess of things, I have Peter to remind me that I am not alone.

And such is the case for all of us – including our teenagers who will be in confirmation class with me this year. We will all have our moments of insight as well as our moments of failure. We will step out in faith and sink in fear. 

But when any of us finds ourselves drowning in the waters of fear, doubt, or any other crisis, how we feel about Jesus, or what our opinion is of him, or who we feel that he is to us isn’t going to save us. What will save us is the truth about Jesus that has been revealed to us in our Holy Scriptures and passed down to us for over 2,000 years. And the truth is that Jesus, as Peter so boldly claimed, is the messiah, the anointed one whom God sent to save the world.

I can’t wait to go on this journey of faith with our teenagers this year, so that together we can better understand who Jesus is, and what that means for each and every one of us.

Given that we are living in the midst of a highly contagious virus, most of us would agree with the Pharisees in today’s Gospel lesson. Regardless of who you are, where you live, or what your religion is, who disagrees – in principle at least- with washing your hands prior to eating? And who doesn’t think it is a good idea to eat from clean dishes? We may not all agree on the efficacy of masks or vaccinations, but I have yet to see an anti-hand or anti-dish washing movement emerge. But I continue to be surprised these days, so who knows, maybe even handwashing will become a divisive issue in our time like it was during Jesus’ ministry.

Today’s epistle and gospel lessons both address the tension and conflict between clean and unclean, pure and impure, or in religious terminology, sacred and profane. And both James and Mark use the verb defile to describe the desecration of something sacred. So, our lessons today are addressing more than good hygeine. They are addressing religious purity.

In Mark’s gospel lesson, “the Pharisees noticed that some of [Jesus’] disciples were eating with defiled hands.” So, they confronted Jesus about this clear violation of the Mosaic law, asking him, “Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?” Of course, we read this passage knowing that the Pharisees – at least the ones we read about in the gospels - were characterized as legalistic, self-righteous, religious zealots. So even though the idea of washing your hands before you eat is something that few people disagree with, we still are put off by their antagonistic, confrontational, self-righteous approach. I wonder if the pro-vaccination and pro-mask wearing movements – which I support given the sharp rise in the number of cases where we live – would have been better received if they hadn’t been delivered with such an heir of self-righteousness. Well-intentioned ideas communicated antagonistically rarely succeed.

As usual, Jesus responds to the Pharisees by going straight to the heart of the matter. In his response, Jesus radically reframes or even redefines the source of what is clean or unclean. Jesus is moving the conversation about who or what is pure or impure to beneath the surface when he says, “Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.”

Jesus is saying that no matter how clean we are on the outside – no matter how well we follow our religious purity codes or commonsense sanitary practices – no matter how pious, religious, well-mannered, well-put together, or well-intentioned that we appear to be, evil still persists from within. And that can be a difficult truth for many of us to come to grips with – especially those of us who consider ourselves to be “good” people.

What Jesus is getting at is that our moral and ethical work is to be done on the inside, because it is on the inside where evil dwells. He wants us to go to the source of the problem, not the surface, as the Pharisees seem to want to do. Those of us who have engaged in intentional, inner work through spiritual direction, therapy, and contemplative prayer know that it is incredibly challenging, but also deeply fruitful work.

The introductory paragraph of James’ epistle addresses the same sort of issue, albeit to a different audience and a different situation. But the principle remains the same.

Notice that James begins with acknowledging that all things that are good originate from God, not ourselves. This is a radical way to think about both outreach and stewardship. The gifts we give are not from us, but from above. James is offering a healthy check to our sense of self-righteousness when we begin to feel good about and take credit for our own acts of kindness and generosity.

But we must be careful about lapsing into hopeless despair, wondering “what’s the point?” if all that comes from within us is evil. James addresses this question by reminding us that God’s original intent and purpose for creation was goodness, holiness, and righteousness. And in Jesus Christ, God has given us the means for returning to that state of goodness – the means for redemption for all of God’s creatures and creation. In James’ words, God “gave us birth by the word of truth, so that we would become a kind of first fruits of his creatures.” God’s intention for us was and is for us to be the good, healthy fruit of his creation. 

Of course, as human beings who, since the fall of Adam and Eve, reside East of Eden, we have made a mess of things. If you are not a believer of the doctrine of Original Sin, you must not be watching the news these days. James’ community was dealing with the same sort of thing, as he implored them to “rid yourselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness, and welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls.”

But the good news is that James offers us a way to go about living the Christian life. He asserts that the living Word that God has implanted within us is something that we do not passively receive, but rather, a gift that we actively respond to. In James’ words, we are to “be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves.” And then James goes a step further by giving a clear, specific example of what being a “doer of the word” by imploring us to “care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.”

But we must be careful not to misinterpret James. Caring for orphans and widows is indeed an example of being a “doer of the word.” But when we do these sorts of things, we must not fall into the trap of feeling proud of ourselves or self-righteous. And we must not fall into the trap of believing that this sort of action will save our souls, or anybody else’s for that matter. We must remember that James equates the salvation of our souls with God’s implanted word, which we are to “welcome with meekness.” And not only are we to welcome and receive God’s word with meekness and humility, but we are also to embody God’s word with our actions with that same sort of meekness and humility. That is the sort of pure and undefiled first fruits of creation that God intended for us to be.

Both Jesus and James warn us about the sin of pride, self-righteousness, and hypocrisy. In the gospels, the Pharisees model for us this sort of behavior, and Jesus was always quick to call them out and offer a corrective. And James does the same with his admonition against defiled, impure religion. In both cases, Jesus and James invite us to examine and correct what is within us first. Our anger, pride, self-righteousness, hypocrisy - and all else that is evil – come from within. But so does all that is good, holy, and righteous. Through our baptisms, God’s Word has been implanted within us. We are not good; but God is good; and God wills it to be so for us, ever since God created us. And God’s saving Word, living within us, can be embodied in how we live our lives, as the first fruits of God’s creation. Let us seek to be bearers of this fruit with meekness, humility, and gratitude.

Pentecost 13, Proper 16, Year B, Sermon, August 22, 2021

Poet Laureate Billy Collins opened one of this poetry lectures by first bantering a bit with his audience, telling them how wonderful it was to see them there, how great it was to see how many people were interested in poetry. Then he said, “Now, enough of that. Let’s get this off of you and focused back on me.”

He was kidding, but Collin’s audience laughed because they knew the sentiment to be true of themselves. We live in a culture in which there is constant pressure to focus upon, become preoccupied with, and to cultivate ourselves.

We all embody the aphorism of Oscar Wilde, who is reported to have said to someone at a London party, “Come over here and sit next to me. I’m dying to tell you all about myself.”

Poet Walt Whitman in Leaves of Grass asks, “Why should I pray, why should I venerate...One word is aware and by far the largest to me, that is myself.” It is hard to believe that there was ever a day when Whitman’s “Song to Myself” was considered radical or even interesting. Today we are all singing that song. We have no world that interests us more than the world that is ourselves. We are the most interesting project we undertake. Through such self-absorption, the human landscape has not grown; it has shrunk. The value of everything is reduced to the question, “What is in it for me?”

Protestant Reformer Marin Luther defined “sin” as “the heart curved in on itself.” Curved in on ourselves, focusing mostly upon our needs, our aches and pains, we wither and die. This is the sin that afflicts us today.

“I would die if I didn’t get to play golf at least once a week,” a man in a past church once told me. 

“Surely you exaggerate.” I said. “Golf can’t be that great.”

“Oh but it is,” he replied. There is nothing better than to be out on a nice day, focusing all my attention, all my thought and affection on that little white ball. All burdens are lifted from my back; all concerns are put on the shelf. All I want to do is to get that little ball into that little hole on the green. Its’ …. wonderful.

Recently I was asked to reflect on “the pause”, in that moment; just before I preach. 

I pondered the question and I realized not much. Before that moment, when the congregation is singing the “Great Amen” before/after the sermon. I confess that I do sometimes wonder: How do I look? Am I going to do well? Will they like what I have to say? Have I come here with the right sermon, at the right time, for the right congregation? Will they like me?

But in that pause in that moment just before I preach, I find that I am not thinking about anything except the sermon. My whole being is being caught up, focused on the demands of the sermon. I become what I am intending to preach. 

It is wonderful, all-too-rare (in this culture) moment of self-forgetfulness. It is close to what Charles Wesley meant in his hymn when he spoke of being “lost in the wonder, love, and praise” when one is in love with Jesus. It is the self-forgetfulness of an artist who becomes obsessed with the art, preoccupied with the moment; wholly focusing on the thing itself, giving the art absolutely everything that it deserves.

I think it is something close to what Jesus said in saying, “Deny youself, take up your cross and follow.” It’s quite an achievement, in this culture, to “deny yourself” when we are encouraged by so much around us to focus upon ourselves, to care and feed our adorable, all-important me.

Or maybe self-forgetfulness is not so much an achievement as a gift.

When you are in love (I hope I’m describing something that most of you have experienced), part of the joy of being in love is that you find yourself “consumed” (as we sometimes say) by the object of your love. Your find yourself thinking all the time about the beloved. Every waking moment, and sometimes much of our sleeping moments as well, are preoccupied with the one who is the object of our love. Eventually, if a relationship develops, we find ourselves no longer thinking in terms of “I” and “you”, but rather in terms of “us” and “we”.

Well, something very much like that happens to the believer and Jesus Christ. We find ourselves being drawn out of ourselves and into Christ. We find that we are thinking less of ourselves and more about others. Our needs seem to grow smaller as we are given more responsibility for the needs of others. 

The love for Jesus beckons us on one of the most important journeys we will ever undertake; the long, counter-cultural journey outside of ourselves toward the true center of our being who is our Creator and our Savior. Christians sometimes say “Jesus Christ saves us from our sins.: True. But this Sunday I’m thinking that It’s also true to say, “Jesus Christ saves us from ourselves!”

And when we are in love with someone, to continue my earlier analogy, we don’t prattle on about our love, we focus on the one we love. We don’t say, “You know, I am a great lover of someone. I am so perceptive and caring and have found a worthy object of my affections.” No! We say rather, “My life has been commandeered by another. A wonderful person has come into my life and changed everything.”

Furthermore, when we love someone, we would never say, “I’m in love with someone because I get great things out of our relationship. Whatever I ask. They will do for me. I can use them to get anything I want.” That’s not love! Love that loves someone in order to get something out of that person isn’t love by anyone’s standards.

And yet, sad to say, that’s how we are sometimes guilty of thinking about the Christian faith. Are you anxious? Are your in need of reassurance and comfort? Then come to Jesus; he’ll fix that.

In today’s Gospel we have a strange story, even for a strange Gospel like the Gospel of John. Jesus makes some wild assertions about eating his flesh and drinking his blood. His disciples are clearly baffled by his words. Some of his disciples even desert him after hearing these weird words. Jesus asks his remaining disciples, “Will you also go away?”

And they respond, “Lord to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

Maybe the point is a lack of understanding. Maybe the point is not that we always hear what we want to hear. Maybe the point is Jesus.

Sometimes when we come to church on a Sunday, we get new insights or fascinating ideas. Sometimes we come here anxious and perplexed and leave comforted and at peace. But our understanding, our peace and reassurance are not the point. The main thing we get is the presence of God in Jesus Christ and that is point enough for being here.

It’s not about us. It’s about God in Jesus Christ coming to us as he is, rather than how we might like him to be, speaking to us words we need to hear rather than words we might want to hear. 

Ah what a gift, what a strange and wonderful gift, to be given by this faith – the ability to love someone other than ourselves, the wonder of having your life caught up in some grand project greater than ourselves, the miracle of – for a few glorious moments on a Sunday morning – standing outside yourself. 

Lord, you really do have the words of life. Amen  

“It is not all about us!”