Sermon: Cutting things off for life (September 29, 2024)

Pentecost 19B
Sept. 29, 2024
Mark 9:38-50

INTRODUCTION

In two of our texts this week, Numbers and Mark, we get stories about one group of people judging another because they don’t act or believe the right way. That’s nothing we know anything about, right? Haha, right! We are all too familiar with having strong feelings about how something should be done, and who should be doing it, just like the Israelites and the disciples. These texts show us that, as Jesus says, “Whoever is not against us is for us.” We all want the same thing and have the same goal, so have some grace for one another along the way. James will show us what the Church could look like instead – praying for the suffering, celebrating with the joyful, confessing when you’ve done wrong. It’s all so simple to say, but difficult to do when our pride and deeply held convictions are at stake! 

As you listen today, think about the ways you have, even with good intentions, tried to bring others down a notch, or tried to get them to see things your way (that is, of course, the right way), or accused them of something before recognizing the behavior also in yourself. We have all done these things. Notice how humans have done them all along, and what God has to say about it. Let’s listen.

[READ]

May the words of my mouth and the mediations of our hearts be acceptable to you, O God, our Strength and our Redeemer. Amen.

A couple of weeks ago, we had the first of our series of monthly evening prayer services this fall. The idea with this series, every 3rd Thursday, is that we come together mid-week, to escape from the relentless demands of life, and connect with God and with one another, first through communal prayer, and then over a simple meal and guided conversation on a meaningful topic. For the first gathering, the topic I settled on was: anger. Specifically, how do we speak to one another in love, even when we feel angry?

I decided to start there partly because I have been doing a lot of work in the past years on my own anger. I am not an outwardly angry person, generally speaking. My default, rather, is to bottle it up, making it into a simmering resentment, until one day someone throws some salt on it, and I boil over and explode. Sounds super fun, right? But of course, I don’t want to be that way. And so, I have been working on learning to identify when I feel angry, notice what triggers it, and how it feels in my body, so that I can express it more peacefully before it gets to the boiling point. 

That effort is what I thought of when I read this last line of our Gospel reading: Be at peace with one another. Easier said than done sometimes, right? Because some people are just infuriating. Some people make it really difficult to be kind and peaceful. Some people make us feel like yelling, because they need to be put in their place. Some people! 

Of course, the truth is… you and I are “some people” as well. We are all the “some people” who make it difficult to “be at peace with one another” for someone. Sometimes, we are the problem. 

Jesus points this out to us, albeit in language that can be difficult to take in. “If you cause someone to stumble in faith, tie a big rock around your neck and be thrown into the sea. That would be better for everyone. If your hand or leg or eye causes you to sin, cut them off and burn ‘em up. That would be better than burning in hell with both eyes and hands and legs.” Oof. Makes me wonder if Jesus maybe never took a class in pastoral care, ya know? 

Now let me just get this out there right away: Jesus is using hyperbole here. He is not literally advocating we cut off our own limbs or drown ourselves – nothing else he says could be used to support that interpretation. The exaggeration here is SO great as to make it obvious he is using these extremes to make a point. So you can unclutch your pearls and put down your smelling salts. 

But. Just because it is not meant to be taken literally does not mean it shouldn’t be taken seriously. It is shocking, yes, but shocking for a purpose, and that purpose is this: to understand the dangers of sin, and the ways it is affecting our relationships with God and neighbor, and how we act out our faith in the world.

For example, thinking about my anger example from before: I spent a lot of years (maybe you can relate) blaming my anger on other people who were making me mad by, say, not keeping commitments, not making an effort, lacking compassion, lacking integrity, being dishonest – all things that rubbed against my core values. The anger I was keeping inside was poisoning my heart, making it hard to view “those people” with the compassion and love with which Jesus views me, for instance, a first-rate sinner. And when the anger finally exploded, I said hurtful things to people I cared about. I found that my anger at people sinning against me or someone else, was turning me into the very kind of sinner I despised, someone lacking compassion, saying things I didn’t mean, not keeping my own integrity, etc. And living in that reality, in turn, caused me to hurt, to suffer.

Enter Jesus: “If your… anger… causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life without that defense mechanism, that self-protection, that mode of operation, then to keep holding it close to you and suffering as a result for the rest of your life.” We all have certain reactions, inclinations, or habits that have become our default, and we have told ourselves, even since childhood, that we need them in order to get something we need (safety, love, whatever). But what worked for us as children, is no longer serving us; indeed it is causing us to sin. Maybe these patterns have become so much a part of us that they feel like a body part. And when they get cut off, well, that can feel very much like losing a part of us! And there is an adjustment period. Without that leg, now we may stumble a little while we walk, as we figure out how to replace that old habit with a new, healthier one. Without that arm, we have to operate differently in the world. Without that eye, we can’t always see as clearly at first which way to go. 

I have a dear friend who has done a lot of work trying to understand his mental illness, and the unhealthy ways he has learned over time to deal with it. As he pulls back the layers, he said, he finds it is difficult to know how to replace his old unhealthy patterns with new, healthy ones. “I always did [this thing] because it made me feel safe,” he said. “And now I feel vulnerable without it, but I’m not yet sure what to do in its place, or if I even need something in its place. Everything is different, and it’s scary and unsettling.” Yeah, it is! This sermon of Jesus’ is scary and unsettling, because it calls for us to take a deep look at what is our way of operating in the world – even patterns we developed as children or young adults to get what we needed – and discern whether they are now in fact causing us to sin, whether they are causing a rift between us and the closer relationship with God and our neighbor that we crave. 

Maybe your issue is also anger. Lord knows, it’s hard not to be angry at something or someone these days, isn’t it? Or maybe it is apathy, or a tendency to withdraw from the world or your loved ones when they express emotions you don’t know what to do with. Maybe it’s addiction, or perfectionism, or a need to be needed, or to be affirmed by others. Maybe it’s always running away from pain, rather than facing it and dealing with it. There are so many stumbling blocks that would keep us from the life-giving relationships that would fill us and inspire us, so many tripping hazards that would keep us from being the people God calls us to be. 

The work to cut those things off is indeed work. But the payoff is great. When we can do this, Jesus says, we can “be at peace with one another.” Doesn’t that sound great, in this current climate, in which everyone has an opinion about how other people should act or speak or vote? I have heard people say, “You can’t be a Christian and vote for a Democrat,” and I have heard, “You can’t be a Christian and vote for a Republican.” The other person is always doing it wrong, right? If it’s not my way, it’s the wrong way! That’s what we see even in the Gospel, and in the Numbers text. “Some people over there are doing a thing, and trying to accomplish the same thing we are, but they are not doing it the same way we are.” That sort of thinking has been around a long time. 

But what does Jesus say? “If they aren’t against us, they are for us.” If they aren’t putting stumbling blocks in our way, tripping us up, then let them do what is needed to bring about the kingdom of God on earth. If they support a policy you think is terrible, but they are spending their weekends volunteering at the homeless shelter, celebrate that. If they are voting for the wrong person, but they donate thousands of dollars to help vulnerable people, celebrate that! Find values that we share, and even if we have different ideas of how to get to our shared goal, recognize that we at least care about the same things, and find and celebrate the ways we can work together toward our shared kingdom goals. 

This is all so hard, friends. I know that I am not alone in my frustration and discouragement about the division and demonizing and unwillingness to open eyes and hearts to listen to another perspective. I know I am frustrated with my own struggle in doing that! And I’m worried about the high stakes of it all. I certainly don’t want to make light of those real experiences. I believe there is a time and a place for prophetic speech, and righteous anger, and calling an evil what it is, though I still think these tasks can be done with love and compassion for the one who differs from us. 

But what I think Jesus is saying here is that we are in no place to be tattling on how someone else is “doing it wrong,” until we have done the work, with the help of God’s convicting Word and loving presence, of determining and cutting off our own offending limbs. This will show us the way toward the eternal life that Jesus is offering to us, a life of being at peace with one another, and of being freed from sin and death, of being in an intimate and fulfilling relationship with the God of life.

Let us pray… Compassionate God, you call us to be at peace with one another, but that is really, really hard sometimes. Soften our hearts, so that we can both see what in us needs to change, and also see the one who differs from us as another beloved sinner of your flock, just like we are. In the name if the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen.

Sermon: Who do you say that I am? (Sept. 15, 2024)

Pentecost 17B
September 15, 2024
Mark 8:27-38

INTRODUCTION

Isaiah begins today’s reading with, “The Lord has given me the tongue of a teacher, that I may know how to sustain the weary with a word.” But I might call today’s readings more wearying than sustaining. Isaiah goes on to describe what is known as “the suffering servant,” a description some Christians believe foretells Jesus and his ministry. James has some tough words for us about the dangers of an unbridled tongue – something that should hit where it hurts anyone who has ever said something that has hurt or caused harm, or that they later regret.

But the most difficult reading comes from Mark, in which Jesus will ask his disciples that famous question, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter will give an answer that’s partly right, but from there, Jesus will fill in what he missed – about his need to suffer and die – and well, that doesn’t go as well for Peter. Turns out the life of discipleship might be tougher and require less obvious victory and domination than the disciples first imagined. This conversation happens in a significant location, as well, which I’ll get into in my sermon – but for now you should know that Caesarea Philippi is a city that oozes Roman imperialism. And for Peter to call Jesus the Messiah in this place is an overtly political statement, that expresses a hope that Jesus will overturn this government and reinstate the throne of David. So: you might say, this is tense.

As you listen today, think about the question that Jesus poses: who do you say that Jesus is? Who do you want him to be, and how does he actually show up for you? Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

When I was interviewing for placement for my first call out of seminary, those of us who were assigned to this region, region 7, had what we called “bishop speed dating.” In the course of one day, we interviewed with as many bishops from as many synods as time would allow, and then the bishops and their staff got together and placed all of us. No pressure, right? I interviewed with three synods, and looking back, the whole thing is now a blur except for one moment that stays with me. When I interviewed with the Upstate NY Synod, the bishop asked me, “Who is Jesus? I don’t want your seminary answer; I want an answer in everyday language that people in the pews would understand. Who is Jesus?” I don’t remember everything I said, but I do remember that by the end of my answer, several of us around the table (especially the then-bishop and myself) were in tears. 

This is a question that matters deeply. And as I’m sure you noticed, today’s text is where it comes from. The location of this conversation is everything: they are walking into Caesarea Philippi. You see, this was a very politically charged place. Once a place of great significance to the Israelites, it was now occupied by the Romans. It is the epitome of Roman imperialism. When King Philip gained power in 4 BC, he named the place “Caesarea” to flatter his patron, Caesar Augustus, and Philippi to acknowledge himself (so basically, Philip’s Caesarville). Caesar Augustus, by the way, had given himself another title: divi fillius, son of the divine. He liked this self-appointed title so much that he had it engraved on the coin that bore his image: “Caesar Augustus, son of God.”

And now here, in this place of idolatry and imperialism, this place named for the Roman oppressor’s hero, Jesus asks the disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” And Peter gives a shocking answer: “You are the Messiah.”

Now, today we might not feel the full impact of this. Yes of course he’s the Messiah, we think. For some of us, it has rolled off our tongues since childhood. Jesus Christ, Jesus the Messiah, Jesus the anointed one. But this was an incredibly loaded title. You see, in the ancient world, among the Jews were those who were waiting expectantly for the Messiah to come – a messiah, who would be a great deliverer! It was generally thought this messiah, this anointed one, would be a king, who would come with military might, to deliver the people from bondage – at this particular time, someone who would liberate Israel from Roman occupation. This king would come in glory as a military conqueror, and restore the throne to the rightful line of King David (who was also called the anointed one, by the way, the messiah, and was a military conqueror under whom Israel was at its strongest). 

Based on what happens after Peter’s declaration, it was very likely that this violent, glorious vision of the Messiah was what Peter had in mind when he called Jesus by that name. He was expressing his deep hope that Jesus was there to restore the Davidic line, to deliver them, to liberate them from Roman oppression – and even, to use military might to do it. 

But Jesus has something else in mind. Jesus does not intend, as Peter expected, to lead them marching into Caesarea Philippi as weapon-bearing conquerors. In fact, Jesus says, it would be the opposite of that. He chooses this moment to introduce his most difficult and counter-intuitive teaching of all: that he, Jesus, must undergo suffering, be rejected, and be killed, and in three days rise again. This teaching is so important, that Jesus will repeat it in chapter 9, and once more in chapter 10. 

Imagine how Peter must feel, hearing this! This is not at all what Peter hoped for! How could Jesus be the conqueror, the winner, the restorer of Israel, if he was going to suffer and die? This was no Messiah, at least no Messiah that Peter was interested in getting behind.

Now, what would you do, if you had put all your hope in someone, in some specific outcome – indeed that you had dropped everything to pursue that hope – and you were told by that person that something very different would happen? If I really and truly believed in that thing, I would stay and fight for it. “No, no,” I’d say. “That isn’t right. That is not how this is supposed to go! Listen, let me tell you how it really is.” And that is just what Peter does. Mark tells us, that Peter took him aside (he didn’t want to embarrass his friend, I suspect!) and began to rebuke him. “Jesus,” I imagine him saying, “This is no good. If you’re the Messiah, you can’t be talking about suffering and dying. That’s not good messaging. No one will want to get behind that.” Really, it was the kind thing to do, the thing that could save the mission, and keep people from turning away.

But Jesus flips the script, rebuking Peter instead. “No, Pete,” he responds. “No, you need to get behind me, get behind this message. You are trying to push me in the opposite direction of the way I now must travel. Get out of my way, and get behind me. This is the way we are going.”

And then Jesus calls them all together – because everyone needs to hear this next part. And there, within view of that temple of empire and domination, Caesarea Philippi, Jesus describes his vision. “If you’re here for a violent campaign,” he says, “if you’re here for domination or triumph, then you can turn back now. That’s not who I am, or what I’m about. We’re not here in this place to conquer this temple. We are heading all the way to Jerusalem, and then on, to conquer the cross, that weapon of imperial terror. From the cross, we’ll head to the tomb, but then into new life, and then beyond that into a new community that is characterized not by violence and domination, but by love, gentleness, and justice. This is not a movement based on self-centered grasping for power; that is the way of Caesar. My way, is to let go of all that, to give it up, for the sake of the gospel of love and justice. We are not going to seek out suffering, but we must be willing to endure it, to take up the cross, because suffering is often along the way toward this radical gospel of love. Violence and attack are the easy way. Love, is the way of life.”

“If you want to come,” Jesus goes on, “then take up your cross and come on. Let’s move together toward justice and love and humility and kindness and compassion – those things that may seem weak or fragile but are stronger and more impactful than anything the empire has to offer. They are things that can heal this hurting world. But have no illusions. This will not be a triumphant march. Like all movements of love, kindness, and justice, there will be suffering along the way. There will be crosses to bear. But far more than that, there will be resurrection and new life. So take up your cross, and follow me.”

The Roman empire has long since fallen. But the problem of empire is still very much a part of our reality. We are always faced with the choice to choose love over fear, and justice over complacency, and compassion over anger. We always have the choice to seek domination and self-serving, or, building each other up. We can approach life with hands clenched into fists, ready to cling to our own way, or punch down someone else, or we can open our hands in generosity and strength – and be ready to faithfully and gratefully receive the gifts of God.

We all want to be saved from something, just like Peter. But rather than grasp for power, let’s “lose our lives,” as Jesus says, and focus instead on turning toward our neighbor, even toward our enemies, in love and generosity, knowing that we will no doubt encounter suffering, but we’ll encounter resurrection and new life, all the more.

Let us pray… Jesus Messiah, we often crave power, crave winning. But yours is a way of compassion, humility and love. Give us the courage to follow your way. Sustain us when we suffer for the cause of love. And open our fisted hands so we are ready to serve one another, and receive your mercy. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Sermon: Being opened (Sept. 8, 2024)

Pentecost 16B
September 8, 2024 – Rally Day
Isaiah 35:4-7a; James 2:1-17; Mark 7:24-37

INTRODUCTION

In my page in the St. Paul’s newsletter that went out last week, I printed the core values that came out of the visioning work we’ve been doing the past several months. They are also on the back of your bulletin –I’d love to hear your response! One of the values that we considered aspirational (meaning, we do it kind of, but would like to grow in this area) was the one around welcome and inclusivity. 

So I was delighted when I read the readings for today, traditionally the first Sunday of the new church program year, and I saw throughout, this theme of openness and inclusivity, showing no partiality, reaching beyond natural and cultural barriers. What a great set up for our year! We’ll see this explicitly in the words of James. Isaiah and the Psalm talk about opening the eyes of the blind and the ears of the deaf, and generally eliminating anything that would keep us from being together in relationship with God. 

We also see it in Mark, as Jesus ventures into Gentile territory. Gentiles are people outside of the Jewish community. In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus often takes great effort to venture into these non-Jewish areas, these places populated by those who are “other” to, or even, in some cases, enemies of the Jewish people. So today he takes a journey to Tyre, a place far from his home in Galilee, where he encounters a Syrophoenician woman (so, she is Greek, and descended from people of Syria, and Phoenicia, two historic enemies of Jews). His encounter with this woman changes, or rather, opens up the scope of his ministry, and he continues onto another largely Gentile (non-Jewish) region to continue his ministry with this whole new segment of society. So, today’s story is an important turning point in Jesus’ ministry, from focusing on Jewish people, to opening his mission up to non-Jews.

All of these readings are full of life-giving words for those desperately in need of that news… even as they are challenging words for those of us accustomed to feeling comfortable in our faith and our lives. Notice how they make you feel. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Is it just me, or does Jesus seem a little… off, in today’s Gospel reading? I mean, we usually picture him as the very embodiment of compassion, care, and availability, right, but today, he first enters a town and doesn’t want anyone to know it, wants to hide away for a while. And then, when someone comes to him for help, what does he do but insult her! “Can’t help you now,” he says. “Gotta help the children of Israel first. I’m not gonna throw their portion to the dogs!” Did he just… did he just call this woman a dog, and refuse to help her daughter? What?? This is not the Jesus we know and love!

It is one of the more puzzling interactions Jesus has, for sure. Interpreters have spilled much ink trying to figure this one out. Is this just an example of how Mark paints a much more human picture of Jesus? Throughout the Gospel of Mark, we see Jesus exhibit more emotions, as well as more human frailty, even lack of knowledge at times, than we do in the other Gospels. So maybe Mark is saying that Jesus was tired, and a little bit irritable, snarky, and dismissive? I mean, we get that, right? We’ve all been there! But… does Jesus get snarky and dismissive? It opens a complex theological can of worms.

Or maybe, is Jesus testing the woman’s faith? Yeah, standing as the wise teacher who is seeing how bold she will be in her declaration, always with the intention of giving her what she asks, and letting her win the argument. That seems to fit better with our understanding of Jesus – even though I don’t especially like the idea of a God who tests our faith for sport, while our loved one lies in pain!

It’s a tricky one, and it can be very easy to get caught in the weeds of this question – I know I have spent a fair amount of time there. 

But in the end, that’s not the point of the story, and not what really matters to me. What matters more than why Jesus responded to this woman the way he did, is that the woman, who is an ethnic, religious, social “other” from Jesus, has the opportunity to proclaim, even to us, the truth: that Jesus is there for her, too. That her life, and the life of her daughter, matter, and should matter even to this Jewish teacher, even to this God. That she is worthy of God’s care, compassion, and love. This woman boldly proclaims that truth.

We have a complicated relationship with the truth these days, don’t we? There has always been a fair amount of fuzziness around the truth in politics, but it has gone off the rails in the past decade – well past a creative reframing of the facts, and fully into easily verifiable lies. That, along with evidence of foreign interference, and the rise of AI and easily altered visual media, and the result is that the folks trying to keep up at home just don’t know who or what can be trusted anymore. What really is the truth, and what is only some version of the truth, cherry-picked, or conveniently twisted or edited to support one viewpoint or disprove another? In the words of Pontius Pilate, “What is truth?”

Yet here, this woman of Syrophoenician origin, boldly proclaims a very important truth, and one that can absolutely be trusted: that she matters, and that her daughter matters, and that they are worthy of God’s attention and care. 

But even when a truth, like this, is indisputable, that does not always mean it is easy to hear. Jesus seems to receive it readily enough, but for us? We sometimes have a hard time receiving the truth, especially when it rubs up in a bad way against something we believe and hold dear, when it challenges our viewpoint. Once we have decided what is the truth, I think a lot of us tend to close our minds and our hearts to anything that doesn’t fit with what we believe. 

Perhaps that is why I am particularly drawn to what Jesus says in his next interaction with a Gentile, the man who is deaf and mute. Jesus doesn’t just lay hands on this man to heal him. He says to him, “Be opened.” 

“Be opened.” This is message I know I need to hear, and one I think we could all stand to hear and take to heart. Be opened. Be opened to the movement of the Spirit. Be opened to learning something, even something that at first makes you uncomfortable. Be opened to the gifts of others, even others whom you don’t like. Be opened.

I remember once sitting in the office of my college band director. He was leaning back in his chair, with his arms crossed tightly across his chest, when he started to reflect, as he often did. He said, “You know, I’ve been told you should never sit this way, arms crossed, when talking to someone. My teacher used to say, ‘Closed body, closed mind.’ But I don’t know – I think I have an open mind, but I just think it is comfy to sit this way!” Well yeah, it is also comfy to sit in our opinions and never let them be challenged. It is also comfortable to stay right where we feel safe, and know how things work. It is comfortable not to rock the boat, not to speak up when we know something is wrong. But I wouldn’t say any of those things are necessarily open, nor faithful! (That said, I do think my band director had a pretty open mind, and was very faithful, despite his crossed arms!)

Be opened. Be opened to the truth, even uncomfortable truth. Be opened to ideas, even ideas you think would never work. Be opened to the possibility that you might be wrong, and someone else is right. Be opened to change, even if you love where and how things are. Be opened.

I think this is a valuable word for us today, on Rally Day, as we begin a new program year. We have some exciting things on the horizon. In the September newsletter, as I mentioned, I printed the core values that emerged out of the visioning process we’ve been working on. Some are values we already live into effectively, and some are aspirational, things we need to work on. In the coming two weeks, the Keymel committee and the council will start making some decisions about how we will spend the bequest we received earlier this year – keeping in mind how we can use this gift to help us better live into our values, including and especially the more aspirational ones. 

Some of what will happen in these next months is objectively exciting, and will be easily received. Some might require some risk. Some might require some patience, as we work through the inevitable tough spots. All of it requires for us to “be opened” – to listen to one another and our broader community, to be kind and responsive, to entertain the possibility of sitting in a position that might not be as comfortable at first, but one which will absolutely make us grow stronger in mission and in faith. 

All of what will happen in the coming months, I hope, will equip and empower us to boldly proclaim the truth: That ours is a God who loves, who cares, who heals, who brings life, both to those on the inside, and those who are “other,” who are different from us, like the Gentile woman and her daughter, and the deaf, mute man. That ours is a God who never promised that we would be comfortable, but rather, who always invites us to move, to change, and to grow. I hope we will be empowered to proclaim that ours is a God who listens to our needs, who equips us to boldly share our stories of how God has been active in our lives, and who bids that we “be opened” to the possibilities of new life that God places before us. 

And so let us “be opened,” my friends. As we enter into this new, exciting year of ministry, let us be opened and responsive to the ways that God will move within, among, and around us.

Let us pray... Active God, you make the eyes of the blind be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped. Make it so also with us, dear Lord. Make us bold to listen, to be opened, and to proclaim your truth. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.