Ripples in the Font–Spiritual Reflections and Poetry

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  • Third sermon–given at Trinity, Waterloo, October 16, 2011

    My third sermon; the Gospel from Matthew was the scene in which Jesus responds to the Pharisees with the famous and much-pondered line about giving Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.  I’m glad that Rev. Maureen gave me this challenge.

    On Friday, I spent about twelve hours here at the church; and at the end of the day, I realized that despite being physically tired, I felt spiritually renewed and refreshed because of having watched, as many church members came early in the day, giving of their time to care for the Phelps’ family by providing a reception as the family celebrated a memorial of Ginny’s life. Afterward, most of them stayed, or came and went throughout the afternoon and into the evening to set up for the Fall Bazaar, sponsored by Chat & Sew and St. Margaret’s Circle, an annual event that raises money, which is then given to various mission projects around Trinity. For example, last year Chat & Sew paid for our subscription to IRMS, which enables us to have access to expensive curricula, which means we have Adult Ed programs such as Saving Jesus Redux and Living the Questions 2.0. St. Margaret’s gives to many missions, but most especially works with the Salvation Army’s Adopt-a-Family program to provide Christmas presents to a needy family. Many folks donated their time and talents to this effort by knitting, crocheting, sewing, baking, and making delicious sloppy joes, not to mention setting up all the donated items for Saturday’s sale. They gifted their time and talents to make sure that a grieving family felt welcome and comfort as they bid farewell to a loved one. The spirit of love and fellowship that pervaded the church was palpable, amazing, and energizing.
    Today’s Gospel reading is one that appears to have been problematic right from the beginnings of Christian history. In it, Jesus has entered Jerusalem; and the Pharisees, who, according to Matthew’s account, have made common cause with the Herodians (apparently that wasn’t a natural union, according to scholars), continue in their attempts to entrap Jesus; this time hoping for a Catch 22. Either response to the question asked: “Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?” should cause his downfall. If he responds with a “yes,” then they can denounce him as a collaborator; if “no,” then they can accuse him of being a rebel and hand him over to the governor.
    Jesus’s reply is what has been problematic for many. After asking whose image appears on the coins used to pay the taxes, however, come the often-quoted, often-pondered words, “give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.”
    Many over the ages have debated Christ’s meaning in these words. His response amazed his inquisitors and begs the question: What belongs to the emperor and what belongs to God? A large part of that debate has focused on the authority of temporal governments and the paying of taxes. I would like to leave that discussion for another time and for people more qualified than me. Let’s instead reflect on what may belong to God.
    How do we know what belongs to God? Theologians such as the current Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, point to the question Jesus asked of the Pharisees: Whose image and title is on the denarii? In a sermon given in June 2010, Williams says: “Give Caesar what belongs to him, says Jesus. And how do we know what belongs to him? It has his image on it. Then: give God what belongs to God. The implication isn’t spelled out, but it’s clear enough. What belongs to God can be identified in the same way; it has his image on it. Human beings, who are made in God’s image, ‘belong’ to God.” We’re not his property, but we carry his authority, just as the coins carried Caesar’s, in other words.
    I would like to suggest an analogy for consideration: perhaps we should think of ourselves as God’s coins, then. Or perhaps at least the gifts and the talents we are given, or the time we have on earth, if nothing else. I know this is an imperfect image, but it’s one that’s now stuck in my head, perhaps because of our culture’s focus on money and material wealth. We are God’s image, and because we carry his authority as coins, we need to consider how we spend ourselves and our time. If, as many have argued over the centuries, Christ was suggesting that those coins be “given unto Caesar,” and the taxes be paid, then we need to remember to give ourselves to God, use ourselves and our time and talents for God’s glory and for each other.
    Indeed, in today’s Old Testament reading, Moses says to God, “Show me your glory, I pray,” and God agrees, but says he will cover Moses’s face until God has passed by; Moses may not see the Lord’s glory—God says that “my face shall not be seen.” However, as we ourselves are images of God, I believe we see a part of that glory each and every time we act as the hands and feet of Christ in the world and give to God the things that are God’s—namely our time and maybe even our lives.
    My prayer for this week is that as we consider how to spend ourselves as coins of God, we should be offering that time from our first fruits, rather than the leftovers, so to speak, just as we are asked to do when we are tithing the coins that belong to the emperor when pledging to the church. That may require sacrifice on our part, as it did on God’s in Christ. We may not be God’s property, but nonetheless, we are his, and he is ours, as we were reminded in last week’s readings. As we enter this season of stewardship, consider the ways in which you can give your time and talents to help your church family and your community. Come to the Food Bank on a Saturday morning, teach our children and adults, join chime or chancel choir, bring snacks for social hour, become an usher/greeter, gives rides to those who can’t drive themselves, be a pastoral visitor, get involved with our youth, preach, lead services; there are a myriad of ways to use your time and talents. When you give of yourselves in this way, I know that you will be spiritually renewed and feel like a newly-minted coin. Amen.

  • Second sermon–given at St. James in Independence, Iowa, on August 21, 2011

    Here is my second sermon, and these are the readings from the RCL for that Sunday: Exodus 1:8-2:10 Psalm 124 or Isaiah 51:1-6 Psalm 138 Romans 12:1-8 Matthew 16:13-20. 
    I am very thankful for Fr. Sean, Rev. Sue Ann, and the congregation at St. James for giving me and others a chance to practice our skills as we journey through our processes.
    What image appears in your mind when you read or hear the noun “rock?” Do you picture something small, more of a pebble that fits in your hand? Or is it large, something you can stand on, maybe even mountain-sized? Is your rock rough, rugged, sharp-edged? Perhaps you see one that’s smooth, like the river rock often used in aquariums and gardens. Possibly all of these images vary in your mind as you consider the word, and may depend on the circumstances in which you’re in when you encounter it. I think, though, that it’s safe to say that we all share the idea that a rock is solid, stable.
    I have a friend who loves rocks. She’s not a professional collector or a geologist, but when she is out walking, she will pick up an interesting one and keep in her pocket, often using it as a worry stone. When I questioned her about her choice of rock, I assumed that she always chose one that was smooth. After all, the worry stones sold in stores are smooth and nicely polished, and pretty to look at. However, she responded that no, the rocks she picked up generally had rough, uneven edges, and had simply caught her eye for one reason or another. I paused and reflected about this, questioning my assumption about her preference, and why I apparently valued a smooth, pretty stone more.
    In our Gospel reading today, Jesus blesses Simon Peter, son of Jonah, because God revealed to him that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. Jesus says, “You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church,” using the profound, at least in my mind, play on words, since Peter in Greek means “rock” and Cephas is “rock” in Aramaic.
    And this is why I asked, at the beginning of this sermon, what you envision when you hear or read this word, because that will affect how you envision both Peter and the church. I have to be honest and say that as I began thinking about this Gospel reading, one of the first things that came to mind were the many jokes about St. Peter and the Pearly Gates. I did stop to consider whether this was an appropriate subject for a Sunday, but in being true to myself as a literature person fascinated with all sorts of texts, I felt challenged to find some significance, some relevance. And I thought that for quite a few people, who don’t read Scripture, this is their only image of Peter—the gatekeeper who decides who does or who does not enter Heaven. After all, he has the keys to the kingdom. These jokes show a very literal interpretation of these keys and the man who holds them—a smooth and solid character, if one-dimensional.
    However, as we can see in the Gospels, Peter is very complex and not perfect—he is not a smooth stone and doesn’t appear very solid. In a just a few more verses from today’s reading, Jesus is rebuking him, saying “Get behind me, Satan,” when Peter says that Jesus shouldn’t be subjected to the suffering and death he is foretelling to his disciples. We all know of Peter’s fear in the courtyard, causing him to fulfill Christ’s prophecy, that he will deny his teacher, his Messiah, three times before the crowing of the cock. How can he be “the rock” upon which Christ will build his church?
    However, I think that Jesus didn’t necessarily want someone who was smooth and polished to lead his church. Smooth and polished is comfortable, and doesn’t allow for much more in the way of change and possibility. I would venture to say that the Pharisees would have seen themselves in terms of smooth rocks. They were solid and obeyed the laws, and they didn’t feel the need for change; they were comfortable as they were.
    But a rough rock can be uncomfortable, whether you’re holding it in your hand or standing on it. If you’re climbing one, however, it’s easier to find a purchase; smooth can be slippery and treacherous. Jesus was willing, as a good teacher, to work with Peter, maybe smoothing some of the edges, but knowing that this man, whose faith enabled him to receive the revelation that his mentor was the Messiah, but whose flaws were a reminder of his humanity—Isaiah bids us to remember the rock from which we are hewn–would make things uncomfortable for the powers that be. Jesus, I would say, knew that Peter would take his lessons to heart precisely because he was not perfect. Christ had faith in his servant, that he would be the foundation of a church that would not become too smooth, too comfortable in itself and forget its purpose—which was to help bring about the kingdom of heaven through God’s love.
    So my prayer is that, as we’re presented with a world in which people are being marginalized, having their rights denied, and going without basic human needs such as food and clean water, we be reminded that today’s Gospel is not about Peter being given a literal set of keys in order to decide who gains entry and who doesn’t, but a charge to perhaps not let ourselves or the Church only reach for those smooth stones, when events make us uncomfortable, but to speak up. This Gospel is also a reminder that we are all rough rocks with our uneven edges, but that God loves us in spite of them, or actually, as with Peter, I would say, because of them. This should be a source of great comfort. Amen.

  • 17 Pentecost–September 27, 2009 (My first sermon)

    This is the first sermon I ever gave, and I must say thank you to Fr. Mitch Smith, who was the rector at Trinity at the time, for giving me this opportunity. These are the readings from the Revised Common Lectionary (RCL) for that Sunday, upon which I based it: Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22; Psalm 124; James 5:13-20; and Mark 9:38-50.

    Imagine that you are that man at the beginning of today’s Gospel reading. You have been going around casting out demons in Jesus’ name. Perhaps you had been in the crowd when Jesus healed the boy who had been made mute by an unclean spirit, and his words touched you, starting you on this path. However, the disciples approach you, or even accost you, asking you or telling you to stop what you are doing because you are not “following us.” How do you feel? The disciples have made no invitation for you to join their community. How do you feel at being excluded, at having this stumbling block placed in front of you, which may keep you from approaching Christ?
    Now imagine that you are one of the disciples, John perhaps. You have been following Jesus on this new journey and he has been teaching you many things, not all of which you understand yet. Recently, you have seen him healing a boy of an unclean spirit that neither you nor the disciples could cast out. Yet, here is a man, who is not one of you, doing the very thing that you could not. Why do you try to stop him? Why don’t you invite him into your community, why exclude him? Why did you put that stumbling block in his path?
    One of Christ’s responses to his disciples’ actions are the words “Whoever is not against us is for us,” a very inclusive phrase, implying that the boundaries around this community should be flexible and easy to cross. He does not wish John and the others to stop the man, and admonishes them for trying to do so. The way to salvation, after all, leads through himself. Unfortunately, today, we are more likely to hear the words, “If you are not for us, you are against us,” which often provokes a combative reaction and creates very rigid boundaries. This phrase in and of itself is a big stumbling block for those seeking Christ. Think of those people you may know who believe in Jesus’ teachings and do good works, but will not accept an invitation to church because they have been made to feel like the enemy at some point in their lives. How do you make that person feel included again?
    Jesus also says that it is better to cut off a hand or a foot or cut out an eye if any of those body parts causes a person to stumble. He wants his followers not only to prevent themselves from placing barriers in front of “these little ones who believe in me,” but to be aware that by hindering others in their approach to himself, they are putting stumbling blocks in front of themselves. Perhaps that is the question we should ask today: “Why do we put these blocks in front of ourselves, in our own paths to Christ?” Is it because of our own fears? Is it because we feel that only by being exclusive will we be of value? Is that what the disciples felt?
    In today’s reading we are urged to “have salt in ourselves.” Salt in Jesus’ time was a precious commodity, used by the Romans as “salary” for their troops; without it, many foods could not be preserved, and of course, it also served as flavoring. Even now, we still read [I think I would add “our children”] stories about daughters who tell their fathers that they love them as much as they love salt. The father does not understand at first, and casts his daughter away, thinking his daughter does not love him; until he realizes how bland food, and life, is without it. Think about the phrase, “The salt of the earth.”
    So with his words, Christ reminds us that we all have value. We have all been “salted with fire,” are all touched by God’s love through the Holy Spirit. Why are we afraid?
    Being able to ask these questions of ourselves, and answer them, will help us to continue to act as the body of Christ in the world, for if we are aware of the stumbling blocks we may place in front of others and ourselves, maybe we can turn them into stepping stones instead. Amen.

  • Sermon for Christ the King Sunday–November 20, 2011

    I gave this sermon at St. James Episcopal Church in Independence, Iowa. I feel very blessed that Rev. Sue Ann Raymond and Fr. Sean Burke are willing to let me preach there so that I can practice and gain experience.

    Today is Christ the King Sunday, and in the four years that I’ve been attending Trinity in Waterloo, this is the first time I’d thought to ask why. Prior to writing this sermon, I just accepted that this was an important feast day in the Church and I knew that Christ IS King, according to scripture, so what else did I need to know? However, as I pondered the meaning of today’s readings, I knew I needed to be a good scholar, a good (hopefully) preacher, a good girl, and find out what lies behind this tradition.
    And so I went online and looked at the Wikipedia articles (feeling a little bad that I was doing so—as an English Comp. teacher, I’m always saying that good students don’t rely on that website too much), where I learned—and perhaps you all know this already—that Pope Pius XI added the feast to the Roman Catholic liturgical calendar in 1925 as a reaction not only to Mussolini’s co-opting of secular authority in Italy, but also what he saw as the entire Western world’s rejection of Christ’s teachings.
    Now, I could stop the theological history lesson right here because that information alone provides a wealth of links to today’s readings, as well as links to Matthew 22:15-22 that we read last month, in which Jesus gives answer to the Pharisees when they try to entrap him with the question about paying taxes to the emperor. I could easily make the comparison between Caesar Augustus and Mussolini, who did desire to be a dictator in the manner of Augustus’ father, Julius.
    However, I hope to take us further in our thoughts for today. Pius originally set this day on the last Sunday in October, right before All Saints’ Day, and it wasn’t until the calendar reforms of 1969 that the last Sunday before Advent became Christ the King Sunday. The major Protestant denominations, and more importantly for us, the Anglican Communion, all added this feast to their own calendars since we all share in the Revised Common Lectionary.
    So why this shift, and what meaning does it have for us? Well, take a moment to think about what today IS: the end of the liturgical year. The pope wanted to emphasize the eschatological significance of this moment. When we consider the coming Advent season, we think in terms of waiting; waiting for  our Savior and KING, Jesus Christ, who will come again to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom will have no end, to remind of the words we say in one form or another as part of our liturgy. We wait for the end times. It’s interesting to note that in the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Sweden that this occasion used to be called “the Sunday of Doom” and talk centered around the final judgment.
    Judgment—that is one of the themes apparent in the readings today. The lesson from Ezekiel deals with the Lord’s judgment of those—namely the kings and leaders of Israel—who have not cared for those of their own people who are weak and lost. The selection from Matthew is really a continuation of the parable of the master who gives his servants the talents to invest, which itself is a continuation of the long answer Jesus gives his disciples in reply to their question about the signs of the “end of the age” and what his second coming will look like. After giving many examples of what the Kingdom of God will look like, Jesus ends by telling his disciples of the judgment that will occur when “the Son of Man comes in all his glory.” He will bless those who have fed the hungry, given the thirsty a drink, clothed the naked, and welcomed the stranger, since by doing so, they did the same to Jesus. However, those who did not do those things will face eternal punishment. We should also remember that in the next lines of Matthew, Jesus reminds the disciples that in two days time, he will be handed over for crucifixion. End time, indeed.
    I want to digress a moment—I hope you’ll bear with me. I am in Year One of EfM, Education for Ministry, and the lessons from the last two, really, three weeks,  have given me much to think about. Lesson Ten, from this past week, is about Jacob’s story, and one of the preparatory questions is this: Would you rather be good/right or would you rather be faithful? I’m not sure I like that this was posed as an either/or choice, but I am giving much thought to this. I had to admit that prior to this, I’ve been largely concerned with being good—I’m a good girl. I always try to do what’s right, what’s expected of me, obey the laws, and listen to authority. I think that’s not always the same as being faithful. In my life, I know that once, at least, I’ve missed an opportunity to follow God’s call to me by being focused on being good and doing what I was told to do, or rather not doing what I was told not to do.
    And so, let’s consider today’s Gospel in terms of that question. When we think of those who asked Jesus about the rightness of paying taxes to Caesar or the rightness of working on the Sabbath, we can see that maybe they were only focusing on being “good” or “right.” Maybe they were giving power to the wrong authority. They were looking for control and for neatness in their good works. Helping someone on the Sabbath is work, and that’s against the Law, so we can’t help you. A missed opportunity to follow God’s call through Christ to care for those who are weak and lost.
    When we consider the missions and ministries we do as a Church, I wonder—and I know I can’t speak for St. James because I haven’t known you all very long—if we worry too much about being good and neat. Sometimes I think that churches compartmentalize their missions, individuals, too. We want that neatness—writing a check rather than going out to work in a soup kitchen. We want that feeding of the hungry, the clothing of the naked, the welcoming of the stranger to be on our terms; if not, we might not do it at all. I think of missed opportunities in welcoming; such as a church who offers a free clothing closet and locks the doors to all the other rooms in the building and hides food normally stored out in the open. If you think about today’s readings in terms of hospitality—something else that I learned in the EfM lessons mentioned above—it was vitally important in nomadic and Jewish culture—what do those actions say? Are you truly clothing the naked? Maybe we need to think of today’s readings not only in terms of physical needs, but also think about being hungry, naked, and thirsty spiritually. What are our responsibilities then? I would argue that Christ came to us as a king in humility and love, wanting us all to take part in the responsibilities of his kingdom. I think he was saying that the Law is nothing without love. We need to be faithful to that call, and we may have to redefine for ourselves, and the Church, what it means to be good or right and faithful.
    I’d like to leave you with one last thought about Christ the King Sunday. In England, in the Anglican churches, today is traditionally known as “Stir-Up” Sunday, because it was, pre-20th century, the day to “stir-up” your Christmas pudding, as the mixture needed to sit for several weeks. Churchgoers were reminded of this from the collect said that day: “Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people; that they plenteously bringing forth the fruit of good works, may of thee be plenteously rewarded; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” I know that we traditionally think of Advent as a time of stillness and waiting. Maybe it’s time for us to redefine that as well in preparation for the return of Christ. After all, love is messy, life is messy, as my spiritual director so often reminds me. Let’s stir it up and see what happens.