Pentecost XV - Lynn Campbell

“It is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

You’ve got big shoes to fill!

That was the line I heard over and over again as I began my job at St. Francis House, a homeless day shelter in Boston. I was beginning as the Manager of Volunteer and Pastoral Services, a position that had been held by Br. Dan for nearly 20 years. If you’d met Br. Dan you would understand why I regularly heard that I had big shoes to fill. Br. Dan, a Benedictine monk, is truly a man of God. His gentle and loving way had earned him the trust of every staff member, volunteer and guest of St. Francis House. The Rule of St. Benedict, the rule of life followed by Benedictines, states that the brothers should welcome each guest as they would welcome Christ. Br. Dan practiced this welcome with everyone he met. God was at work in Br. Dan, enabling him to will and to work for God’s good pleasure.

I’m sure I’m not the only one in the church this morning who has heard those words: “You’ve got big shoes to fill.” Maybe those shoes were worn by an older sibling, a parent, a colleague, or boss. I wonder if you experienced those words to be as paralyzing as I did. Br. Dan had been called back to his monastery, and I had been entrusted with this new ministry, but I felt trapped. I was trying to fit into shoes that were not mine. Finally after weeks of hearing about these shoes I had to fill, and of trying to impersonate Br. Dan, I had a realization. Those are not my shoes to fill. I am not Br. Dan. I had my own shoes and I had to figure out how to walk the path ahead in whatever way God was calling me to walk. I had to trust that God was at work in me, enabling me both to will and to work for God’s good pleasure.

We certainly have much to learn from the spiritual giants around us. I hope I learned to embody some of the compassion that Br. Dan showed to everyone, rich or raggedy, homeless or housed, loved or lost. But, in order to be genuine, I needed to stop trying to impersonate Br. Dan. It is easy to fall into the trap of trying to impersonate someone else, of trying to convince the people around us that we are someone that we are not.

By virtue of our baptism, we have life in Christ Jesus. We are members of the one body of Christ and are capable of participating in the work of God in the world. We do not need to impersonate anyone, because the person of Christ is within each of us, just as we are in him. As we celebrate the Eucharist each week, we become even more deeply aware of this truth. We are already mystically united with Christ, and this strengthens and grows in our participation in Eucharist. I remember being struck the first time I worshipped with the Brothers of St. John the Evangelist at their monastery in Cambridge. The priest held up the consecrated bread and wine, the body and blood of Christ, and announced to the congregation: “Behold what you are.” And we responded: “May we become what we receive.” We are the Body of Christ.

This morning in St. Paul’s letter to the Philippians we heard the words, “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.” These words call us to imitate Jesus. To strive to be like him. A alternative translation, one that is more in keeping with the theology of Paul, would read: “Let the same mind be in you that you have in Christ Jesus.” -That you have in Christ Jesus. This translations acknowledges that we already participate in Christ. If this is the case, then the call to each of us is to be who we already are rather than trying to be someone we are not.

Paul gives us some insight into what it means to have life in Christ. He tells the people of Philippi, “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.” Ultimately in these words we can hear Jesus’ commandment to “love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:39). This is possible because we share in the life of Christ. It is not a call to try to walk in shoes that are not our own. That would be like a child who tries to walk in her mother’s shoes. We will trip and fall. Rather, it is a call to be true to who you already are.

This is not an easy mission. We follow in the way of the one who gave all that he had, even his very life. God emptied Godself in order to take on human form in the person of Jesus. And as a human being, Jesus humbled himself and was obedient to the will and work of God. Emptying oneself. Humility. obedience. These are not easy words to hear, must less to live into. Yet we know the end of the story. By following the will of God, by living into the person he was, Jesus was exalted. Resurrection came from Crucifixion, life from death. In giving of ourselves we will experience new and abundant life in Christ

One of the amazing thing about being a Christian, is we don’t do this work alone. We don’t try to follow this path as a lone ranger. We practice the self-giving love of God in community and as sharers in the one Body of Christ. I don’t normally point to the Greek translation of a word, but this morning I think it will be helpful. I started this sermon with the final sentence of today’s passage from Philippians: “It is God at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” The “you” is not singular. In the Greek it is plural. God is at work in all of you, in us, in this community, in the Body of Christ throughout the world.

This morning after the 10am Liturgy we will host a ministry fair. It is an opportunity to learn more about the diverse ministries of Christ Church and to sign up to become involved. When I look at the number of ministries stemming from this congregation, I know God is at work here. We are striving to make apparent the life of Christ that is within us. The hunger for all to be fed, at Shelter Cooking in Boston, and at this altar, the desire to teach our children and youth about the Christian faith, the impulse to serve this community as a leader, all of this stems from our life in Christ.

We each serve in different ways, using the unique gifts that God has given us. It might be through this congregation, or it might be at work, at school, or with an organization you believe strongly in. If you haven’t yet found a ministry in which to get involved, I urge you to prayerfully walk around the ministry fair, talk with the leaders, and find way to get involved. If you have been on the peripheries of a ministry, maybe it is time to step up as a leader. How ever you serve now, or decide to serve in the future, connect with the life of Christ in you. Connect with the hunger, the desire, the impulse with in you to will and to work for God’s good pleasure. Put on your shoes. Be who you already are. Amen.

Pentecost XIV - Robert T. Brooks

“Are you envious because I am generous?” Matthew 20:15

“Envy,” a friend of mine says, “is the sin of the church.” The sin of the church, not one of the sins,
but the most prevalent and insidious one. Envy is one of the 7 deadly sins, and is defined as “sadness, sorrow, or grief about another’s possessions insofar as they surpass, or are thought to surpass, your own.”
Envy happens when I think the other guy got a better deal than I did, and it makes me crazy to think about it. When I was a kid, it was about my friend’s new bike (the one I wanted but didn’t have). When I was a little older, it was his new car (much better, I thought, than the old 1936 Ford I was driving). Later still, it might have been his fancy new house. In all these instances, I’m upset because he has more than I do, or at least it looks that way to me.

“Are you envious because I am generous?” Consider the story Jesus told his friends about the laborers in the vineyard. The workers who were hired early in the morning, those who had shown up at dawn,
those who lived by the old maxim that “the early bird gets the worm,” those who had spent a full twelve hours in the scorching sun- these hard-working laborers picked grapes all day long, only to return to the paymaster to find out that others, ones who had worked just nine hours, or six hours, or three hours,
even those who worked just one hour, were to be paid exactly the same wage as were those who put in a full day’s backbreaking work. It was these workers, the diligent, long suffering ones, whom the master names as envious.

But don’t these long suffering, hard working farm hands have a valid point? After all, why should someone
who worked a fraction of the time they did be paid the same wage? Its’ just not fair, they said. It’s not equitable. After all, it was HOT out there, and we worked hard all day. Why should they be rewarded just the same way we were?

Why? Because the owner of the vineyard is generous. Because those who worked the twelve hour day
had been treated fairly from the beginning, and were paid exactly what was promised to them.

The hard working farm workers were bothered, not because they had been disadvantaged, but because others had been given a gift which they did not appear to earn.

These workers made a misguided comparison between earning a living and being given a gift. They made the mistake of confusing that which was earned and that which was given. And, being the ones who worked the hardest, they complain about those who have received a “freebie.” As is the case with all the parables Jesus used, this story illuminates, or draws a picture of, the way it is in God’s kingdom. But it also illustrates what the kingdom ISN’T. And what the kingdom isn’t is a place where we earn our way in.

The dangerous thing about the workers who toiled in the fields all day long is their attitude. They think they deserve better treatment from the boss because they’ve worked so hard and long. Their theological problem is what we call “works righteousness,” an attitude that says “The more I do, the harder I work, the more God will love and reward me.”

But that’s not the way God works, and that’s not the way the kingdom works. Salvation is the gift we’ve received from God, salvation is not something we earn. Yet we are so often tempted to try to earn our way into God’s favor, to work our way into the Kingdom. This is what “works righteousness” is all about. So when someone else receives the gift of God’s favor and goodness, when someone who doesn’t appear to deserve it receives this gift from God, then envy is the inevitable and all too common response. Envy, the sadness, sorrow, or grief about God’s demonstrated love for another, about God’s gift of grace to someone else, insofar as it surpasses, or appears to surpass, our own.

Let me give you an example of envy, the sin of the church. A comment I’ve heard frequently over the years is this: “You see Mr. and Mrs. Jones over there? Why, they haven’t been here for months! I’m surprised they even dared show up at all!” What’s usually not said, but what’s often meant by such a comment is this: “Those people aren’t REAL Christians. They’re certainly not as worthy as those of us who come here every week.”

These statements, and the attitude and opinions that underlie them, are paraphrases of the comments
of those who worked a full day in the vineyard; “These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.” Envy in the church could be about attendance, or about involvement (like I work on three committees, and you don’t so I’m more deserving of God’s favor than you are), or about the size of my pledge compared to yours. Envy shows up when the old timers thumb their noses at newcomers, or when the able-bodied disregard the needs of the disabled, or when adults resent the presence of children in church. The ease with which we can think of examples of envy in the church is why my friend was so accurate when he said “envy is the sin of the church.” It was envy, you see, that motivated the faithful ones in Jerusalem to hand Jesus over to trial.
(Matt.27:18 “Pilate realized that it was out of envy that they had handed Jesus over to be crucified.”) Envy was the sin of the faithful 2,000 years ago, and it continues to be the sin of the church today.

“Are you envious because I am generous?” Consider Jonah, the reluctant prophet, called by God to preach repentance to the Assyrians at Ninevah. Jonah thought them so despicable that he ran away and booked passage on a ship bound for Tarshish, only to be thrown overboard, swallowed by a fish, and then miraculously regurgitated onto the beach. Only then did Jonah agree, reluctantly, to do as God had commanded.

And a miraculous thing happened there at Ninevah. Jonah entered the city, a city so large that it took three days to walk through it, and he warned the people of God’s anger with them. The miraculous thing is that Jonah only had to say this once, just inside the city walls, before the people of Ninevah listened, paid attention, and repented. They proclaimed a fast, and everyone in the city dressed in sackcloth.

Given his spectacular success, you might expect Jonah to have been jubilant, or at least satisfied. But what was his reaction to this turn of events? He was angry, like a petulant child who sulks in a corner. Jonah went off and sat outside the city, feeling sorry for himself.

Why? Because he was envious of the Ninevites. Jonah was unable to accept the fact that God could be gracious and merciful to the Assyrians, the ones who had treated God’s people, Jonah’s people, so brutally. What Jonah really wanted was for God to punish the Ninevites. His fear was that he would succeed in his vocation as a prophet, that the people of Ninevah would repent, and that God would forgive them. And when they did repent, and God did forgive them, Jonah was envious.

Perhaps the saddest part of Jonah’s story is its ending. The story ends with Jonah, sulking in his booth outside Ninevah, still angry, despite the fact that Jonah himself understood that it was God’s steadfast love
that motivated God to send Jonah there in the first place. Jonah understood how infinitely forgiving God can be, yet he resisted to the end. Listen to what Jonah had to say: “That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing. And now, O Lord, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live.”

How tragic. Jonah would rather die than live, he would rather die than forgive. This, my friends, is the fruit of envy. Envy begets despair and hopelessness. Envy begets spiritual death.

“Are you envious because I am generous?” Envy is an example of trying to prevent God from being God. Envy is my attempt to prevent God from being generous, to be gracious, to be merciful with others, while at the same time demanding that God be fair with me. But God is generous, no matter how hard we try to get in the way. God is gracious and merciful, no matter how much we try to deny it.

The Right Reverend Lyman Ogilby, a towering man who was Bishop of Pennsylvania, was talking about stewardship with our vestry some years ago. “Never restrain a generous impulse,” he said. “Never restrain a generous impulse.”

Bishop Ogilby’s statement was in the form of a challenge, a challenge to let God be God, and to allow God’s grace and generosity to become part of our lives in that parish as we expressed our own generosity.

And his was a statement about our humanity. The reality that we see in Jonah’s sullen response to God’s grace, the envy and jealousy of the vineyard workers in Jesus’ parable, these are reflections of our inability
to live peaceably in God’s creation, these are indications of our own brokenness.

At the same time, Bishop Ogilby’s challenge, to “never restrain a generous impulse,” was an acknowledgment that we human beings, made in God’s image, do have the capacity to be generous, as God is. We do have the ability to be gracious and merciful, as God is. We who have been offered salvation in Christ Jesus can show our thanks, in and through our own generosity.

So as you consider your ongoing outreach efforts at Christ Church, as you approach the beginning of your stewardship campaign this fall, I ask you to remember the parable of the workers in the vineyard. As you consider your support of God’s work, here and elsewhere, I ask you to remember the story of God’s graciousness in Ninevah. As you make your commitment to this work, I ask you to remember the bishop’s challenge to “never restrain a generous impulse.” In the days ahead, I ask you to consider this: are you envious because God is generous, or are you generous because God has been generous with you?

Amen.

Pentecost XIII - Skip Windsor

The Shadow of the Cross

Let us pray: Be with us, O God, and give us the Spirit of Christ. Amen.

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

After American Flight 11 hit the North Tower in New York city, after United Flight 175 hit the South Tower, after the twin towers fell, after almost 2800 people died in the carnage, and after people began to clear through the debris and detritus of lower Manhattan, a reporter asked the then vicar of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church– and the current Bishop of Florida - Sam Howard about what happened on 9/11.

Howard replied, “For years we lived in the shadow of the Twin Towers, now we live in the shadow of the Cross.”

Remembering 9/11 is similar to remembering the assassination of President Kennedy or the bombing of Pearl Harbor. We may not recall a birthday or a summer vacation very well but there is something galvanizing about a frightening and unexpected global event. As we observe the tragic and horrific events of 9/11, many of us can recall where we were that clear day in September a decade ago.

Ten years ago and two days, the Rev. Debbie Little, founder of Ecclesia Ministries in Boston, asked me to take the September 9th Sunday service for her on the Boston Common. She said she would be away that weekend to do a broadcast on Tuesday about Ecclesia for the Episcopal Church’s media division in New York City.

On Tuesday morning, on September 11th, at around 8:35 in the morning, Debbie called me from her taxicab, to ask how the service went on the Common the day before. We talked for a few minutes and then she said she had to hang up and would talk later because she had arrived at her destination in lower Manhattan at Trinity Church, Wall Street. When she left the cab and walked into the Trinity Church, it was then that the world exploded into thousands of pieces.

My son, Ben, called me minutes later and said, “Dad, turn on your TV. Something terrible has happened in New York. A plane has hit one of the twin towers!” Turning on TV, I became one of millions of people to witness the terrible events of that day. As it began to sink in, and I thought about friends I knew in New York, I thought of Debbie there at Trinity Church less than two blocks away from what we now call “Ground Zero.” I tried calling Debbie back. No reply. I tried again. No answer.

All morning, I kept trying to reach Debbie; and it was not until early afternoon that she called me back saying she was safe with others down at the Battery at the southern tip of Manhattan. She told me her odyssey of leaving the smoke filled basement of the church helping a young mother get to safety. With her were other clergy who were scheduled to speak for the recording including Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who would later write a book, Writing in the Dust: After 9/11, about his own experiences of that day.

Later on, Debbie called again and said she was walking north from the Battery along the East River with others to escape the massive cloud that had shrouded them all. She recalled that when she walked out of the cloud into the bright sunshine of mid-town New York it was as if she had walked into another world. In the clear air, she saw people drinking coffee, watching the TV monitors, and going places just like another day that was so different from what she had just experienced. I asked Debbie if she was OK and had a place to stay. She said she was OK and that she called a friend in the City and was going to stay there for the night.

I trembled with Debbie. I trembled with everyone else. I trembled that day for a world turned upside down. Today, I still tremble, as I believe so many others do. But, what gives me hope this day is what Howard said in the aftermath of 9/11 about standing in the shadow of the Cross. It is through the cross, God turned an upside down world right side up. Through the cross, God became one of us so that we could become one with God. Through the cross, we believe that God weeps with us, comforts us, and leads us from darkness into light.

Abraham Lincoln once said that when he did not know what to do in difficult times, he fell on his knees. There are times in everyone’s life we have to let go and let God. When the ground rumbles, when the foundations shake, when the world comes crushing down, and when there is no where else to turn, we can look to the Cross; and in front of that symbol of life and death and resurrection, we, like Lincoln, have no where else to go but on our knees.

The Christian writer, Phyllis Trible, reflected upon the events of 9/11 and said once at a conference held at Trinity Wall Street several years later that there were two 9/11’s. One was the 9/11 event of terrorist attacks by radical Muslims and that the country had been victimized and violated requiring a violent response that led to the War on Terror and the invasion of Iraq.

The second 9/11 took a different route for those who were there at “Ground Zero.” There were documented acts of unparalleled bravery by firemen, police, and first responders. There were strangers helping strangers. There were men and women of different faiths praying together. There were public street workers and corporate lawyers working as one carrying people to safety.

Bound together by their common humanity, and brought together under the most egregious circumstances people came together to help one another. For Trible, she said that those on the ground that day responded entirely differently because, to use her words, “they were burned through with compassion.”

The 20th century Indian political and spiritual leader, Mahatma Gandhi, said that, “An eye for eye makes the whole world blind.”

As a country we have sought retribution for 9/11 in a certain way; and whether it is the right or wrong way, we know more lives have been lost. Will there come a day when there will be peace among all people regardless of religion, race or creed? Is it possible, as we remember the dead and reflect upon the consequences of that dreadful day, that something good can come from the ashes of despair? Can we forgive but not forget?

The Gospel Lesson for today speaks about forgiveness and reconciliation. Peter asks Jesus how many times must one forgive their neighbor? Jesus uses hyperbole to say seventy times to clarify “always” and reinforces his point with a story. Jesus cleverly uses the parable of the unforgiving servant whose debts are forgiven by his king but he in turn does not forgive others indebted to him to make the point that if God forgives us we are obligated to forgive others. Forgiveness does not imply forgetting but does ask that we let go of the spiritual and emotional toxins of hate. As Jesus leads his followers further into discipleship, Jesus teaches them how to pray offering words that you and I say every Sunday: “Forgive us our trespasses we forgive those who trespass against us.

As we gather as a nation to observe the 10th anniversary of the tragic events of 9/11 and its aftermath, we are invited to consider whether there is work left undone and whether the compassion that was burned through us years ago still needs to be burned deeper into our hearts and minds.

As we live through this day of remembrance, we live with the hope to see tomorrow, another day, a new day, on Monday, January 12th. The work of repentance and forgiveness, reconciliation and peace, will continue. And it will continue from generation to generation. May this day not be merely a number and a month on a calendar but ignite us into acts of reconciliation and peace and burn within us as an eternal fire in the heart that trembles, trembles with hope for a better, more peaceful, world.