Last Sunday after Pentecost (Christ the King) - Skip Windsor

Matthew 25:40

The Face of Jesus 

Today, the Last Sunday in Pentecost, concludes the Christian church year. For the past year, we have followed the story of Jesus’ birth, life, death and resurrection according to the Gospel of Matthew. Through Matthew, we heard stories of how Jesus was born in a stable, baptized in the Jordan, tempted in the desert, preached the Sermon on the Mount, called the disciples, healed the sick, raised the dead, taught with parables, spoke truth to power, broke bread with his friends, prayed, suffered, died, rose from the dead, appeared to his followers, and ascended into heaven. Given all this information from the evangelist, do we really know any better now who Jesus is?

The desire to know Jesus continues to be a perennial quest. From the moment he died, succeeding generations have wanted to see the face of Jesus. Great artists like da Vinci have sought to paint his face at The Last Supper. The Shroud of Turin draws people to see the image of a face scored into the cloth that was supposedly wrapped around him at the resurrection. Modern scholars known as the Jesus Seminar continue on the search for the historical Jesus discerning with the newest biblical tools to understand who this man Jesus was.

Searching through the four Gospels and reading through the letters of Paul, one will not find a physical description of what Jesus looked like. The evangelists were more concerned about what Jesus did than what he looked like. St. Paul was more concerned with what his death and resurrection meant for him than did Jesus’ earthly life. The famous doctor, Albert Schweitzer wrote a book called The Quest for the Historical Jesus that details the history of the quest for the historical Jesus. At the end of the book, Schweitzer essentially gives up and writes in his epilogue that to see the face of Christ is to essentially look into a well and see reflected off the water the Jesus you want to see.

Some biblical scholars see this conclusion as the funeral oration of the quest for Jesus. According, to our Gospel lesson for today, I believe, it is the beginning not the ending of the quest for Jesus.

We conclude our readings from the Gospel of Matthew today. We move to Mark’s gospel next week as we begin a new lectionary reading cycle. It is noteworthy that Matthew 25 ends this Christian Church year because it not only sums up Jesus’ ministry and mission, it also tells us about who Jesus is and where to find him. “I was hungry and you gave me food… I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink… I was a stranger and you welcomed me… I was naked and you clothed me… I was sick and you took care of me… I was in prison and you visited me…” To look at verse 40, Jesus tells us what he looks like: “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”

An ideal picture of Jesus that epitomizes Matthew 25 is by Fritz Eichenberg of Jesus standing in a breadline with other hungry and cold men and women. We have a copy of the picture called “Christ of the Breadline” hanging on the wall in our upper parish hall. It was presented to our Shelter Cooking ministry by the Cathedral’s Monday Lunch program for our ongoing partnership in serving the homeless of Boston. Looking at the picture, we see Jesus identifying with the hungry that are standing in line waiting for something to eat. In Jesus’ time the least, and most blessed, were those who were poor, who were meek, and who hungered for righteousness. The hungry, the homeless, the poor, the thirsty, the imprisoned are among us today in places like the Cathedral on Mondays, at St. Francis House, in shelters, in nursing homes, in the tents of Occupy Boston, and in MCI Framingham.

The gospel reading is a moral mandate for us all. It is a theology of care that we are called to live and to proclaim. Theology is a fancy word that essentially means a faith that seeks understanding. To care includes loving one’s neighbor and God; and one’s neighbor extends to all people. It is a theology of radical inclusion. Jesus is crystal clear about this requirement for Christian living: There are to be no outcasts.

If we cannot act on our faith, if we cannot put our words into action, if we cannot make our lives matter for others, then we truly are the “goats on the left hand of God.” God is not going to judge us on the wealth we have amassed, the knowledge we have attained, or the fame we have acquired. God is going to judge us on what we have done for others.

To be a theologian (and you all are theologians!) of care requires, I believe, three things from you and me: To have a helping hand, to have a generous mind, and to have an open heart.

To have a helping hand is to help simply. Caring for others starts with you. Making sure that you are healthy in body, mind and spirit. If you are OK then you can help others be OK; and caring for others starts and ends with prayer; and in between prayer it can be as simple as cooking a meal, driving someone to a doctor’s appointment, bringing canned goods on the third Sunday of the month and placing them into our new shopping carts. Being a helping hand can move and grow in breadth and scope like pitching in at Circle of Hope, volunteering for prison ministry, anointing the sick in a hospital, or partnering with an inner city ministry like Ecclesia ministry. To live and minister simply, allows others to simply live. It is to be the helping hand of Jesus.

To have a generous mind is to do the right thing at the right time. A generous mind neither helps others without calculation nor anticipates merit. It is not about buying God’s favor to rack up points on a heavenly scoreboard. As St. Paul writes we are justified by faith and not by acts. Yet, if God so loves the world that God gave us a Son, and therefore a Life to live in Him, then our thankful response is to go and do likewise by loving our neighbors as ourselves. A generous mind does not draw attention to the messenger but points to the message that is embodied in Jesus Christ. As theologians of care, we are invited to a ministry of meekness that neither boasts nor draws attention to one’s self-but to the work of Jesus. It is to have the generous mind of Jesus.

To have an open heart is to know that God’s reign is characterized not by mighty deeds or works of power but acts of love, mercy and compassion especially to those in need.

Attentiveness of one’s own gifts and compassion for the needs and cries of others is to have an open heart. Frederick Buechner, the Christian writer, writes, “Compassion is sometimes that fatal capacity for feeling what it is like to live in somebody else’s skin. It is the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy for you, too.” This is to have the open heart of Jesus.

The words in the prayer book at baptism underscore the importance of becoming theologians of care when the priest or bishop says, “Give them an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works.” Heart. Will. Spirit. Gifts. All are from God to equip us for the works of ministry. And people will know that we are Christians by our love.

Today is Pledge Sunday. It is our harvest day as we anticipate and celebrate later this week the holiday of Thanksgiving. We will gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing. We also ask the Lord’s blessing upon Christ Church. For it is the occasion to commit and pledge us to the work of Jesus’ ministry and mission in the world. When we pool our financial resources we can do so much more than we can do alone. The beauty of community is that together we can be the hand of Jesus, the mind of Jesus and the heart of Jesus. And by doing the work of Jesus together, we will find him anytime, any place, and in anyone.

I am reminded of the story about Dorothy Day a leader of the Catholic Worker organization. One day she was walking down the street in New York City with a companion and she approached a homeless person and began talking warmly with him as if he was an old acquaintance. Her companion asked her how she knew the person. Dorothy looked surprised and replied, “Didn’t you recognize him?”

“He was Jesus.”

Pentecost XVII - Skip Windsor

Invitation to Hope

Have you ever attended a dinner party wearing the wrong attire for the occasion? You may come wearing a black cocktail dress and other women are wearing slacks or blue jeans. Or you may come wearing a dinner jacket and tie and the men are wearing sports coats and no tie.

When you stick out from the crowd like that, there is a sense of stupidity, embarrassment, or even anger. “How could I have missed getting the word about the dress code?” would be something that I would say. Then the response might be either to leave or to take off the tie or to act naturally. But, at the end of the day, honestly, it does not make any difference what you wear to a dinner party. The only damage done is to one’s ego.

But what you are to wear to the heavenly banquet matters to God according to today’s Gospel from Matthew. In the Parable of the Feast, Jesus concludes his story of the king giving a feast for his son by throwing out a guest who was not properly dressed for the occasion.

Imagine the guest sitting there in the banquet hall with his cup of coffee and cinnamon bun balanced in his lap. He is not sure what to do except just to watch others help themselves to the food. Then suddenly the king walks in and mingles with the other guests. The man was unaware that the king is throwing a party for his son. The king comes over and makes small talk with the man sharing a father’s delight in his son. The man is silent and expresses no interest in the king or his son. So the king sends him away. He loses his chance to remain at the banquet because of his silence.

Although the parable of the king inviting guests to the dinner is a familiar one included in both the gospels of Matthew and Luke, the part about the misinformed guest who comes without a proper robe is unique only to Matthew.

To our modern sensibilities this action of seeing out the door the invitee seems hard hearted, inhospitable, and even cruel. After all, the guest was invited after so many others said no to the king’s invitation in the first place. It is hard to fathom that in God’s graciousness as manifested in Jesus Christ that our Lord would include such a scene in this parable. If tolerance and inclusiveness are hallmarks of our Christian faith then this parable flies in the face of all we profess and all we believe.

Perhaps, we have to view the story as just that: a story, a parable. The definition of a parable is that “it is a metaphor or simile, drawn from nature or the common life, arresting the hearer by its vividness or strangeness, and leaving the mind in sufficient doubt about its precise application to tease it into active thought.”

If you have been sufficiently teased into active thought by the strangeness of this parable then Jesus has done his job as a masterful teacher. As many of Jesus’ parables, he begins with the simile, “The kingdom of heaven is like…” And he begins today’s parable the same way.

God’s kingdom is different from the kingdom of the world Jesus says. Whatever is troubling you, you will be relieved. Whatever sorrow you face, you will be comforted. Whoever reviles you, you will be glad. For it will be according to Jesus the meek who will inherit the earth. And to those first hearers of Matthew’s Gospel this was music to their ears.

Those early Christians were a small band of women and men who found in Jesus someone who forgave them, loved them and promised them hope that all their tomorrow’s will be better than their today’s. And their “today” was filled with persecution and fear, isolation and banishment. Matthew’s hearers were Jewish-Christians who had left behind their old faith to follow a man who they believed was the promised Messiah foretold by Isaiah and the prophets. Like the early Israelites, Jesus was the new Moses bringing people out of slavery into the promised land of freedom and peace.

Like anyone who comes into a new religion or new denomination, they were not sure how to act. They had lived with the Law. They knew the Torah. They prayed like their ancestors. But they were unsure of how to be together in community. Assailed from all sides, jeered by pagans, and threatened by the Roman principalities and powers, these fledgling Christians needed all the hope and love they could get.

When Matthew the evangelist was writing his gospel in 75 AD, he is remembering what Jesus said and did about forty years before. A generation has passed and some have forgotten the Master’s words. Matthew helps them remember. “Remember the words of Jesus.” “Remember his parables.” “Remember the one about the feast and the guy who forgot to wear a robe to the banquet.” “Remember.” “Re-member.” “Reassemble for yourselves Jesus’ message of hope and new life in Him.”

Some rejected God’s call through Jesus Christ. Some still do. Many will be too busy. Many will be called but few will be chosen. That is the crux of the first part of today’s parable. But, the second part about the guest, and unique to Matthew, is that it is not enough just to show up, one must also be dressed for the occasion. The person without a garment is the one who answers the call but makes no effort to show by their behavior that they have truly responded.

The apostle, Paul, writes of the proper attire to wear to the feast in God’s kingdom: “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves in Christ” (Gal. 3.27); “As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience” (Col. 3.12); “Put on the Lord Jesus Christ” (Rom. 13.4).

To come to the feast we are to wear the robes of righteousness. It is not enough to follow the Law, or to state you are a Christian. God invites us to put on Christ. We are to emulate his compassion in an unloving world. We are to imitate his forgiveness in an unforgiving world. We are to carry his light in the dark places. We are to live in his hope in a world of despair.

To put on Christ with the clothes of righteousness is to live everyday as Christ would want us to do and to do the things he would want us to do: to be grateful, to be forgiving, to teach and heal others, to speak the truth to power, to remember and care for the least, the last, the lost and the lonely. As John of Patmos writes in his letter of Revelation to the seven churches of Asia Minor, “Fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints” (Rev. 19.8).

It is said that half of life is showing up. To some extent that is true especially about your coming regularly to church on Sundays. Thank you! Keep it up!

But, the Gospel today says that that is not good enough for Jesus. Presence is good. Participation is even better. He does not want just a part of us. He wants all of us just as he gave himself totally to us. It is not enough to be just present; rather, you and I are on the guest list to participate with Christ, in Christ, and through Christ in his continuing and enduring ministry of reconciliation and transformation in the world.

With so many characters in the Bible, we never hear more about the misanthropic guest at the feast. I would like to imagine that he finally saw the light and came out of the darkness with a clearer understanding of the king’s delight for his son. I would like to think he was more afraid that whatever ounce of hope he had had to enjoy the party or to have a chance for a better life would be lost if he spoke to the king. If he had now a second chance he would speak up to the king and enjoy his gracious hospitality.

The guest at the king’s feast reminds me of Middle Eastern story about a man named Harry who rode the train everyday to work. One day, as usual, the conductor asked Harry for his ticket. He fumbled around in pants pockets, his coat pockets, and in his briefcase.

Finally, the conductor said, “Harry, I am sure you have the ticket. Why don’t you look for it in your breast pocket? That is where most men keep it?”

“Oh no,” said Harry, “I can’t look there. Why if it wasn’t there, I would lose hope.”

Why if it wasn’t there, I would lose hope.

The invitation to hope was extended to the guest by the king at the feast. It was as near as his heart. Clothed in Christ, we are invited in faith to the feast of God. This invitation to hope is always present. It is always as near as our heart.

And now may all thanks and praise be given to God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Pentecost XVI - Chris King

A Journey in Faith

I want to begin by extending my sincere gratitude to the community of Christ Church and Rev. Windsor for inviting me to share fellowship with you today. It is my hope that these few words will provide an insight into what one young and searching Christian has found through direct confrontation with suffering and need and in the call of Christ to serve the poor.

The spiritual understanding of pilgrimage necessarily entails a desire to seek Christ in a more intimate and profound way. Long, arduous journeys were made by Jesus’ disciples to spread the Good News of joy and salvation to all of humanity. These paths were wrought with struggle, rejection, and persecution. Yet, these humble servants forged on in hopes of reaching the hearts of God’s children and thereby change lives. Many years later, the sacrifice and devotion of the apostles to their mission serves as a foundation in the Christian tradition upon which we too can be vessels for God’s enduring and transformational love.

Another component of pilgrimage, often, is the going away, leaving behind the security and comfort of one’s own home and embracing the unexpected and sometimes terrifying world that one may wish to avoid. What must Simon Peter and Andrew have felt when they were called to leave everything and follow Jesus? What gave them the courage and strength to answer this call and “immediately” drop their nets to follow a man who was seemingly a stranger to them?

For many years, I have wrestled with this question and the notion of responding to Christ’s call to serve his people. As Christians, we yearn to know God’s perfect love and rejoice in the beauty of the world he has given to us. We want to walk with Christ and feel his nurturing embrace when we succeed, but especially when we fail. We may pray for his presence to be manifest in our lives, but this desire requires a great leap of faith and surrender to his will. And many times, God’s will calls us to places that are unfamiliar and challenging.

It was such a calling that led me to the children at Amistad Mission in Bolivia, where I have lived two of the past four years. As a young adult, I wanted to see and embrace the face of Christ in the disenfranchised and suffering and feel our unity through him. What I found while I was in Bolivia proved to be much deeper than I could have imagined. To put this journey into perspective, Bolivia is the poorest country in South America, where much of the population survives on less than $2 a day. Nearly half of the population is under the age of 18, and it is these impoverished conditions that lead many families to abandon their children to overcrowded state-run orphanages, where three or four babies share a single crib.

Amistad Mission provides an alternative to these orphanages through a loving Christian home, called La Villa, to over 70 abused, abandoned, and orphaned children, divided among eight houses with a mamá and tía as primary caretakers. La Villa provides support for the medical, spiritual, educational, and emotional needs of these children to confront and overcome their traumatic past. From the time that I arrived in 2006, I was overwhelmed by the joyful smiles and radiant personalities of the children who greeted each staff member, visitor, and caretaker every morning. Their beautiful brown eyes met you with the deepest sincerity, holding onto the present moment and giving you their undivided attention. I worked with the children to teach reading and English classes and helped to develop a microenterprise with the existing bakery. Walking into La Villa each morning, my heart would race with excitement to see the children and greet them with a “Buen Día” and big hug. How majestic was God’s grace in the lives of these precious ones!

My time with the children of La Villa continued in delight and shared merriment for several months. However, on Dec. 21, 2006, a most unexpected turn occurred while I was sitting alone at night in the office building, following our annual Christmas celebration. It was a night that would change my life forever.

Two women from the child placement agency came to the office door and desperately explained they needed shelter for six brothers who had been living on the streets for the past two weeks while their mother was dying of cancer in a local hospital. The women had visited many orphanages throughout the day, but not one could accommodate all six brothers. I called three of the mamas to come speak with these women. Upon hearing the boys’ story, one of the mamas said resolutely, “We will make room for the children in our homes.” Shortly thereafter, the boys entered, young children who had endured great suffering and been left with two options: La Villa or the streets. Their tattered clothing, dirty bodies, and empty stares revealed a brokenness that pained the heart. The youngest boy, Ariel, barely two, was barefoot with a bandage trailing behind his torn foot. He limped to the center of the room, apart from his brothers, and slowly looked up at each of us in turn. His body trembled and urine began streaming down his leg, as he wept in silence. Looking into Ariel’s dusty and forlorn eyes was the closest I have ever felt to knowing the presence of the suffering Christ in my life. One of the mamas, Teodora of Casa Copacabana, bent down and wiped the tears from Ariel’s face, saying, “You are with me now. Do not be afraid. You are safe.”

Five years later, that fateful night burns bright in my mind. Ariel, now 6, is one of the happiest children in La Villa, and he tells you each day, “Que te vaya bien en todas partes.” “May things go well for you in all of your life.” Here is a child who was once on the verge of death beaming with well wishes for all who greet him. When I think of “the least of these,” Ariel serves as a reminder of God’s redemptive grace and ability to heal any illness or hardship in our lives. As a community of faith, we are called to join together to support one another’s walk with Christ and proclaim his presence in our neighbors, entering into God’s arms “like a child.”

So I ask, where do you see the face of Christ in your life? Who are the people and what are the moments that fill you with his love and make you stop to give thanks? For some it takes a pilgrimage to a distant land to understand how universal Christ’s presence is to those who are open to receiving him. Others encounter this truth in daily interactions with a close neighbor, family member, or friend. In both instances, we are blessed to see the face of Christ in another, who might be 4,000 miles away or sitting next to you today.

Perhaps the notion of pilgrimage has more to do with the journey of the heart than it does with the physical journey to a far away place. Perhaps if we can release ourselves to join in the glorious dance of Christ’s love, we will find comfort in his arms. But in order to do so, it seems we must open ourselves to being vulnerable, not knowing when or whom God will call us to serve. May we hope to have the strength of Christ’s first apostles to answer this call. AMEN.

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.

Pentecost X - Edwin C. Pease, Jr.

The Press

There’s a lot of pressure upon us and upon our children – call it worldly pressure, for lack of a better term.

We see it in the political arena. People relentlessly attacking other people, accusing them of things both true and false. Where I would like to see people in politics sit down and say, “There are things in this country that need fixing; even though you and I disagree, let’s sit down and see if we can work out a reasonable solution.” Instead, there is all-out attack on the character of the opponents.

We see the pressure in business. We know our suppliers, our fellow workers, and our customers. It would be wonderful to see if we could work out mutually beneficial arrangements both for the business and for the people involved in it. But what so often happens is brutal, with people focused completely on winning, completely on making the most money without regard to human dignity. People will say, “It’s business, nothing personal.”

We see the pressure in advertising—the really cool people dress a certain way, eat certain foods, drink certain liquors, invest for retirement with certain firms, take a lot of pills.

We see the pressure in the children’s lives at school. As an example, a counselor working in a school reported that one day a little girl came running into his office crying. He asked her, “What’s the matter?” She said between sobs, “On the playground, Billy called me ‘stupid’”. The counselor said to her, just because somebody calls you stupid doesn’t mean that you are stupid.” “By the way,” the counselor said, “I think you are a giraffe.” She said, “No, silly, I’m not a giraffe”. The counselor handed her a book that was on a table beside him and she took it in her hands. He said to her, “Do you always take everything that somebody hands you?”

St. Paul says, “Do not be conformed to this world…”

The Press and the Sign

I call this pressure, “The Press”. How can we get out from under The Press? It seems as if we can’t get out by ourselves. But God who loves us has worked tirelessly for millennia to rescue us. Stories of God’s tactics for getting us out of The Press are recorded in Scripture: the flood, the tower of Babel, the Ten Commandments, the prophets. God finally decided to intervene, not by sending a messenger, but by coming here in person. God broke into our world beginning with the birth of the only Son of God, Jesus Christ, a silent wondrous gift placed reverently into the hands of humanity. God has rescued us from everything that holds us locked into place: not just by the birth of Jesus, but by Jesus’ ministry, death, resurrection, and ascension. In church language we say that Jesus in all aspects of his life among us is the Sign that God has broken into our world, and saved us from The deadly Press. 

 
We say of this intervention is that it is final. Beginning with Jesus’ birth and going on from there it is clear that there is a destination, and events are on the move toward it, and that what is most important is to attach ourselves to God and get on that journey.

Why did God do this? God did this because God knows and loves each one of us personally. God can see each one of us growing to maturity, discovering and using for the good of others the gifts and talents that God has given us. God can see us all working together in a ministry of reconciliation with all people and with God.

When through participation in the faith community such as this congregation, and through the study of scripture, we understand how God sees us and what God has done for us, a kind of renewal takes place within ourselves.

St. Paul says, Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable, and perfect.

The Buddy and the Sign

Jesus is a sign well known to us, but not well known outside the church. For those people who know nothing about Jesus Christ, what sign is there that God has broken into this world to rescue the people?

The sign for all people is the Church: not a building, but the living community of people that has been gathered together by God. The Church is living; it is visible; and it is always under construction. Those who participate in the life of the Church, those who commit themselves to it are constantly forming the church, and are constantly being formed by their relationship to God.

 
This morning’s passage from Paul’s letter to the Romans is a great example. It was probably written in the late 50s – not the 1950s, but the 50s, period. It’s a very early document of the church, and yet it has important information in it for us today.

It is the kind of letter that is meant to be read aloud to the assembled congregation. When we listen to the words of scripture, we should be listening primarily as a congregation, rather than as individuals.

Let’s listen together to a few words from this morning’s reading:

“I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.” (Romans 12:1).

What does it mean “to present your bodies”?

The word "present" in this context means to make ourselves visible—not hiding from God and from our fellow human beings.

"Bodies" is used in the sense of words like “somebody”. When we say words like “somebody” or “anybody”, we usually pronounce the b,o,d,y part of the word so that it sounds like “buddy”.

Our “buddies” taken together are a living sign meant to be seen by other people. The “buddy” spelled b,o,d,y, is the whole person, the physical body, the mental part, and the spiritual part all combined into one.

Paul says, “I appeal to you…brothers and sisters…to present your bodies as a living sacrifice.”

Our “buddys”, as in the word somebody, are what we are to present together as a congregation so that people can see the sign.

The Living Sign and the Living Sacrifice

When you hear the word sacrifice in the religious context you might think of people who believe that they can influence God by killing animals. Or you might think of sacrifice as giving something up, something that is already scarce to you. Months after the Second World War ended some things were still in short supply. I remember seeing a photograph in a magazine of a British housewife holding a small bar of soap. The caption said that this housewife was sacrificing what was left of her personal bath soap so that the family laundry could be done.

But what sacrifice in the biblical context, in the context of the Church means is “to make something holy”. Our sacrifice is to present our bodies as a congregation to all people and to God. This is not a minus, this is a plus. It enriches our lives far beyond the day to day concerns about The Press. It is exciting, because we get to do the most worthwhile work there is—to bring people together with each other and with God. Being made holy is becoming whom god made us to be. 

We become transformed into the living sign of God’s saving work in the world. We bear witness to the journey we are on. The destination is reconciliation with all people and with God and a life lived by all in a close relationship with God.

Living Stones and the Stone Building, a footnote

Just a footnote about actual church buildings. Often these are made of stone. The congregation is the sign of God’s work in the world. The building is a marker pointing to the sign. When people look at this building, see its lights, see people going in and coming out, they might say, “There is the possibility of transformation for all people from deadly conformity.”

 
The first letter of Peter says (Chapter 2) Come to [Jesus], a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.