St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church
Sunday September 5 2010 Proper 18C
Text: Luke 14: 25-33
Preacher: Christopher McLaren
Theme “If you can’t get out of it, get into it.”

If you were working for Jesus as his Public Relations officer the day he delivered this difficult sermon you might have considered it a nightmare. Jesus is finally attracting large crowds, he’s surrounded by groups of people who are deeply attracted to him and his proclamation of good news. They are eating up his preaching, calling their friends to join them with a picnic lunch and then he turns to these eager crowds and delivers a real show stopper. We’re not sure what Jesus had for breakfast that day or if someone had just told Jesus, “Look at all these people, we’re finally attracting a following, we’re becoming successful this is amazing.”

Jesus turning to the crowd and thinking I guess its time to agitate them a bit begins to preach, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father or mother, wife or children, brothers and sister, yes even life itself, cannot be my disciple.”. So much for mistaking Jesus for an epicurean or hedonist.

The crowd around Jesus gets real quiet. I can just see the quick press conference being called. His PR disciple, was that Thaddeus or John, the one with the silver tongue, stepping up to the microphones and cameras to do some damage control, “I want to explain what Jesus really meant by that rather strong statement, well he certainly did not mean to literally hate your mother and father, (though some of you may already) at least not hate like we would ordinarily think about, he meant more keeping things in proper perspective. Thank You. Jesus will be preaching less difficult parables again tomorrow after a nice hot bath and good night’s sleep.

The problem of course is that before the press conference can be called Jesus adds a few things. And another thing, “Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. Anybody who begins a building project without first counting the costs runs the risk of looking really stupid when he runs out of building materials and cannot finish the project, evidently like the mayor of the town we just passed through. And another thing, A king who rushes into a war without seriously considering whether or not he has enough troops to have a chance of winning the war, runs the risk of looking rather foolish when he is begging for terms of peace and exposing his people to servitude. Count the cost people, this isn’t some kind of happy hour show its going to cost you. Oh, and one more thing: “You can’t be my disciple if you don’t give up everything you own” That’s it for today. I’ll have more tough tracks for you tomorrow.

That is a seriously difficult sermon. The next verse, although it is not printed in all of your translations of the Bible is this: the large crowds were a great deal smaller after this sermon.
In some ways what is most amazing is that the sermon was kept as part of the tradition. The writers of the gospels actually preserved the difficult sayings of Jesus and at times added to them.

What is true of Jesus is that he was never afraid to say difficult or surprising things or to use a phrase that will inevitably be misunderstood or confused. In this way he is a brilliant preacher. In essence he is saying I’m preaching the truth, I’m putting it out there and it is your job to struggle with what I am saying. Jesus doesn’t spend a lot of time explaining things or making sure that he is not misunderstood. He is not very Episcopalian. Yes, Jesus is a good preacher he doesn’t want to water down the power of his teaching. He wants to agitate you, to stir your mind and spirit. He tends to put the burden on us to puzzle out the truth to suffer a bit with his sayings.

One of the most obvious ways of understanding this passage is as a call to discipleship. Jesus puts strong demands on anyone who would desire to follow Jesus. The unusual demand to hate one’s family and even one’s own life is better understood by looking at the word’s meaning in the original language. The word hate that is used is a Semitic way of expressing detachment, a turning away from. It is not intended to be the emotion filled word we experience in the unwelcome scream, “I hate you!” If that were the case this single verse in the Bible would shatter all the calls to love, to understand, to forgive, to care for others, especially one’s family (I Timothy 5:8).

Hating one’s life is not a call to self-loathing, to throw one’s body under the bus or beg the world to trample on you. No what Jesus is calling for is that those who choose to follow him understand that loyalty to him can and will create tensions within the self and between oneself and those one loves. In such conflicts of loyalty, Jesus requires primary allegiance. Jesus does not want you to turn back from pursuing the kingdom of God just because your family thinks that serving the poor is in bad taste or that advocating for those without a voice is a waste of your law degree. Following hard after Jesus is to be your primary concern, you highest calling and you are to do what you can to make sure that your love of family or your love of your own creature comforts or your culturally-conditioned ideas of success don’t get in the way of really doing what the spirit is speaking so strongly into your heart.

Jesus is trying to draw us into a lively conversation that matters. He’s not interested in easy answers or neat packages. He wants us to struggle, to struggle with his words but more importantly to struggle with our lives in relationship to his words. The stories of Jesus, cut at our way of life, they challenge us and our ways at every turn. They demand that we become reflective about the way we live, the way we love, the way we spend our money, the way we acquire possessions, the way we talk about the stranger, the way we invest in our own children and others children, the way we see violence as an easy answer to problems, the way we look at other’s misfortune, the way we avoid intimacy, the way to hide behind our anger, the way we take the easy road instead of the meaningful one.

There are a lot of things one could do with this passage. One can simply ignore it completely as the lunatic and aberrant sayings of Jesus. My guess is that if you were going to select one book saying “the teaching and approach to life in this volume will be my philosophy of life, I doubt that Luke’s Gospel would be the one you chose. Why because so much of it cuts at us too deeply in areas where we remain closely guarded and want to maintain our comfort and sense of entitlements, myself included. In so many ways the teaching of Jesus has not been tried and found wanting it has been found difficult and left untried. The passage ends with this devastating one-liner, “So therefore none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.”

For me the passage connects to these powerful lines of poetry by T.S. Eliot found in The Four Quartets:

To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,
You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.

In order to arrive at what you do not know
You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.

In order to possess what you do not possess
You must go by the way of dispossession.

These words of T.S. Eliot describe the deep wisdom of conversion. Like the tough teaching of Jesus, they attempt to pull us into a life of faith, the giving of ourselves in a God-ward direction. The difficulty of the sayings is meant not to drive us away but rather to expose our deep need of God. They show us that there is a more excellent and grace filled way to live that is costly but worth every sacrifice.

In the end I believe that Jesus’ tough talk is really an invitation to intimacy with God. Jesus is saying if you want to know me, if you want to experience the joy of following me, then you had also better be willing to risk. The tough teaching of Jesus attempts to draw us, the listeners, into a conversation that really matters instead of one that ends with tidy answers and quick resolution. Jesus wants us to understand our true loyalties whatever they are and in the midst of that to offer us wider and more creative ways to live. Why because they require our dispossession, our letting go of things we cling to so tightly so that we can truly receive in the freedom of discipleship in Christ. The freedom comes from truly discovering that the one thing in life that is truly worthwhile is becoming God’s friend.

This of course is the grace that Dietrich Bonhoeffer was describing when he wrote these words: “Costly grace is the gospel which must be sought again and again, the gift which must be asked for, the door at which a person must knock. Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow and it is grace because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ. It is costly because it costs a person their life, and it is grace because it gives a person the only true life.

There is an Outward Bound slogan that reads: “If you can’t get out of it, get into it.” This is good advice for the challenging times in life. It is equally good advice for the Christian life. Rather than try to escape the tough demands of discipleship, that messy advice about loving one’s enemies and forgiving others, we ought to get into them, take them as a call to a more adventurous intimacy with God. The Christian life is meant to be a wild adventure. So today Jesus is saying “if you can’t get out of it, get into it.” A lively conversation between your life and God’s grace awaits and within that conversation is life itself. Choose life.

When I was young, the first few weeks of school were a time of uncertainty. I worried that I would not fit in, whether I would be welcome in certain circles, if I would have any friends. I was afraid that I would be alone.

I remember tentatively approaching the lunch room because I did not know if I would have anyone to sit with or if I would be invited to sit at a table. The fear of being left out was unbearable; not being accepted was terrifying.

My fears subsided once someone reached out to me, or when I took a chance and reached out to someone else. I also remember, seeing those who were not popular, those who were not invited to a table. They sat alone and you felt their sadness.

I found it difficult to grasp that one human being could discard another to the shadows, to be ostracized because of your appearance, social status, or personality. I wanted to create a table large enough for everyone.

My son began a new school this year and I drove both he and my wife crazy. I obsessed on whether he would have someone to eat lunch with. My love is so deep for him, that I did not want my son to eat alone.

In today’s Gospel, we sense Jesus’ deep concern that no one is left alone. Jesus spent every waking moment reaching out to everyone he encountered. Wherever he goes, he pulls people close, he invites them in. He encourages all those around him to do the same. To both the included and excluded, he describes a wonderful Kingdom of God where everyone is welcome and no one sits alone. His words, his life give hope that no one is left behind.

In our Gospel, you sense a bit of exasperation in Jesus’ voice. He notices that a table is prepared and many are missing. He asks why? Why are you only eating with people you know? If you only spend time with those who act like you, look like you, think like you, go to the same schools, or shop in the same stores, how you will see the face of God. Invite all these people who will never receive an invitation. It is up to you.

Now on the surface, it is a wonderful message. Therein lies the problem with Jesus. He really messes everything up. It is easy to pretend to not understand what he is saying, because we know very well that the moment we understand, we have to act. Jesus makes radical demands on us. Jesus did not talk about bringing the kingdom of God in some far off time; he wants us to do it now.

A few months back, it was stated that – Jesus does not need any more admirers, he needs disciples. If we are to be disciples of Christ – can we can admire and worship Jesus without doing what he did? Can we can applaud what he preached and stood for without caring about the same things. At what point do our beliefs and our lives converge?

When Jesus enters this banquet, he does not focus on the setting or the food, he comments on those who are missing. Why? Because everyone mattered to Jesus, each person he encountered became part of him, and he part of them. An inherent sense within our being that each individual is for too precious to be excluded, from community, from love. He wants them included.

This is not a foreign feeling, it is part of who we are. When we see someone hurting or alone, we feel it. When we see a child lost, or an elderly person struggling, there is a pang that causes us to act. When we see someone on the outside looking in,–we want to bring them in. When you feel this inside, you have experienced God, perhaps without knowing it.

I recently read a story of five business people visiting New York. Their important meetings lasted longer than expected and they were late for dinner at a fancy restaurant. As they rushed to catch the waiting cab, they knocked over a stand of that contained the products and money of an elderly street vendor.

They apologized but continued to run toward the waiting cab. One stopped, turned around and helped the vendor, and found that the vendor was blind. The blind vendor softly said “thank you Jesus.” The man smiled and said “Yeah, he always helps me.” The elderly blind man responded, “No, are you Jesus.”

Our faith is most sacred when we live it, when we reach out to others. Our lives must shout our faith. When we do this people will know that we are followers of Christ, not by the cross we wear around our necks but by the love we carry within our hearts.

Throughout the Gospel, we see that Jesus’ heart breaks for those who are left out. He not only fed people, he stopped and invited them into his life. Jesus took time to know the poor and his life demonstrates that we must not only help the poor, we must know the poor? Because when the poor meet the rich, riches will have no meaning. And when the rich meet the poor, poverty will come to an end.

And notice Jesus did not define poverty. Yes, the poor are those in our community who cannot afford a home, food, medication or clothes. They are the ones on the margins of society who will never be invited to the table, unless we welcome them to our table.

The poor are those children of God who are starving spiritually, physically and emotionally. Those not only those unloved by society, but unloved by themselves. The children of God who will never be invited to the table, unless we invite them into our lives.

The poor are those nameless faces we pass each day. Those lost because of illness, fractured relationships, loneliness, desperation. Those who know deep down, they will never be invited to the table, unless they happen to bump into Jesus, or maybe even a follower of Jesus who stops, reaches out and represents the love of Christ.

In our Gospel, Jesus asked his host, where are the poor? Now he is asking us -
If you only eat with those who you like, how will you show my love?
If you love only those who love you, how will you share my welcoming embrace
If we only invite to our table the people we know, how will we reflect the face of God?

When we invite someone into our church, into our lives, something holy happens. We’re making an effort to see beyond the surface appearances that we often judge people by. We’re making an effort to see each individual as God sees them.

When we invite someone in, we begin to see their faces, you will hear their voices. We acknowledge God in one another. When we welcome strangers to our table, we are welcoming God. We will not allow them to eat alone.

We have a beautiful table at St. Michael, our job is to prepare it, and then build the guest list. Through our Season of Listening, through our ministries, through our individual lives, let’s invite people in. Let’s prepare a table that consists of everyone, sinner, saint, citizen, convict, rich, poor, the young couple far from home, the single who eat alone, seniors who do not drive, teens who feel left out.

Let prepare a table for the straight, gay, married and divorced, the sick, the healthy, every color, shape and class imaginable. Let’s invite them in. When we prepare this big table we may get a taste that heavenly banquet that Jesus often spoke of. We may glimpse the Kingdom of God. When we prepare a big welcoming table for all, we know that we will have a place at that table, and the joy of knowing that no one will ever eat alone.

August 22, 2010
13 Pentecost
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

Here’s the news flash of the day: if it comes down to a choice between love and law, God will break the law.

In the story we just heard, Jesus did something that a good Jew was not supposed to do. He worked on the Sabbath. By doing the work of healing- that is, by laying his hands on a woman who had been crippled for 18 years, and by invoking the healing love of God, he, as a rabbi, was, technically speaking, working. And work was forbidden on the Sabbath. Now his disobedience may seem like a small thing to us, but it was a very big deal to the leader of the synagogue. Jesus was considered to be a rabbi, and he publicly broke religious law, in the synagogue, no less. But what is important in this story is that he broke the law in the name of mercy.

This wasn’t the only time this happened in the Bible. According to the Book of Acts, one day God gave the apostle Peter a shocking vision – that he was to eat every kind of unclean food that was forbidden by Jewish dietary law. It was a symbolic vision, leading Peter, an observant Jew, to baptize Gentiles, and not require them to become Jewish first. In the name of mercy, God swept away centuries of biblical tradition.

The supremacy of mercy over religious law is made crystal clear in a stunning passage from the prophet Amos. He speaks for God, saying I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them...Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

For God, religious tradition means absolutely nothing without mercy. And if it comes down to a choice between them, God will sweep aside scripture, tradition and law every time, in the name of mercy.

For this reason, there are those today who are calling for open communion in our church. They ask why should we place an obstacle – namely, baptism – between any seeker and the love of God that is to be found in the Eucharist? Who are we to demand that before they can have access the mercy of God, they must go through a class and assent to various beliefs? Should we break religious tradition and law in the name of love? It’s a question that today’s gospel asks of us.

As I told you in a sermon a few months ago, it was this same question that representatives of the Episcopal Church asked of the rest of the Anglican Communion a few years ago when we were called on the carpet for ordaining and blessing the unions of gay and lesbian people. When asked to explain ourselves in light of scripture and church tradition, we pointed to that story of Peter and his vision. Like Peter, we asked Who are we to stand in the way of God’s love that is, in fact, being manifested through these faithful people, who happen to be gay and lesbian?

This, of course, is what is at the heart of civil disobedience. Our country has a long and proud tradition of those who break the law in the name of mercy. The American Revolution, surely an illegal act, could be seen in this light. The Underground Railway aided runaway slaves - who were somebody’s property, according to the law. In every war when there has been a draft, Conscientious Objectors have refused to serve. People offer aid to undocumented immigrants, even when, in some states, you can get arrested for giving your cleaning lady a ride to the hospital when she’s having a heart attack. Even the very conservative Roman Catholic archbishop of Los Angeles said he wouldn’t obey that law. And remember the illegal sit-ins of the Civil Rights movement, modeled after the civil disobedience of Gandhi.

Some say that laws are meant to be broken. Well, not every law. Just the ones that stand in the way of love. That includes religious and civil law. But it also includes laws and traditions that we hold in our families, even for ourselves.

There are families, perhaps some of yours, where it is a law to not speak the truth about alcoholism or about abuse, whether physical, emotional, or sexual. To break this law can result in real punishment: increased abuse, condemnation, or being exiled from the family forever.

In some families, it is a law to always be nice, never to disagree, and never to be personal with another in a way that might offend or embarrass them. This was a law in my family of origin. Or it might be a law to always speak your mind and emotionally vent, no matter how this may affect others. Or it might be a law to prove your self all the time, to be in competition for who is right or who is smartest.

What sort of family law did you grow up with, or what sort of law do you continue to live under? Could it be possible that by breaking this law, love might flow more freely in your family?

For when the silence is broken around an alcoholic, the love of God’s healing grace might begin to work. When the invisible wall of polite tolerance is shattered by forbidden words of truth, real intimacy might be possible. When you refuse to get into family arguments, you may create a space where real communication can happen. Sometimes the emotional laws of families must be broken, in the name of love. And this is never easy.

But it is even more difficult to learn how to break the laws we hold for ourselves, laws that stand in the way of loving ourselves and others more fully. One of my laws used to be that I would always be disciplined and productive. It was not easy for me to learn how to relax and allow loose ends. But by breaking this law, I have learned mercy towards myself.

What sort of law do you keep for yourself? That you will always get along with others, no matter how unreasonable they may be? That you will work out 6 days a week and meditate every morning, instead of sometimes enjoying a slow morning with your dog, or your loved one? That you can’t possibly risk being hurt again by love, and so you make sure that there is a distance between yourself and everyone else? That you won’t ever make mistakes and thereby incur the disapproval of your internalized parent, or of God?

It is not easy to break these kinds of laws we hold for ourselves. For when we do – when we stop living in the way we always thought we were supposed to – we enter into an unknown territory, a kind of desert landscape where nothing is familiar. In a sense, we don’t know who we are anymore. We don’t know quite how to be, how to relate to others, how to get what we need.

But in this unknown desert there are angels ready to feed us, to guide us, to help us enter a new land, where we become new people. For when we risk for God in the direction of greater love and mercy, we will be helped along the way, I am sure of that. God does not lead us down blind alleys. God is faithful, and we never have to journey through strange places alone.

Yes, there is a cost to be paid when we break the laws of the state, of the church, of the family, and of the self, even when they are broken in the name of love. But consider the alternative. Who really wants to live a life where love is kept under lock and key?

Jesus, our teacher and our window to God, is a rebel with a cause. His cause is love and mercy, and he will break any rule that stands in its way. Are you willing to join him?

St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church
Albuquerque New Mexico
Sunday August 15, Feast of St. Mary the Virgin
Text: Luke 1: 46-55 Magnificat
Preacher: Christopher McLaren
Theme: Singing Magnificat into our Lives

As a young man growing up in a sectarian Pentecostal church we didn’t go in for St. Mary the Virgin much. She was not a part of our world. That changed when I became an art history major and encountered for the first time in my life the phenomenon of Madonna fatigue. You too may have had it wandering around the world’s great museums through gallery after gallery of Medieval and Renaissance art crammed with images of Mary and her child Jesus, your legs aching looking for those precious benches, your mind full, your eyes on overload, you heart full of motherly affection. People around you are saying things like, “There are so many pictures of her.” In fact, you may have to work at it a bit but perhaps you could get your own kind of Madonna fatigue going here at St. Michael’s today as we celebrate The Feast of the Virgin Mary in the warmth and fecundity of summer.

To talk of Mary is to speak of a powerful mystery. Mary is visited by The Angel Gabriel who carries the strange and surprising message of God. Understandably “Mary was greatly troubled.” Whenever we encounter the Holiness of God or something transcendent and beyond ourselves our immediate response is fear and the peasant girl Mary was no different. Of course the first thing angels always say in the bible is “Don’t be afraid” which is very sneaky way to point out that God is constantly calling us beyond our fears into life.

An honest reading of the biblical stories reveals that much of the bible can be understood in the categories of fear and faith. The opposite of faith in the scriptures seems to be anxiety or fear. As people we are often controlled and absorbed by our fears. We fear so many things. We fear whatever we cannot control. We fear a future we cannot see. We fear a complexity we do not understand. We fear being lonely. We fear changes in our world that are not easy or comfortable or familiar. We fear our own aging and death. Ultimately I suppose we fear God because God is so far beyond us, so totally wild, and so totally beyond our ability to control.

But there is good news in the midst of all this fear and that Good News is revealed through the surprising person of the peasant girl Mary. The Good News is that God has breached that fear, he has broken through it and come into our life, become one of us in the person of Jesus. In essence the gift of Jesus through Mary is God’s way of saying, “You don’t have to live in fear anymore, listen to what my messenger is saying, “Don’t be afraid.”

This of course is why Mary is so important. She is the model Christian, the prototype, and Go-to-girl of the Christian faith. Why? Because God comes to her, he comes into her life and does something really fantastic by announcing the divine presence within her. As it turns out, Mary is no different than us. We all have the capacity to discover God at work in us. God comes to each of us announcing the divine presence within us. Mary shows us the way. Mary’s experience is simply a story about everyone’s baptism in the Spirit of God. God is present to us, available to us even before we are aware of the divine presence. This is why the grace at baptism is as real for children as it is for adults, the divine presence is already at work, already initiating relationship. God is already offering God’s self to us even before we have invited God into our lives.

For centuries Mary has been understood as the quintessential contemplative presence in the scriptures. She is not doing anything special when God chooses her. She is simply living a simple ordinary life the best way she knows how. She doesn’t change drastically. She simply submits to God’s work. She does what any good Galilean girl would have done. She becomes a good mother attentive to her child and the voice of God in her life. She flees with Joseph and the child when God tells her that her son is in danger. Thus Mary and the Holy Family become and immigrant family, living in a foreign land, fearing for their safety, and hiding from the authorities for some years to protect and care for this child of God.

Mary is the model contemplative in that she simply receives the message of God, ponders it in her heart and embraces what God asks of her. In our world of drivenness where overachiever go-getter climber types are honored, Mary stands apart from the crowd. She listens, is receptive and from that receptivity flows her action that is all at once world repairing, relationship building, good news action. As one theologian put it what we learn from Mary is profoundly counter-cultural it is not “Just do it!” but rather “Don’t just do something, stand there.” One’s Being precedes one’s doing. Both are essential aspects of the spiritual life but one’s action flows out of knowing who you are or to whom you belong.

Mary is the recipient of a Great Mystery that she could not have understood with her human mind. She had to accept this internal mystery on faith and hope that she could live-into it. In essence Mary said “I don’t know what it will mean, I don’t know where it will lead, I don’t know what it will require, but I know god is asking it of me, and I say yes, wholeheartedly yes, with no reservations, Yes.”

Of course this receptivity, this surrender to God is what makes Mary’s life and example so compelling to us. We know that we too are called to this surrender to God’s purposes to God’s calling on our life and most of the time we run like hell to avoid hearing God’s voice. But Mary is here in our midst as an example, calling us to our own best selves, calling us to the fullness that is to be found in God and in saying Yes, yes to the Spirit’s leading, yes to the wildness of God, Yes to God’s quirky sense of humor.

In Luke’s gospel the “Yes” of Mary takes the unusually beautiful shape of a hymn we call the Magnificat. When she travels to visit her cousin Elizabeth, a song grows within her just as the child Jesus is growing inside of her. The music that emerges from Mary is a beautiful hymn of divine praise that expresses the very center of the Christian faith. The trouble with this hymn is that it is such a subversive piece of music that several times in its history it has been suppressed. In Latin America, during our lifetime one government actually declared this Song of Mary illegal.

Music has a way of getting inside of you. Luke is clever and poetic. Luke knows that if he can get the beautiful music of Mary inside of you, that you can be transformed from the inside out by the presence of God at work and the transforming message that comes to us from the lips of this poor Galilean girl.

The second movement of the song is where the juicy bits are. What God has done for Mary anticipates what God will do for the poor, the oppressed and the powerless of the world. The Magnificat is a kind of radical prayer that speaks of religious, political, social and economic liberation. It is little wonder that it has become the favorite prayer of struggling people and troubled nations. People who are fighting for their freedoms and looking for sense of hope love the Magnificat. For them the song on Mary’s lips makes her the kind of radical Christian that they long to see in action.

His mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty.

When you read this prayer, you understand why the wealthy and powerful, those with all the control, might not want this song on the lips of the people who are searching for a better life, struggling for freedom, trying to escape grinding poverty, and wanting something better for their children. It is a song of hope and resistance. One of the most extraordinary aspects of this song is that Mary sings it as if it has already taken place. For Mary to speak of what God has done is to announce what God will do. Mary uses the past tense of the verbs to describe the action of God. So sure is she as the singer that God will do what is promised that it is proclaimed as an accomplished fact.

Mary sings of a God who brings down the powerful and who lifts up the lowly, who fills the stomachs of the hungry and sends the rich empty away. Within this song the powerful theology of God’s preferential concern for the poor and oppressed. There is also a sense of God’s judgment, a final and surprising reversal of fortunes, in this song. The powerful rich exchange places with the powerless poor. The Eschatological reversal, the making things right at the end of time, has already begun in the singing of this song and God’s choice of the peasant girl Mary is surely evidence of the kingdom of God breaking in. Mary’s song invites us into this reality of God, to share God’s vision for repairing the world, healing the wrongs, lifting up the lowly, protecting the vulnerable. The song of Mary invites us to use our wealth our resources to free ourselves for service and for being truly human toward others. To use our talents and gift to create meaningful family and human life around us that pays attention to those who are often overlooked.

Mary’s song tells us that God is bringing about a new kingdom, one in which there is no longer some who have the power and some who are oppressed. What emerges from Mary’s song is a vision of one family of God. And for many of us it makes sense that these words would come from a woman who understands the relational nature of life, who relates more to meeting real needs than to hierarchy. Mary sings a song that is in a sense a wonderful circle, the circle of God’s redeeming love lived out in her life, a circle that turns the world’s ways upside-down and opens us to the new way of life she is preparing to birth into the world. We are all like Mary called to nurture Christ within us and to give birth to a newness that will not allow business as usual but will through the song we sing participate in turning world upside down in Christ’s radical love.

I want to conclude in an odd way with a difficult local story from Albuquerque that illustrates the complexity of an issue that is so fiercely dividing our country I’m not sure what will happen and I imagine neither are you.

A little over two weeks ago a 3rd year architecture student at UNM with a 3.8 GPA was driving his younger sister to register for classes at UNM after some course work at CNM. On the freeway there they were pulled over by an aviation enforcement officer for a reason that was later described as speeding. As it turned out the architecture student had been in the United States for 15 years since he was 7 and was an unauthorized immigrant. As the “traffic stop” progressed with the officer asking to see his proof of status, the young man summoned his parents to the scene. Can you imagine getting that terrifying call for help from your son? Eventually the Albuquerque Police Department arrived as well as ICE the Immigration and Customs Enforcement. In the ensuing action since the young college student could not produce his paperwork his family was told that he would be deported, his father fearing for his son, was voluntarily deported with him as well. They were dropped on the bridge to Juarez a few hours later. The sudden end of a 15 year academic journey, a family broken apart, and fear now spreading through the immigrant community in this city. Is this to be business as usual in a fearful land?

I wonder what it would mean for us to sing the Magnificat into this story?

I realize that this is a challenging sermon that views a complex issue through our own biblical story in an unusual way. Our Christian story is a powerful path into understanding things in ways that cut across political lines and focus on the heart of God for his people. I believe that our politics, the way we treat people, needs to be informed by our biblical stories and the values and affections that emerge from within our Christian tradition. I’m indebted to the family who is living this nightmarish story for the honor of hearing it from them. I also wish to acknowledge the writing on the Gospel of Luke by Richard Rohr from which I drawn for this sermon.

August 8, 2010
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

In 1943, the psychologist Abraham Maslov published a paper called A Theory of Human Motivation. In this paper he outlined what has become known as a “hierarchy of needs.” Maslov recognized that when our most basic needs are met, such as food, sex, shelter, and health, we are then able to fulfill our higher needs such as intimacy, ethics, creativity, and meaning.

This kind of thinking had already been a foundational assumption of much of Western society for a long time. People have always striven to move from brutishness to culture and civilization.

But we live in a strange time. Since the late 20th century, we’ve been experimenting with a different hierarchy of need, driven by consumerism. With consumerism, we still start with the basics: safety, health, work, and family.

But instead of then moving into the world of ideas, creativity, and the social good, we short-circuit the process. We remain stuck at the lowest level of human need, only seeking better versions of the same basic things: the best food and lots of it, more sophisticated security systems for our homes and our nation, better clothes and a snappy gym for our healthy workouts, and more sexy sex.

Perhaps this is what people mean by the “dumbing down” of modern consumer culture: being stuck at the lowest level of the hierarchy of human need.

What social psychology and consumerism have in common is the assumption that it’s all about fulfilling our needs and desires. It’s about serving ourselves. We may remain stuck at the level of finding the best coffee or we may rise to level of attending the Santa Fe Opera, but both are about the fulfillment of personal needs and desires.

This assumption has found its way into the field of spirituality as well. We go to a church that will meet our needs. We practice meditation to achieve a desired state of mind. We pursue classes and read books that will help us feel more fulfilled.

But religion, at its traditional core, concerns itself with something different. Traditional Judaism, Christianity, and Islam do not teach us how to fulfill our own desire and purpose. They teach us to fulfill God’s desire and purpose.

Once I was attending a conference at a synagogue when the rabbi was asked to distill the essence of Judaism. Faced with this daunting question, he paused for a moment, and then said “it is to seek God’s will and then to do it.”

The very word “Islam” means submission or surrender, and so the believer’s purpose is to submit to God’s will.

And Jesus taught us to pray “Thy will be done, thy kingdom come.” When asked about his family, he said “my brothers and sisters are those who do the will of God.”

All religions, and ours in particular, teach us that the highest point is to leave our need behind and serve God’s need. This is when we are most fulfilled.

Today’s gospel is a good example of this. Jesus begins with talk about using money to fulfill God’s will. He says that by being generous with our money, by not just thinking about what we want and need, we will discover something more valuable than that which money can buy: the kingdom of God. It is God’s good pleasure, Jesus says, to give us the kingdom.

Then he tells a parable that drives the point home. He speaks of servants who are waiting for their master to return from a wedding banquet. Whether it is the middle of the night or just before dawn, they are to be dressed for action, lamps lit, so that when they see their master coming, they are ready to serve him.

But then the story takes an astonishing turn, which I’ve never really paid much attention to; and it’s the heart of the matter. Amazing how that works.

Here’s what happens in the parable: when the master walks in the door and sees that his servants are ready to serve him, he fastens his belt, has the servants sit down to eat, and he serves them. In the middle of the night. What’s going on here?

Jesus is teaching us a wonderful paradox. We run around trying to fulfill our needs, but when we leave ourselves behind and seek to fulfill God’s needs, we find that God serves us. Through self-denial we discover the elusive thing we’ve been chasing all along: self-fulfillment. Serving God, God serves us.

But what is it, really, to serve God? Let’s drop, for a minute, our romantic and guilt-ridden fantasies of how we should all be Mother Teresas of Calcutta, cheerfully washing the wounds of the little leper children, instead of living the way we do.

Instead, let’s consider more mundane experiences, things that we might actually deal with later today or tomorrow.

Serving God might mean that when we pray for those things that weigh on our hearts, we move through the hierarchy of need, like Jesus did in the Garden of Gethsemene, from “Father, let this cup pass from me” – in other words, here’s what I want and think you should do - to “nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.”

Serving God might mean that we ask ourselves at work each day how we might serve God’s purposes of love, kindness, and generosity of spirit.

Serving God might mean that when we are worried and anxious, we stop and breathe, considering the lilies of the field, choosing the better part, like Mary of Bethany, by setting our mind on the one thing that is needful.

Serving God might mean that we examine our monthly budget in a state of prayer, and ask God whether we’re spending our money in ways that God wants us to.

Serving God might mean that we take courage and walk towards the conflict we would prefer to avoid, calling someone we care about to accountability so that they, and we, might be happier, healthier.

The paradox of all this serving is that in doing it, God serves us. When we surrender our desire in prayer, God fills us with his desire for us, which is always good. When we cultivate a spirit of kindness in service to those around us at work, God gives us joy. When we let go of the things that cause us worry, God opens us to much more important things. When we give generously, God gives us a generous consciousness.

God is abundant with us. As Jesus said, “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” God comes to us at an unexpected hour, fastens his belt, has us sit down, and serves us.

But we are only able to receive God’s service to the extent that we are willing to serve God. Then there is an attunement, an alignment of our desire and God’s desire, out of which all abundance comes. And this, it turns out, is what will serve our highest need.

St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church
Albuquerque, New Mexico
Sunday August 1, 2010 10th after Pentecost, Proper 13
Text: Luke 12: 13-21 The Rich Fool
Preacher: Christopher McLaren
Title: Jesus’ Investment Advice

There is an old story of the two brothers sons of a wealthy bank president. His two sons were the reverse of the Prodigal Son and his brother. The older brother was a hard-partying, playboy-type while the younger son was the responsible-straight-arrow-early-to-bed-early-to-rise type who liked to follow the rules. When their father died, the two brothers found themselves in the funeral parlor with their father’s corpse. The older brother said to the younger, “You know that money meant more to dad than anything else in the world. So I think the most fitting tribute to him would be if each of us placed $1,000 dollars in each of his hands so that he can be buried with money in his fists.”

The younger dutiful son responded, “Of course, I guess that would be a fitting tribute.” The younger son then went to the bank and withdrew 10 crisp $100 bills. He returned to funeral home and placed them in his father’s hand. Later that night the older brother returned to the funeral home when no one else was around, took the $1000, wrote a check for $2,000 and slipped it into his father’s hand.

The point is that if you had and older brother like this you too would be looking for someone like Jesus with enough moral authority to help you settle a family dispute. We are not told much but in ancient family systems the eldest inherited and held the responsibility of dividing the wealth among the siblings. Typically the courts of those days did not deal with these family disputes and neither, evidently, did Jesus. He chooses not to get sucked into this family conflict delivering a thought provoking line, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.”

At first Jesus’ response seems harsh and without compassion but his wisdom saying that follows points to his challenging line of thinking. Jesus is expert at recognizing idolatry. Again and again he exposes the underlying issues behind people’s urgent needs. The truth is that Jesus had more to say about the first commandment of the ten best ways than all the other nine combined. “I am the Lord your God..; you shall have no other gods before me.” (Exodus 20: 2-3). Jesus was uncanny is his ability to recognize our human tendency to elevate something that is not God into a godlike status.

Our own country is in the midst of coming to grips with a kind of idolatry that led to the near collapse of our own economic system. The lust for more economic growth, more capital, more wealth led Wall Street elites to gamble with the lives and futures of millions of Americans. Michael Lewis, in his excellent book The Big Short chronicles the financial meltdown and concludes that the financial crisis was the work of people on Wall Street and mortgage brokers who acted in their self-interest without fear of either legal or economic reprisal. Lewis an economist who once praised the rapidly expanding market for derivatives has reconsidered many things especially the idolatrous impulse of human greed and the will to profit at the expense of others. He notes in his book that the top 25 hedge fund managers made a cool 25.3 billion dollars, yes billion, in the midst of the economic collapse by betting against bad mortgages. They were not heroes but rather intelligent opportunistic humans looking for profit as their ultimate prize. Interestingly as middle-class and poor Americans struggle to make ends meet the wealthiest 400 families have seen their taxes fall by 50% even as their income has increased 5-fold over the past decade.

Idolatry is quite simply to look for ultimate meaning, satisfaction or reward where ultimacy does not exist. To seek meaning where real meaning cannot be found is the path to idolatry. Jesus seems to offer this difficult “beware of all kinds of greed for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions” in order to protect the brother from becoming destructively focused on his inheritance.

Now I’m not trying portray Jesus as overly simplistic about the material realm. Jesus did not condemn possessions nor did he take a vow of poverty. He was fully alive to the world and enjoyed it even to the point of being labeled a wine-bibber and a glutton. Jesus knew how to party but he also understood the deeper needs of the human soul. He understood the need for balance and sanity in life. A balance that came from understanding one’s possessions as gifts from God to be used for God’s purposes in the world. Jesus had a knack for recognizing when someone was expecting too much from given reality, when things were out of balance. In the case of the young brother upset about his inheritance, Jesus reminds him that what a person has does not define what a person is. Biblical personhood is not about possessions, it is rather about knowing you are loved by God and growing into a person marked by character, love, compassion, and generosity.

As if to illustrate this brief interaction with the young man Jesus tells the parable of the Rich Fool. In this story a prosperous farmer enjoys a fantastic harvest year. He reflects on his abundance, so abundant was his crop that he did not even have barns big enough to hold it. He decides to tear down his existing barns and build larger ones. Proud of his plan he congratulates himself saying, “Soul, you have ample good laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.” But in answer to his boast, God answers him, “You fool! This very night you life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be? So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”

It is hard to admit but this parable is a bit troubling to many of us. And of course that is what parables are meant to do, to pick at us, to irritate and agitate us to the point of teasing us into active thought. Parables always have a twist or an unexpected turn in them. This one of course is troubling because the scenario is one that we would often label success. He’s had a great year. He’s made it. His barns are full and now after all that hard work he can relax kick back and enjoy his wealth and ease.

What is the trouble with that? Why does Jesus call this kind of person a fool?

I’m sure you can think of reasons on your own. One might be that life is uncertain, fragile, and complex. No amount of wealth can insulate you from the pain of human existence. To be painfully honest, things can only do so much for you. There are human hungers and needs that no amount of wealth can satisfy. One might thing of those well-known theologians the Beatles “Money can’t buy you love, can’t buy you love, love, money can’t buy you love.”

Another reason for seeing this man as a fool could be simply that he missed the genuine delight of being deeply grateful, of realizing how much he had been blessed and how utterly beyond his control it really was. I was listening to a farmer speak on NPR recently and he pointed out that only about 5% of farming is something that one can control while the overwhelming majority of farming is a grace and a great mystery called life. Perhaps what this wealthy farmer needed the most was to understand the simple wonder of the grace that is behind and in and underneath and through all things and then instead of congratulating himself he could have found himself into a place of wonder, awe and worship.

One last and compelling reason to call this man a fool is evident in his absence of generosity. Generosity is at the very center of life. If we consider our defining story of creation, the biblical narrative suggests that God is so thrilled with creation, so fascinated with life and being that the only appropriate response was something like this, “Wow this is really terrific stuff this life thing has to be shared, I can’t just keep it to myself what would be the fun of that.” Creation is at its very core an act of God’s wild generosity, his sharing of life with others rather than keeping it private. Life itself is God sharing who he is and what he has with others. This is why the wealthy farmer, so out of touch with the shape of reality, is called a fool. He looks at his good fortune, his abundance and says the opposite of what God said in the beginning. The rich farmer proposes to keep it all to himself and in so doing misses the point and source of life’s deepest meaning.

There is deep pleasure and delight in discovering the depths of grace, the many gifts and abundances we have done nothing to deserve and did not make ourselves. However there is a corollary pleasure that pushes beyond gratitude toward others – the deep joy and satisfaction of seeing your own generosity bless and encourage and energize others. Giving in ways that enhance and bring life to others, discovering how to use what you have been given to truly make life better for others is close to the heart of who we are made to be as children of a generous God.

The Rich Fool is judged a fool by God not out of anger or scorn but out of a deep sadness. The Rich Fool missed what it means to be a human being. He lost the opportunity to be generous toward others just as God had been generous to him. He had mistaken what one has for what one is.

In the end, this parable of Jesus is the best investment advice available. Invest what you have in ways that make treasure in heaven, in ways that help others see God and grow into God’s likeness. Use what you have to reveal the wild presence of the kingdom of God here on earth and in doing so you will discover who you really are meant to be. Jesus challenges the hedge fund managers on Wall Street and you and I to find life through generosity not through greed. Jesus knows how hard it is at times to be generous especially in a culture that is constantly telling you to grab all you can and ignore the needs of others. In the midst of the clamor and noise of our world “Get yours that’s all the matters.” Jesus offers this ancient yet contemporary wisdom, “Be generous and you will be rich toward God.”
I wish to acknowledge my debt to Robert Farrar Capon and John Claypool for their excellent exegesis on this parable which helped to shape this sermon. The story of the two brothers was told by The Rev. John Claypool who lives in New Orleans.

Today and then again in two weeks we are taking the option of transferring a lesser feast day from the middle of the week to a Sunday. We’re celebrating Mary Magdalene today, and, in two weeks, the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Who was Mary Magdalene? Well, first we have to start with who she wasn’t, because the western church has defamed her character throughout its history. Through a misinterpretation of scripture, she has been said to be a sinner, a repentant prostitute, the beloved patron saint of all fallen women. This view came from a merging of two unrelated texts, and a liberal sprinkling of sexism.

Mary Magdalene, it is said in the gospels, had 7 demons cast out from her by Jesus, prior to becoming a disciple. Well, we all know that the chief sin of women is to tempt men, so obviously the 7 demons must have been of a sexual nature. Then there is that unnamed woman identified as a notorious sinner who shocks a proper dinner party of Pharisees by washing Jesus’ feet with her tears and her hair. Obviously she was a prostitute, because why else would a woman be notorious? And even though she was unnamed, obviously she was Mary Magdalene, because Mary had been cured of 7 sexual demons. Voila!

The here’s what the gospels actually tell us. Mary was from Magdala, a town on the shores of the Galilee. She was named as one of the women who always accompanied Jesus and supported him with her own money. Some speculate that since Magdala was a town that included rich fabric merchants, Mary could have been a successful businesswoman.

The 7 demons that Jesus cast out of her were probably illnesses, since, in those days, they understood chronic illness as demonic. If they had meant that her 7 demons were sins, the gospels would have had Jesus forgiving her, as he did for many sinners. So she was probably a very sick woman whom Jesus made well, and who then supported him financially from her substantial means.

Next, the gospels tell us that Mary Magdalene was present at Jesus’ crucifixion, after all the male disciples had fled in fear for their lives. Then, she is one of those who was there when Jesus was buried by Joseph of Arimathea. Again, the cowardly male disciples were nowhere in sight.

All 4 gospels tell us that even after his burial, Mary would not abandon Jesus. Her love for him compelled her to hang around the tomb. In two of the gospels, including the story we heard as the gospel reading today, we are told that Mary Magdalene was alone when the risen Christ first appeared. We’re then told that she went and told the men what she had seen, and they did not believe her.

From this point on, Mary Magdalene disappears from the New Testament.

However, she continues to appear significantly in Christian texts that did not make it into the canon of the New Testament, and were actively suppressed by the developing church. In Gnostic gospels, she is described as having a special, beloved relationship to Jesus, about which Peter is terribly jealous.

These texts also call her “the apostle to the apostles,” the one to whom Jesus imparted deep knowledge and who would then teach the other apostles the mysteries of the faith. Some scholars believe that because of this, Mary Magdalene was a leader in the early church, among other women, perhaps considered apostles before their role became institutionalized as bishops, and limited to men.

But this non-canonical tradition was stamped out by the church, along with other Christian minorities. Texts were burned, leaders were exiled or martyred, property was confiscated, and followers were excommunicated. Mary Magdalene, along with many other figures, teachers, and traditions, disappeared.

This is where fictional speculation begins, with books and movies like The Da Vinci Code. But we will never know precisely her relationship to Jesus. We will never know whether she, along with other women, ever preached, celebrated the Eucharist, or ordained clergy.

However, there are several things we do know. She was a faithful disciple, who became very close to Jesus after he healed her. She supported his movement financially. She had the courage to stay with Jesus at the cross and burial, despite the great danger of being associated with him. Most importantly, she was the first witness to the risen Christ, and to then go out and share the good news. Through it all, she persevered with determination and love for Jesus, in spite of the jealousy, cowardice, and skepticism of the male disciples.

What can we learn from Mary Magdalene’s story, other than the fact that the church, even the apostles, sometimes gets it wrong?

First, that our discipleship is strengthened by healing. Mary followed Jesus because he healed her. When we journey with God through a complete meltdown and come out the other side a new person, freer and stronger, we will never forget who helped bring us there. When we narrowly escape death and come out of surgery with a second chance in life, we know what Spirit has been at work to heal us.

We will, like Mary Magdalene, follow that Spirit with loyalty and perseverance for the rest of our lives. And part of our loyalty will be to give our money towards the spread of Jesus’ gracious kingdom, as Mary did.

Second, we learn from Mary that it is possible to remain with Jesus even at the cross, even at the tomb, when things are hopeless and seemingly buried forever. When someone we love dies, when we have been hated or exposed as a failure or a fraud, when our finance, our work identity, and our dreams crash to the ground, we can remain with Jesus. We don’t have to be a fair-weather friend to him. We can stay with him, even when we can’t see him offering any light at the end of the tunnel. It is enough, like Mary, to hunker down with him in the darkness, and wait together for the light. He will be our friend, even there.

Third, we can be a witness to the resurrection. Like Mary of Magdalene, we may have been in the dark garden of despair when Christ quietly appeared to us as light and new life. So don’t hide the light you’ve come to know under a basket. Tell others how it happens for you, how God renews you and helps you through. As it is often said, you are the only gospel that some people will ever read.

This, after all, is what it means to be an apostle, an evangelist, a bearer of good news. And this doesn’t mean that you try to convince anyone of anything. It simply means that you are one thirsty soul telling another where they, too, might find water.

There is a tradition in the Eastern Orthodox Church that shows Mary Magdalene holding a red egg. The image comes from a story that, later in life, Mary had the opportunity to witness to her faith before the Roman Emperor Tiberius. She happened to be carrying an egg at the time. Don’t ask me why.

When Mary spoke to Tiberius about Jesus rising from the dead, the Emperor laughed and replied “that is about as likely as that egg in your hand turning red.” Which it promptly did.

We stand before the world, holding out our life experience, for all to see. We even hold forth our faith. For people can tell if, in spite of our difficulties, we are people of hope, faith, abiding love, and courage. It’s as obvious as an egg.

As people who know from our own experience that God has the power to make all things new - just as surely as Mary Magdalene knew from her experience that Jesus healed her and rose from the dead to live in her - we can hold up that egg of our life, and show how red it has become.

July 18, 2010
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor
Martha and Mary
Luke 10:38-42

In the old days, Roman Catholics used to refer to the various religious orders as either “active” or “contemplative.” One was out in the world, running hospitals and schools, and the other was in the cloister, praying. One was said to be like Martha, busy and distracted by their many tasks, and the other was Mary, sitting at the Lord’s feet.

Sometimes identify themselves more as a Martha or a Mary in their faith life. The Marthas like to organize potlucks and the Marys like to be in contemplative prayer groups. We’ve held up these two models as spiritual personality types, almost like the Enneagram or the Myers-Briggs. Both are considered equally valid ways of living out our faith.

While this is true, it comes from a misreading of this story. Here’s what happened. When Martha complained to Jesus about how Mary was not helping her, Jesus did not say “well, isn’t it nice that we’ve got different forms of spirituality here, one active and one contemplative. Martha, you go on and fulfill your vocation there in the kitchen and Mary, you fulfill yours here sitting on the floor.”

Instead, Jesus said “Martha, stop your fussing and settle down. Mary has chosen the better part.” The better part. Now I don’t think that this was a sweeping statement about the superiority of the contemplative life over the active life. It was, I think, a response to a particular situation.

We don’t know what was going on before and after this evening. But it is possible that what Jesus had to say that evening was important. Maybe he had just healed someone, or maybe one of his disciples had come to the stunning realization that Jesus was filled with the light of God, and said so. Whatever was going on, sitting down and listening to Jesus with devotion was, in fact, the better thing to be doing at that moment.

There are times for busy activity, and there are times for sitting at the feet of the Lord. Neither is superior the other. None of us is oriented toward just one or the other. But there are times when it is better for any of us to stop our fussing and settle down with God. There are times when it is better, as it says in Psalm 46, to be still and know that [God is] God.

If sometime you turn to back of The Book of Common Prayer and look through the Outline of the Faith, commonly called the Catechism, you’ll find a section on prayer. It names 7 principle kinds of prayer: adoration, praise, thanksgiving, penitence, oblation, intercession, and petition.

Adoration is when we sit at the feet of the Lord, when we leave ourselves behind and put our attention on God. Adoration the kind of prayer we have come to associate with Mary in this gospel story. It is the first form of prayer that the prayer book lists, and perhaps by implication, the most important. But what is adoration, and how is it different from praise or thanksgiving?

There is a phenomenon that takes place mostly, but not exclusively, with women and babies I call the Adoration of the Blessed Infant. The other day I went into my dentist’s office. A young mother, the dentist, in fact, came through the front door with her 1-year old, and you’d have thought that Brad Pitt just walked in. The receptionist, waiting patients, hygienists from the other examination rooms – they all immediately glided towards the baby. All eyes locked in on the little girl, smiles spread across each face, each body leaned in her direction. It was like iron filings being pulled toward a magnet. It was the Adoration of the Blessed Infant.

What they were doing was a form of what every good parent does with their baby. It’s called mirroring, or attunement. The parent stays focused on the baby’s eyes, and the two of them mirror expressions, eye movements, subtle smiles. It’s very natural and very important. From the infant’s point of view, there is no subject and object; the baby is one with the parent. It is how the baby learns that the universe is safe and good, and that they are connected in love.

So it is with the prayer of adoration, the prayer of Mary. We attune to God, we fix our attention on the One with whom we are one, and there is no subject or object. In doing so, we learn that the universe is safe and good, and that we are connected in love.

In other forms of prayer we bring out concerns into the relationship: we name what we’re grateful for, what we’re sorry for, and who we’re carrying in our heart. But in adoration, we leave ourselves behind. We only gaze upon the Beloved. It’s not about us at all; it’s about God.

The prayer of adoration isn’t complicated and it isn’t reserved for the especially holy, or for those who are supposedly a contemplative or introverted “type,” any more than attunement is reserved for those kinds of babies. We’re all made to adore God at times. It is natural to our humanity. And there are times when it is the better thing for us to be doing, as Jesus said that day in Bethany. Some are drawn to do it a lot, and others are drawn to it just once in awhile. It doesn’t matter. What matters, as the Catechism teaches, is that we learn to include it in our repertoire of prayer.

Sometimes adoration just comes over us. This happens for me when I’m sitting and listening to beautiful music. It happens sometimes when I’m serving communion here at this altar. Last week I was camping up in Abiquiu, and it happened almost every time I lifted up my eyes and took in the beauty of that powerful land. In these times, I know I am with God, and I’m just happy to be there.

But adoration is also something that we can sometimes set out to do, just as we set out to offer prayers of thanksgiving or confession or intercession. In adoration, we are not praying for anything. We’re not expressing our needs, we’re not asking for a feeling of peace, we’re not focused on ourselves or other people at all. We’re focused on God.

How do we do this? God is, after all, invisible and silent. How do you focus on a mystery? Well, in this case it’s probably more helpful to do it than to talk about it. So let me demonstrate, by guiding you for a few minutes in prayer.

*************

close eyes, feet on the floor, hands on your lap

breath

chest, soften and warm your heart - light

light in heart radiates outward, beyond you
in this room, connecting you with those around you
beyond this building, into neighborhood
sky above, out into all the earth

light that is within you is everywhere; it is the Spirit of God
no subject and no object
you are part of it

Russian Orthodox Theophan the Recluse: prayer then consists only in a standing before God, in an opening of the heart to him in reverence and love.

now take a few moments to stand before God
“thank you”
asking nothing, expecting nothing

in reverence and love

In the Northern New Mexico of my youth, one would find numerous images of Nuestra Senora De Dolores (Our Lady of Sorrows). The representation of Mary with a sword piercing her heart and tears in her eyes as she grieves over the suffering of her son. Throughout the villages of the north, are the Penitentes, a group of lay religious devoted to the suffering of Christ and the sorrows of Mary – they influenced my spiritual and cultural formation.

Memories of the Penitentes singing ancient hymns or alabados brought over from 15th century Spain are quite vivid. These hymns evoke a pleading and wailing, so much so that within the walls of a darkened church, as the verses begin – you almost instantly begin to cry as sorrow and pain converge in prayerful plainchant “a mi hijo Jesus le dio en rostro y en la Corazon a mi. “he hit my son Jesus on the face and hit me in the heart.”

I was deeply affected by one of these hymns during a velorio or wake of a young boy who died tragically. The song written about Mary, seem to apply to this grieving mother “You are left alone, what desolation, without the presence of you beautiful Son.” She wept uncontrollably, refusing to leave the casket of her son as this song was sung. She would cry out, first in anger, yelling “Dios, porque? – God why?”, and then pleading “Por favor Dios- ayudame –Please God, help me.” She eventually had to be carried out of the Church.

At that moment, her anger, grief, pain, and helplessness all made sense, they were natural. This woman’s grief had a profound impact on me, because she shared this profound pain, and her grief was a prayer, her pain was holy, it was sacred. It was as if the wailing pounded on the gates of heaven. I wondered if she would ever find peace.

As I left the church, I thought of the importance of grieving. To get angry, to cry, and then move into absolute dependence. To scream at God and then understand and allow God’s response to our pain. That may sound strange – to be angry at God, can we do this?

Today’s Gospel speaks of not only compassion, but pain. The traveler, on his way is blind-sided by life. We assume the attack was savage because it says he was left half-dead. So when he finally regains consciousness, he is in pain, tasting blood in his mouth, his vision is out of focus.

Imagine his desperation as he struggles to his feet. He falls back on the ground in pain and afraid, attempting to make sense of what just happened. All he can see is the world passing on its merry way while he is suffering. As he was lying there alone, what is he thinking?

Is he independent saying I going be tough, and avoid everyone. I do not need God or anyone else’s help. Is it, I am going to act like nothing happened, I’ll just hide until the pain passes and then go on my way. When I get my strength, I will whack the next person who comes along, take their donkey and money and then I will feel better.

Most likely through the pain and despair, he looks up to the sky and asks – why? He pounds the dirt, and screams at God “Why me? Why did I do to deserve this?” There is never a sufficient explanation for tragedy and suffering so he becomes angrier, screams, and moans. Finally, he begins to cry. He sobs in absolute helplessness until that Samaritan hears him and gently lifts him up. Lying in his pain, maybe he even whispered the same words of that grieving mother – “please, please help me Lord.”

When we read this Gospel, most assume that the traveler was robbed of his money, but the Gospel does not describe what was taken. Anyone of us can be that traveler in our Gospel, walking along in life and then our marriage is robbed of trust by an act of infidelity, or our certain future robbed by cancer or illness.

Maybe we were robbed of home or savings because of the economy. Trust and innocence stolen because of violence or abuse. It could have been a religious leader stealing the love of God from you based on their own selfishness. What if your heart was taken by the death of someone you dearly love?

In each instance, you feel beaten, powerless and bewildered. And you do not have to be by the side of the road, you can be sleepless in your bed at night, pounding the kitchen table or maybe sitting right here in this church, biting your lip to hold back the tears. Wondering silently, Why me? What have I done to deserve this?

It sounded silly for the traveler to avoid everyone, to act like nothing ever happened, or to go at it alone. But for many of us, that is how we behave. We do not want to express our anger, our doubts, and our grief. What do we do?

Do we bury it, and avoid the pain – that never works because it will eventually rise to the surface. Do we avoid God? That only isolates us from our true calling and separates us from a supportive community. For many, it is easier to bury our pain than to free your tears.

Or do you just let go, scream at God and then sob uncontrollably? When we give ourselves permission to bring our pain and loss into the light and allow it to breathe, it is there that healing begins and trust returns.

When we acknowledge our pain and suffering, that broken place allows for the peace of God to enter. For just as we cannot sufficiently explain tragedy, as St. Paul writes – we have no words for the peace of God which passes all understanding.

We are never told that we can complain to God. But as I have come to know this indescribable love of God, I began to understand that God can handle our anger, God can handle our questioning, and God can handle our pain. Because God has been there, and understands, only God can give the peace we need.

God can stand there and have you can pound on that divine chest, using the worst language possible and you will simply be loved. When we question God the most, seems to be when God is holding us the tightest. God is there, weeping with us, lying next to us when we are cursing the darkness.

This is not a new concept, nearly 1/3 of all the Psalms are about complaining to God, asking God why? Yet we avoid those Psalms. Jesus tells us in that beatitudes that weeping and mourning is a blessed state. Jesus wept openly at the grief of Martha and Mary.

We often hear many evangelical and conservative churches say that we need to have personal relationship with Christ, with God. I agree, and that includes the stuff most do not like to deal with – the pain, the anger, the helplessness, the crying. At times, yelling at God is the most honest type of prayer.

Where we surrender, when we yell God’s name, we actually show that we need God. I often wonder if Jesus prefers that we do not believe or ignore him because it makes our eventual belief all the more interesting, all the more intense. Think of it, when you look at the sky and ask “if you really exist, how can let this happen” you are communicating with God.

When God see us in pain, when we are hurting, the last thing the divine wants from us is a soppy halleluiah, or false praise. God wants an honest, true relationship and that includes loving each one of us enough to hear our pain, our doubts, our complaints, our cries. There is a speaks of this love. The words go:

God loves a lullaby, In a mothers tears in the dead of night. God loves a drunkards cry, A soldiers plea not to let him die Better than a Hallelujah sometimes. The woman holding on for dear life, The dying man giving up the fight, Better than a Hallelujah sometimes.

The tears of shame for what's been done, the silence when the words won't come. We pour out our miseries, and God just hears a melody, Beautiful the mess we are, the honest cries of breaking hearts are better than a Hallelujah.

We know Mary’s story, she lived in complete trust of God. I believe the traveler saved by the Samaritan changed hearts and lives through the same compassion he was shown. The woman who pleaded with God at her son’s funeral, she volunteers at the church, helping the needy and there she started a support group for those who have suffered loss or trauma. She often says she is blessed.

God love us intimately, and it is ok to be angry with your pain, you are allowed to cry like a baby, to grieve hopelessly, to question, to shake your fist. Nothing will change God’s love for you. God is always listening for the sound of your voice, whether angry, sad, despairing or praising, your voice will always be met with God’s song of love the gift of peace. Go ahead, cry out, you will be surprised by the response.

The 4th of July, 2010
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

In the last few months I’ve been working on a music project, which you’re sharing in today. I’ve been collecting some of my favorite American sacred music. Most of it is from the 19th century, and from the South, where so much of our nation’s soul is to be found. The music includes African-American spirituals, Appalachian folk hymns, tent meeting songs, gospel tunes, and white spirituals from collections like The Sacred Harp.

This music captures something of the American soul. It’s deeply religious music, coming from a time and place of real suffering: slavery, poverty, Civil War, failed crops, sickness and death. Life was hard then. As the common folk wrote songs on their guitars and fiddles, they poured their faith into this music, expressing a pure, uncomplicated passion. It’s a feeling of unashamed devotion and longing for a better life with God - for liberation, peace, and plenty.

Much of it seems to be about heaven. But it’s also about this world, about making this nation a reflection of the heavenly city. The slave spirituals are a good example of this dual meaning. They sing of freedom to be found in the sweet by and by, but this was also code for the end of slavery, for the Underground Railway, for the North.

So they were pilgrims, journeying through one promised land into the next, from America to heaven. They were grounded in scriptures such as our reading from Hebrews today, which hearkened back to the first pilgrims of our faith tradition: Abraham and his tribe.

By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance… he looked forward to the city…whose architect and builder is God…they confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth…[so] they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one.

This is what American pilgrims believed: that God was giving them this land as an inheritance, and they were to build a city whose architect was God. They were to found a New Jerusalem, a place that would reflect that better country, that is, a heavenly one.

Of course we know that this sense of divine mission cut both ways. They were grateful for the beauty and resources of this land; but in order to take full advantage for themselves they exploited the earth and all people of color. Like the Jews before them, when they arrived in the promised land, they overlooked the fact that perhaps God had already promised it to others before them, people who already lived here.

And yet, at the same time, they succeeded in their vision, to some degree. We have a justice system that protects people’s rights pretty well, better than most nations. We are freer than millions who live under oppressive governments. All you have to do is travel a little to see this, and to be grateful for it.

Yet we always have further to go in our pilgrimage. There is always a more to do, because new problems and greater complexities demand it. We’re never finished building this promised land. And people of faith, just like our forebears, look to our scriptures to tell us how we might do so.

Our scriptures tell us first of all, right there in the first sentences of the book of Genesis, of a Garden of Eden. The earth is a sacred, abundant, and harmonious place, and our Creator has asked us to steward it well. So we sing of this American Garden of Eden: purple mountains’ majesty and fruited plains, shining seas and God’s blessing over all. We have been given stewardship of a heaven on earth.

I’ve traveled all over this land, and I feel this way. And so as I look at the ongoing disaster of the oil gush in the Gulf, my heart breaks. But I pray that this horrible tragedy will prove to be for us our big opportunity to return to that sense that we are God’s stewards of a sacred garden.

I pray that we will remember that God’s earth is not ours to poke holes in with flimsy mile-long pipes, hoping they won’t break, with no back-up plan, driven only by urgent demands for more oil, more jobs, more money. We have no business treating God’s earth with such risky short-sightedness. It’s not ours to exploit.

This tragedy is our big chance to question our environmental policies. I hope it will help us wake up. I hope we will find the will to figure out how we can both create prosperity and care for this fragile earth, our island home. The question is, can we learn to lovingly care for God’s Garden of Eden as we make our pilgrimage through it?

Our scriptures, in fact our reading from the Old Testament today, also tell us that God calls us to execute justice for the widows and the orphans, for the poor. What does this say about providing healthcare for all? We get all wrapped up in debates about the welfare state and government regulation, but aren’t we supposed to care for those who can’t care for themselves? Why shouldn’t we provide good healthcare for everyone? Aren’t we a compassionate nation, founded on biblical principles of mercy and sympathy for the most vulnerable?

The Old Testament lesson today also asks us to love the stranger, giving them food and shelter, remembering that we, too, were strangers in this land once. What does this say about the current debate about immigration? Before we get too exercised about security and jobs, perhaps we need to remember that we are a nation of immigrants. Can we see ourselves in the eyes of Mexican immigrants, knowing that we, like them, were strangers in this land once? Can’t we strive for security and hospitality, at the same time?

Our scriptures speak again and again of nonviolence and forgiveness, as our gospel does today. This is a hard one. Many lay this aside entirely, saying that for individuals, this is fine, but for a nation, it is unrealistic. Look at Hitler, they say: even Gandhi said that nonviolence wouldn’t work with him. You don’t approach terrorists with compassion.

But for us, Jesus’ teachings cannot be aside too quickly or too indiscriminately. We need to struggle with them. He said, in today’s gospel, that we, like God, are to rain down justice and compassion on the good and the evil alike. We are to love our enemies, to pray for those who persecute us.

How can we then, as followers of Jesus, jump enthusiastically into pre-emptive war? How can we justify civilian deaths in air strikes, unlimited access to all sorts of guns, or the death penalty?

As followers of Jesus, I think we should be voices of caution when it comes to violence. We should be the voice of conscience for our violent nation. Surely we can send the rain of justice on our enemies in some way; surely we can exercise compassion even for those who persecute us. We can contribute to their economic development, we can take seriously their legitimate needs and concerns.

As we give thanks on this national holiday for this blessed and abundant land, for the many freedoms and privileges we enjoy, we also know that there are no easy answers to any of these thorny questions of national policy.

But we can listen carefully to our scriptures, and wonder what they might say to us about how we exercise our citizenship. We can listen to what they say about peace, freedom, equality, and mercy, and strive towards a greater fulfillment of them.

Our forebears listened, and what they heard was a call to be pilgrims, moving through a sacred landscape. Along the way, they wanted to build a promised land here on earth, as a reflection of the one they were headed towards in heaven. I think we still do.

THE RIGHT REVEREND V. GENE ROBINSON
BISHOP OF THE EPISCOPAL DIOCESE OF NEW HAMPSHIRE
to
ST. MICHAEL AND ALL ANGELS EPISCOPAL CHURCH
EPISCOPAL DIOCESE OF THE RIO GRANDE
SUNDAY, JUNE 27, 2010
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Lord, take my lips, and speak through them; take our minds, and think with them; take our hearts, and set them on fire with love for You. Amen.
Please be seated.

I am so delighted to be here! Not just in New Mexico, but especially here at St. Michael’s. Brian and Bob and I have been dreaming about this for a very long time, and I know that a lot of you have been involved in making my coming here such a wonderful experience, and the hospitality and warm welcome just means the world to me. Matthew and Pat and others are keeping me safe, and I just so appreciate all that you’ve done.

And, you can imagine how excited I was, after coming here, as I often do, I open up the lectionary to see what I get to preach on, in this wonderful place, after such a long time, and you can imagine how my heart fell when I read the Gospel for today! And, that’s why we have a Lectionary, because there is not a priest in Christendom who wouldn’t preach on this if they didn’t have to!

This is one of those wonderful, honest moments in the life of Jesus, that Luke is revealing to us here, where Jesus seems angry, and frustrated, and short-tempered, and not a little cranky. As well He should have been, and undoubtedly was.

He had had a very successful ministry up until this time, and more and more people coming to hear his message and so on. But, it was also a frustrating time, I’m sure, for Jesus. You know, He’d been with the disciples, arguably not the sharpest knives in the drawer, for three years. And, even in this Gospel, we…we see them just sort of missing the point! Right? They don’t get a very hospitable welcome amongst the Samaritans, against whom the Jews were incredibly discriminatory and hateful. And when they didn’t get such a great welcome, the disciples want to rain down FIRE on them.

And you can sort of imagine Jesus slapping His head, saying “OMG, you know, are these guys ever gonna get it?”And, I suspect that one of the arguments that Jesus made with God, in the Garden of Gethsemane, when He was asking that this cup pass from Him, He was arguing, you know:
“Just give me a little more time with these guys. Maybe…MAYBE they will get it!”

But, this is also a very dark and crucial turning point in Jesus’ life. This is where Jesus sets His face toward Jerusalem. Now, I actually don’t agree with the rendition of Jesus’ life that we get in the Gospel of John. My quarrel with it is that it makes Jesus sound like He knew everything that was going to happen, and it was just a matter of playing this role out. The picture we get of Jesus in the Synoptic gospels, Matthew, Mark and Luke, is that He was truly human, like you and me. And, you and I don’t know what’s going to happen an hour from now, never mind a day or a week or a year from now! Now, I believe, I really BELIEVE in the Incarnation, that God became one of us.

But Jesus was pretty clear, I think, when He set His face to Jerusalem, that if He kept saying the things He was saying, and doing the things He was doing, He was going to get into trouble. He could have stayed in Galilee, and been a wonderful human being, and a good person, and He could have continued healing, but He felt called to go to Jerusalem, the seat of religious and secular power. And, He knew the truth that He had been speaking in the hillsides of the Galilee, He also had to speak to power. And, He KNEW they wouldn’t like it.
So we have to ‘forgive’ Him being a little cranky. We have to understand that He was about to do this very…difficult…thing, EVEN if it exacted a terrible cost. And so…so these people come up to Him, and let’s remember that these are the good people, right? Jesus had nothing but comfort for those who were suffering, those who were poor, those who were marginalized, those who were pushed to the sides of the religion and the culture. I mean, can you imagine what it was like to be a leper and to be approached by Jesus? You know, lepers had to leave their homes and families. They had to live in graveyards or in caves with other lepers. They were required to shout out: “Unclean! Unclean!” to anyone who came close to them.

Can you imagine what it was like to have this itinerant preacher, Whom THEY had heard about, too, not only disregard them shouting “Unclean! Unclean!” but walked up to them and touched them. They hadn’t been touched by another human being since they couldn’t remember when! Jesus had nothing but comfort for those on the margins. But Jesus didn’t mind raising a little Cain with the comfortable. You know, when I was ordained a priest, I was told that my job was to comfort the afflicted, and to afflict the comfortable. And that is EXACTLY what Jesus is doing. These people who come to Him, ostensibly if we take them at their word, wanted to follow Him. What’s wrong with that? But Jesus says to them, “Do you have, do you have ANY idea what will result? I don’t even have a place to lay my head! And it will get much worse than that for you, if You follow me. They wanted, you know, to tie up the loose ends, before they followed Jesus. There were things to be done, there was the field to be plowed, there was the parent to be buried…you know, everybody’s got excuses, don’t we? You know: “I will follow You, when I get it all together. I will follow You when I clean up my life, and you know, and You’ll be proud of me. I will follow You, if You’ll just let me do this one thing first.”What Jesus says is: “The time is now. Fish or cut bait.” And so, they all go away.

It seems to me, that Jesus calls you and me to some sort of Jerusalem, calls us to set our face toward SOME Jerusalem in our lives. And none of us likes it, and neither did Jesus. The difference is, Jesus did it anyway. What kind of Jerusalem might be in YOUR life? Maybe … maybe there’s a relationship that needs tending to; maybe you’ve cut yourself off from a parent, or a child, or a friend. Maybe you’re in a marriage that … that needs some real attention, or maybe you’re in a marriage that … that has caused you so much pain, that you have to face the possibility of not being in it anymore. Maybe you, or someone you love, is addicted to some substance, and it just scares you to death to face it! I speak of that as an alcoholic, when four and a half years ago, I did something that I never thought possible! And you know what, it WASN’T possible just with me. It’s why you have to turn your life over to God, for you to overcome alcoholism. And it’s only way on the other side, you realize what an enormous blessing it is! But somehow, you’ve got to push through the fear. Maybe you’re called to be a painter, or a priest. (God forbid!) Maybe you feel called to own your own business, or maybe you’re called to give up owning your own business, in order to be able to do what God wants you to do. I don’t know what your Jerusalem is, that you are being called to, but I am absolutely sure, as I am standing here, that God is calling you to some sort of difficult thing. You know, I tell my deacons at their ordination, that I EXPECT them to get into some Gospel trouble. And if they’re not in trouble, I wonder if it’s the Gospel that they’re preaching. If you’re not in trouble for being a Christian, are you BEING a Christian? What Jerusalem are you being called to?
And, do you have enough faith that Jesus will be there with you, that you will push against all that fear, all the rationalist stuff that says “Don’t do it!” and do it anyway. I can remember when I was first feeling called to be a bishop, and God and I argued about this for QUITE a while. And, I thought God had lost God’s mind, and … and I can remember saying: “Uh, this is… this is crazy! God, You know that if I do this thing, and by Your grace, am elected to be a bishop, there will be hell to pay. And, all MANNER of awful things will come my way.’” And what God said was: “I know. HOW WELL I know.”

It’s not enough just to do the personal thing. You know, it’s not enough to face our own personal Jerusalems, but you and I are actually called to do more than that. I mean really, think about it. Do you really think that all that God wants from you, all that God hopes for you, is to get to the end of your life having done nothing really, really bad? That’s kind of low expectations, don’t you think? You know, the New Testament Lesson says “For FREEDOM Christ set us free.” Christ died for us for a REASON, to set us free to do the things that God would have us do. Free from fear. FEAR is the biggest enemy of the Gospel, not something else…fear! And, every person in this room has some! And we’re called to do more than just the personal. You know, there’s the old adage about it’s not ENOUGH for good Christian people like us just to pull drowning people out of the river. We have to walk back up upstream, and see who’s throwing them in, in the first place. So, God doesn’t just call you to be a good person, God calls you to do some scary things. I don’t know, you can get involved in environmental stewardship, or you can work with undocumented workers, or you can…I mean, it’s just…the list goes on and on. And, you get to decide WHAT, but you don’t get to decide whether or not you will “just sit around and enjoy being a Christian.” God expects more; God wants more. And, so, here’s the amazing thing? You know, we fear doing these difficult things, without remembering that it is in DOING those difficult things, that we actually MEET God! That’s actually where we get to KNOW God! I said last night, it’s amazing to me that that people love the Beatitudes. You know, blessed be the poor in spirit, blessed be those who hunger and thirst, blessed be those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake. Why would anybody want that stuff? Because we know in one of those situations, like where we hunger and thirst, we remember we need God. It’s the place where we meet God! That’s the reward! So, we’re called, each one of us, to some kind of a Jerusalem. At the end of the day, I think this is about whether you’re going to be an admirer only of Jesus, or a disciple. You know, it’s…it’s fine for us to come here on Sunday mornings, and slap each other on the back, and say how great it is to see one another, and enjoy the finger food afterwards, and “That Jesus! Didn’t He say some amazing things? Love Him!” And, then go home as if NONE of it had anything to do with your life or mine. Can I just tell you that Jesus does not need any more admirers? There are plenty enough of those to go around. The three guys who approached Jesus in the Gospel today were admirers. They said they wanted to follow Him, but really they didn’t. They weren’t really…they weren’t willing to do the difficult thing. They weren’t willing to pay the price and meet God in the process. So, it’s the question for us, isn’t it? Will we believe that Jesus will come WITH us to Jerusalem? After all, this Savior of ours has been there, and done that.

It reminds me of…do you remember the West Wing show? And, Leo McGarretty was the Chief of Staff, and he was a recovering alcoholic and addict. And, he’s saying to someone about to confront their alcoholism, and he tells them this story about this guy who walking along and falls in a big hole. The guy’s yelling for help, and a doctor comes along, writes a prescription and throws it in the hole. Not much help there. And a priest comes along and hears the guy hollering for help, gets down on his knees, and says a lovely prayer and goes on. No help there. The third guy comes along and jumps in the hole. And the guy says “What did you do THAT for? Now we’re both down here!” And the other guy says: “Yeah, but I’ve been down here before, and I know the way out.” Jesus has been here before, and knows the way out, and is willing to walk EVERY STEP of the way with us, but we have to be more than an admirer. We have to be disciples. So, what will be for you? Will you be an admirer only, or a disciple? You get to choose! Amen.

June 20, 2010 The 4th Sunday after Pentecost
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor
Luke 8:26-39

This poor man. Possessed by a multitude of demons, living in a graveyard, all alone, stripped naked, exposed to the elements, violent, shackled with chains. No wonder the people of Gerasenes feared and abandoned him. But Jesus was not afraid. He stopped, saw this man not as a monster, but as a broken human being. Jesus gave him the gift of loving attention.

How hard this is to do with people who are different, who are disturbed. Most of us are like the townspeople. We roll up the windows, lock the doors, and look the other way.

Some months ago I was walking downstairs to the swimming pool to do some laps, and a man passed me on the steps, talking nonsensically to himself, jerking his head. As I approached the pool, there was another swimmer who asked me, in agitation, “Did you see that guy? Should we call security?” I asked him why, and he said “I pay good money as a member not to have to deal with people like that.” I assured him that the man was harmless and should be left alone, and slipped into the pool.

Perhaps the reason we shun the mentally ill is that we are afraid of our own potential craziness. Rather than acknowledging the scary parts of ourselves, we project it outwards on the world around us, splitting ourselves off from those unfortunate people. Phew! I’m glad I’m not like that!

Well, Jesus stopped and paid attention. The demons inside the man began raising a ruckus, begging Jesus to leave them alone, because they recognized his divine energy and were invested in remaining where they were. Their home inside this man was comfortable, predictable. He had adapted his life to accommodate their needs: a nice graveyard, people keeping their distance. So there was initial resistance to Jesus.

Recently the members of the Discernment Guild and I were reading an article on resistance to God. It pointed out the kinds of obstacles we place in the Spirit’s path. We make ourselves so busy in the morning with little chores so that we don’t have time for the prayer we say we want to do. On a retreat, we have a profound insight that shows us a clear direction forward, but later it fades away, and eventually we tell ourselves “it was just a temporary emotional high. Nothing to do with God, really.” We find ways of keeping our little dysfunctions in place because they’re more familiar to us than the liberation that God offers.

But Jesus remained, in spite of the demons’ resistance to him. He then asked their name.
Why? Well, the desert monks of the 3rd century knew why. One of them, Evagrius Ponticus, said that for a monk to deal with the demons they would encounter in their solitude, they had to address effective words against them, that is to say, those words which correctly characterize the one present. And we must do this before they drive us out of our own state of mind. He knew that if you name your demon, that is, if you use “words which correctly characterize the one present,” you gain power over them.

Every therapist and doctor knows this. Once you diagnose symptoms as the signs of depression or anxiety or leukemia or diabetes, you gain power over them because you know how to treat them.

And so when Jesus asked the demons to name themselves, they said they were Legion, many. What did this name signify? That this poor man had as many demons inside him as a Roman Legion, which could be several thousand men. In fact, in Mark’s version of this same story, it says that when the demons were cast out, they went into 2,000 pigs, apparently one for each demon.

So he was inhabited by a multiplicity of conflicting and destructive forces. It was inner chaos. But while this man serves as an extreme example of psychic fragmentation, we are all, in a much less dramatic way, in the same position.

C.S. Lewis discovered this about himself when he began a life of faith, when he finally got around to looking seriously at himself. He said "For the first time I examined myself with a seriously practical purpose. And there I found what appalled me: a zoo of lusts, a bedlam of ambitions, a nursery of fears, a harem of fondled hatreds. My name was Legion."

This same thing happens to anyone who does serious self-examination. It often happens when one undertakes a practice of contemplative prayer or meditation. Sit in silence for a few minutes, and everything will reveal itself: lust, ambition, fear, and hatred. We are all named Legion.

Sometimes it seems as though there’s just too much inner complication to find our way through it. And so when we hear in our gospel story how Jesus cast out the legion of demons and the man was later found clothed, in his right mind, quietly sitting at Jesus’ feet, then going out and declaring to others how much God had done for him, we wonder how on earth that might happen for us. How can we possibly still the storm of anger within, or addiction, or worry, and find peace?

Well, one thing is clear in our story for today. The man didn’t find it by himself. He couldn’t. He was helpless until Jesus came along. Jesus brought a power to this poor man that was way beyond anything he could manage on his own.

In fact, the gospel implies what kind of divine power Jesus had, by placing this story immediately after another strikingly similar one. Jesus and his disciples had just been out on the Sea of Galilee, and a huge storm came up, threatening to capsize the boat. The disciples were terrified of the chaotic and destructive potency of nature. Jesus stood up, faced down the storm, and told it to be still.

It was at this point that they landed on the shore and encountered the demoniac. His was not the only chaos they had to deal with. Gerasenes was foreign territory to the Jewish disciples, filled with Gentiles, unclean pigs, and God knows what else. So the sea was stormy within and without. And again, Jesus stood still and calmed the chaos.

Whether the chaos we sometimes feel is within us or around us, we discover that we’re unable to master it on our own. Circumstances are beyond our control; we can’t tame the inner beast. When this is true, our only hope is God, and we find that God does not fail us. Tossed about on a leaky boat in a lightning storm, possessed by a legion of inner forces we can’t wish away, the only thing we can do is ask for God to come to us and do what we cannot do.

When we get to the end of our rope, when all our puny powers have run their course, we have no other alternative but to pray. When we get to the point of helplessness, we are finally able to really place our trust in one thing, and one thing alone: the grace of God.

Paradoxically, it is in our weakness that we find power. It is in surrender that we are victorious. Because at this point, we are finally ready. God then stands before us saying Peace, be still, and we are. The sea is calm, the sun shines again; we find ourselves clothed and in our right mind, sitting quietly before the Master.

So what are we to take with us from this rich story and rambling sermon? Perhaps this. We’re all mentally ill, possessed by many demons; it’s just a matter of degree. It won’t help us or anyone else to project this out on to others. Instead, we can get to know and name the forces of our own inner chaos. We can discover our resistance to liberation. All of this can be overwhelming, but we are not alone. God has the power to still any storm, if we can get to the point of placing our whole trust in him.

Our name may be Legion. But by grace, we too are able to declare how much God has done for us.

Of the many gifts given to humans by the Lord, walking upright, the ability to love, the capacity of the brain and one of the least appreciated is the human hand. Aside from the genius of opposable thumbs – I am fascinated by the act of holding hands. An act that connects two people. Like the Beatles song “When I'll feel that something, I want to hold your hand."

Think of the images of hand holding. An adult taking the hand of their elderly parent as the walk – in it we see support and love. A couple in a park, two hands intertwined as a sign of their commitment to one another. In large crowds, I instinctively grab the hands of both my son and wife so that we can navigate through the masses together. Our joined hands assure we will not lose one another and arrive safely together.

Hands are held during vigils, marches, weddings and funerals, it signifies connection. Few things are more innocent than a child holding the hand of a parent. A child holding the adults hand is a pure expression of trust, and inherent act of faith. The child must believe that the hand will provide guidance, protection, comfort and love. They also must trust that whoever brought them to this point, will continue to protect and support them as they walk move forward.

One of the most famous hands are those of God giving life to Adam in Michelangelo’s fresco in the Sistine Chapel. We sense the thrill of life in a newly created body. Within the fresco is an often ignored detail – God has a hand holding Eve. If I were to imagine Michelangelo painting an additional fresco, it would be a depiction of God holding Adams hand as they begin the human journey together.

And this is where our story begins. There are thousands of instances where God has taken our hands and guided each one of us to a place where we are meant to be. A hand that leads us to unexpected places, such as a courtroom or the inside of this Church. It may be a place for which there is no explanation, or a place where we really do not want to be - marital problems, our addictions, or the realization that the façade we are living is just that. We have no explanation for how we got there - it is as if someone, as if God led us to this place.

And when we are at this place, it usually requires us to make a choice. A choice that defines who we are. Such as- do I keep silent or do I speak up. Do I continue with my destructive behavior or do seek help. Do I assist or just walk way. Do I go at it alone or do I fall at the feet of the Lord, weeping and say I need you Lord.

For centuries, the woman with the Alabaster Jar has represented devotion to Jesus the meaning of forgiveness, but today I would like to look at her story differently. The Gospel tells us that she is a sinner; in fact she is not worthy to be named. She notices that Jesus enters the home of a Pharisee for a meal. She is standing at the entrance, and if she enters the home, she could be killed.

Yet something led her to that door, and she has a choice. She falls at Jesus’ feet, kisses them, weeps over them, dries them with her hair, and then anoints them with ointment. Jesus tells the woman that her sins are forgiven, because she loved, and because she trusted. As Jesus lifts her by the hand, he says “Your faith has saved you, go in peace.” God has led her to the doorway and she enters with trust.

Throughout the Gospels we find those who trust. What if on the road to Damascus, Paul attributed that to hallucinations - would we have the message of hope. If the Samaritan women had decided to walk past Jesus on the way to the well, would we have inclusion? Or if Mary had said no, or Joseph ignored his deep love for a simple peasant woman carrying the child of another?

Each of these people were led by the hand of God to a place they were meant to be. Martin Luther could have continued celebrating mass and looked the other way; Rosa Parks could have moved to the back of the bus, Martin Luther King could have sat silently at his Church, or Jesus could have decided to avoid Calvary. They did not; they were led to a place and trusted in God’s love and had faith in God’s will. Because of this, our story is different.

Their decisions changed not only history, but lives. Yet some of the most pressing choices are not great ones, but everyday decisions. Should you have that next drink, hear the word cancer and try to take the next step, flirt with that coworker down the hall, or open the doors of this church or any church to anyone who wants to weep or anoint the feet of Jesus.

Different choices for different outcomes but with one common denominator. A trust that as you place your hand in God’s hand, you can face anything, assured that the hands that led you to this point, will squeeze you tighter when life becomes difficult. A faith that your steps will guided, that you will be supported when you stumble, you will be lifted when tired. Mother Teresa said that “we are called not to be successful, but to be faithful.”

One of the most moving depictions of hand holding is found in the movie, Life is Beautiful. Set in late 1930s Italy, Guido who is Jewish, e brazenly charms his way into the heart of the Catholic Dora. The film jumps five years ahead. It is wartime and Guido and Dora are married and have a 4 ½ year old son Joshua. Life indeed is beautiful until the Nazis begin rounding up all the Jews including Guido and Joshua. They are shipped to concentration camps.

Throughout the film, Guido is always holding his son’s hand. As he leads his son onto the train, you sense his terror, yet he demonstrates only care and comfort with that hand. Guido protects his young son from the horrors which surround them. He invents an elaborate game that they are on a big holiday and cleverly stating that Joshua cannot cry, ask for his mother or declare he's hungry, because by doing so would result in losing the game – which we know is really death.

The father hand guides him through this hell. He hides him; he feeds him, and bathes him. At the end of the movie, in the chaos of the American advance—he takes his son by the hand and tells him to stay in a box. While afraid, the boy trusts his father and stays inside. Guido is questioned and taken off by a guard, but but not before making his son laugh one last time by imitating the Nazi guard as if the two of them are marching around the camp together.

He sees the boy peeking through the box, motions him back in, and his son a wink. Guido and the soldier turn the corner, and machine gun fire is heard. The guard walks back out-without Guido. And at the end, Joshua leaves the box and believes he won the game when he is reunited with his mother.

Through this journey, the father and son have hands intertwined in love and faith. Joshua trusted that his father would make everything right and the father had faith that he could protect his son. Like the woman with the Alabaster Jar, love allowed them to go forward. Like those places in our own lives, we go forward holding God’s hand.

When we find those odd, moving and unpredictable moments, we should understand that that God has led us, and there, we must make a choice. Do we continue on our own way or step through the doorway and fall at God’s feet. We are led to this church today by the hand of God, and we may have choices to make? It may be personal, professional, or spiritual. Will you continue walking past that door or will you take the Lord’s hand. It is your choice. For those making those choices, I leave you with this prayer:

Dear God, I do not know where you are leading me. I do not know where my next day, my next week or my next year will look like. As I try to keep my hands open, I trust that you will put your hand in mine and bring me home. That you God for your hands, thank you God for your love. Amen.

June 6, 2010
The 2nd Sunday after Pentecost
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

In the gospel we just heard, the story is a mirror image of today’s lesson from the Old Testament. Jesus is the new Elijah. Both prophets raise from the dead the only son of a grieving widow. In each case, the boy has died very recently. The mother is distraught; friends and relatives gather and prepare for the burial. God’s prophet enters the scene. He has compassion on the mother and child, and he prays for healing.

The prayer was a crazy thing, an impossible thing; the boy was already dead. But in moments, the signs of life miraculously come back, and the child is alive again. God has overcome the barrier between life and death.

Today I’d like to take a look at the wider context of both of these stories. My interest is not just in what happened between the individuals in these brief encounters, but what led up to these moments? And what happened afterwards? What was the effect of these miracles upon the ministry of the prophets, upon the public?

Elijah the prophet lived in corrupt times. Israel’s leaders had ignored the Torah’s teachings about humility, justice, and mercy, and turned instead to corrupt, unjust ways. Things had become so bad that God needed to give Israel an object lesson.

So God caused a drought to fall upon Israel, to illustrate how spiritually and morally parched they were. Israel was as dry and lifeless as their land had become. Could new life come out of this desert?

In Jesus’ days, Israel was corrupt again, its leaders compromised in their symbiotic relationship with their Roman overlords. Israel was about to be destroyed, the Temple torn down, the people scattered around the region. Could new life come to God’s people?

So God sent each of the prophets into widow’s homes to create a sign, to say something to the public about God’s love for Israel. Both women were poor, with only one son. As characters in the stories, they stood in for Israel, on the brink of catastrophe, seemingly dead. As God had compassion on their poverty and disaster, raising the child to new life, so God would have mercy and raise up his people.

The purpose of each of these healings was not just so that these two individual boys could go on living another few decades. After all, who ever talks about what these boys went on to do? Who cares? We’re not even told their names.

But we do know that because of these miracles, the movements that Elijah and Jesus led gained attention and energy, and went on to renew the people’s faith and hope in God. Many more came to them to hear their teachings, to know God’s presence, to live according to God’s ways. A spiritual renewal took place, and God’s Spirit affected thousands.

The ripple effect of these healings was enormous. Through them, God did renew Israel. In Elijah’s case, he and others now knew that God’s power was with him. From this point on he and his successor Elisha challenged and helped overthrow corrupt king after king. In Jesus’ case, millions are still drawing meaning, faith, and hope from this story and others like it.

And the funny thing is, the widows and their sons were completely unaware of the role their healing had played in God’s purposes in history.

So it is with us, I think. We’re like the widow and the son, sometimes near disaster, in our little house, unable to see how we shall be sustained beyond today. Something in our life - or in the life of someone we love - seems dead, beyond hope. We feel impoverished, parched.

And yet we open our humble door to God. We dare to hope, to pray, to ask for healing. We go to a doctor, we see a spiritual director or therapist, we pray. In our need, God visits us, and like the widows, we discover that there is yet some life in what we thought was dead. God gives us new life.

We think that this is all there is to it. We’re grateful for the help God has given us. We have more trust in God’s provision, so that next time a problem arises, we’re more likely to face it with faith. The effect of God’s mercy is immediate, just for us. Or so we think.

But like the widows and their sons in these stories, there is a bigger picture outside of our little home. The ripple effect of God’s grace touches lives in ways that we shall never know. Our healing becomes a sign for many others, a witness to God’s compassion and goodness.

In the persecutions of the early church, those who went willingly to their death were known as martyrs. The word martyr literally means witness. The martyrs witnessed to God’s power over even death, for they went to their deaths with confidence and hope. Their witness transformed the lives of thousands of others. Those who saw them realized that if God can free the martyrs from the fear of death, surely God can free me, too.

When I speak to clergy at CREDO conferences, I always say to them that they are witnesses to God. They are far more transparent to the people they serve than they realize. People see whether or not they are kind, patient under stress, confident in God’s grace, and prayerful.

But what people need to see, even more than evidence of these spiritual qualities, is that their clergy are on a spiritual journey of transformation toward these qualities. Their people need to see how their clergy struggle to live into Christ’s ways. People need to see this so that they might know that they, too, can make this transformative journey.

But this is not only true for clergy. We are all public personas. People see who we are. And every person who seeks and finds God’s grace in their lives becomes a witness to those around them. Our spiritual life is always transparent to others who are also seeking, to those who have eyes to see.

And so every time we inch forward in our faith journey, every time we learn a lesson about how God is real, how God is present and lovingly involved in our life, every time we learn to trust and to give more freely of ourselves, we are witnesses to God’s light and love. Every time we experience God’s healing in our life, it affects others.

Think for a moment of someone you know who has grown in grace, who reveals how God has worked in their life – perhaps someone who is in recovery from addiction. Think of how far they have come from their days of deception and self-destruction. Or think of any person who has journeyed with God through whatever problems they have, to a place where equanimity and wisdom now shine forth from them, where they radiate kindness and peace.

Do you know such a person? This didn’t happen by accident, or just because they were born that way. They’re like that because they sought and found God’s transformative grace in their lives.

What is the effect of that person’s light? Is it limited to themselves? Is it just that they are personally more happy and healthy? Of course not. They spread their light all around them; they affect you, their loved ones, their church, strangers in the store, those they work with, and, if they are a public figure, countless millions. They witness to God.

It matters for others that you, as a person of faith, grow in grace. For your spiritual journey is transparent; as a person of faith, you are a sign of God’s presence in this world. And as others see God work in your life, they begin to hope for that same transformative presence in theirs, too.

Your redemption contributes in immeasurable ways to the redemption of the world.
As Jesus said, You are the light of the world. Let your light shine before others, that they may see the good that you do, and give glory to God.

St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church
Albuquerque, New Mexico
Sunday May 23, 2010 Pentecost
Preacher: Christopher McLaren
Text: Acts 2:1-21
Title: Private Investigators of the Spirit or Conspiring with God

Take a breath. Breathe in the Spirit and release that Spirit back into the world. Did you know that in almost any gathering of people, slowly without noticing they begin to breath together, their bodies adjusting to one another’s rhythms unconsciously? Interestingly the word conspire means to breathe together. Take a breath. Now let it go. There you have just launched a new conspiracy right here at St. Michael’s. I must confess, that I rather like the word conspiracy. I like the idea that the church could be conspiring to do good. You can hear the word spirit within the word conspire, just as you can in the word inspire. To conspire with others is to be filled with the same kind of spirit, to be enlivened by the same idea or same passion, to move with the same purpose.

Every Sunday morning we gather here as a community worshiping God. It is a rather dangerous and strange endeavor. If we could see what was happening we’d realize that God is busy swooping in and among us, fashioning us into a people, binding us together through the songs we sing, the prayers we share, the breaths we breath, the meal in which we partake. This creation of a community where no existed before can happen with small groups or large. More than likely you’ve experienced both. The Spirit can act on us in a whole variety of ways, challenging us, providing deep comfort, bringing much needed clarity, or perhaps confusing us in such a marvelous way we find we are once again depending upon God. One comforting thing about the Holy Spirit is that the Spirit never bullies people into anything. When the Spirit blows or descends or stirs us we are always free to choose how we will respond without compulsion.

This day is dedicated to the life of the Spirit. It is a classic story of our beginnings. For Christians it is our Genesis story like God moving over the waters at the beginning of time. Our story begins with the followers of Jesus gathered together, moping around and wondering what they are going to do without Jesus when suddenly there is the sound of a “mighty wind” that filled and surrounded their gathering sparking and breaking things loose. As it turned out, the wind was not a summer monsoon or a storm but the powerful breath of God, filling them up, indwelling them and setting them afire with God’s own Spirit. What happened next is can only be described poetically as the playfulness of God, with dancing tongues of fire that became varied tongues of languages. It was a disturbing, delightful, breath-taking, life-giving romp of the Spirit with all sorts and types of people hearing the Good News of God in the language closest to their heart and all of it hilariously coming from the mouths of Galileans – country folk – not a bunch of erudite university linguist types.

At the end of the day the important point of the story is that the community gathered and transformed by the Pentecost experience is empowered. Empowered to share their experience of Christ in such new ways that the movement rapidly gathers momentum. The church of roughly 120 that day grew to 3,000 Luke tells us. But more important was the changes in the disciples. Those who were discouraged were full of energy. The shy became bold. Scared people had become confident. Those who seemed lost now had a sense of direction. They began to do the things that Jesus did, healing people they touched, loving folks into the kingdom, telling stories that wooed listeners into the ways of Christ. The only explanation for it was that they had inhaled on the day of Pentecost and been changed. They had taken the breath of God into their bodies and been transformed into a people of power. They had not been left or abandoned by God. No, quite the opposite was true. The Holy Spirit had come to dwell in them and they, like Mary had, were giving birth to God in the world as a community in new and powerful ways.

Because the book of Acts is the story of the disciple’s adventures after they had “Sucked in God’s own breath,” Barbara Brown Taylor likes to call the book of Acts the gospel of the Holy Spirit. In the first four books of the New Testament we learn the good news of what God did through Jesus Christ. In the book of Acts, we lean the good news of what God did through the Holy Spirit, by performing artificial resuscitation on a room full of well-intentioned bubblers and turning them into a force that changed the history of the world.

The real question is whether we, those of us gathered in this place of worship today believe that God still acts like that. Do we still believe in a God who blows through closed doors, wakes up the neighborhood with wild forms of communication, and sets our heads and hearts on fire? Do we still believe in a God who has the power to transform us as individuals and as a people of God? Or have we come to a kind of quiet, unspoken agreement that our God is pretty old and pretty tired by now, I mean it is someone we can feel free to direct our prayers toward but certainly no someone likely to change our lives or alter our course?

Every time we evacuated from New Orleans with the threat of a large hurricane coming our way, there was always a little interest in me for sticking around, to experience the storm, the power of it, just to witness what that kind of wind and fury could do. I’m sure you’ve had the same experience of wanting to stay out on the porch when there is a powerful storm moving through to the see the trees being moved, to feel the wind on your face, to get a sense of the awe and wonder of nature, and to feel alive in a way that is rather hard to describe. If you can understand these kinds of feelings then perhaps you too are a good candidate to have an experience of the Holy Spirit. “The Spirit blows where it chooses, you hear it sound but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes” (John 3:8)

There is no substitute for experiencing the spirit. There are fine theories and wonderful theological discourses on the Holy Spirit, but I hope you will never ever be satisfied with them. The point of Pentecost is not to rest until you have felt the Holy Spirit blow through your life, breaking things open, unsettling you, opening things up and maybe, just maybe setting your hair on fire. There is not a lot you can do to make it happen save for daring to pray one of the most radical prayers in the tradition, “Come Holy Spirit.” It is the same prayer that is on the banner hanging at the west end of the church. “Come Spirit Come.”

One of the skills we all need to work on it seems is recognizing the Spirit when it is at work. I have a friend who is always asking me, “Where have you seen God at work this week?” She is a kind of private investigator of the Spirit, always on the lookout for clues for what God is doing in our midst? So here are some examples of where I think the Spirit has been at work.

Examples of the Spirit at Work
Recent election of our New Bishop
Not many weeks ago several of us from this community had the honor of participating in the election of our new bishop for the Diocese of the Rio Grande. It was a truly amazing and Spirit led experience that I had never been a part of before. What was truly amazing was that in a Diocese not know for getting along or widespread agreement, we elected our new Bishop The Rev. Michael Vono on the 3rd ballot a far cry from the 9 or so ballots many were fearing. What was even more amazing and a witness to the work of the Spirit was the feeling of joy and hope in the room, no one seemed angry, slighted or upset by outcome. The Spirit had actually brought us together to one mind, which for those of us who have seen quite a different attitude in this diocese in the past, was nothing short of a miracle of the Spirit.

Rekindling a relationship – a phone call from a friend. Describe the renewal of a relationship. Whenever you experience the reconciliation of a relationship you are participating in a work of the Spirit.

Walking into East Central Ministries – inspired.
This past week I had the pleasure of visiting a ministry in SE Albuquerque. It was a truly amazing experience, one that I have described to people as walking into the kingdom of God. East Central Ministry is an amazing ministry that has been doing good in a difficult part of the city for nearly 10 years. The building they use as their office and ministry center used to be a crack house. When the drugs and prostitution that were a regular occurrence there ended the business owner next door bought it sight unseen, he just could afford to have a drug house next door to his business. One day when pastor John Bulten was walking the neighborhood, the owner handed him the keys and said simply, “Do something good with it.” Since then they have begun a food pantry, a medical clinic, several micro businesses to provide employment including an urban farm, an after school mentoring program and more serving the immigrant families, the poor, and those down on their luck. It is a truly amazing place, which is a living local example of the Spirit at work. Today we are supporting this ministry and our Journey to Adulthood youth program through a wonderful plant sale that is one of East Central Ministries works of the Spirit.

Another work of the Spirit is seeing our New Ministry Complex go up in such challenging times. It is a truly amazing work of the Spirit to see this community stretching and growing in ministry to our community. The Spirit is alive and at work in our midst.

Recognizing it when it comes.
Once you get the hang of it you begin to realize that the work of the Spirit is everywhere around us.
Whenever you find yourself fearing a meeting and the conflict and go home with a surprising sense of people coming together. The Spirit it at work.
Whenever you find yourself offering forgiveness you had not meant to offer. The Spirit is at work.
Whenever you find yourself taking risks that you thought you did not have the courage to take. The Spirit is at work.
Or when you discover that you are reaching out to someone that you had intended to avoid. The Spirit is at work.
In any and all of these situations you can be relatively sure that you are learning about the Gospel of the Holy Spirit.

But more importantly you are taking part in the life of the Spirit yourself, breathing in the life of God and exhaling it into the world with loving care. As Barbara Brown Taylor says it, “Taking God into you and giving God back to the world with some of you attached.”

Now breathe in and out the breath of God. Keep breathing this eternal gift in our very midst. You can think of it as just oxygen passing over the surface of your lungs and making life possible, or you can begin to understand it as mysterious action of the Holy Spirit, God’s own gift to us.

What I’ve come to realize is that the Holy Spirit is a collaborative spirit, it invites us into a wild partnership and in doing so sets us aflame with new life. For most of us this is a terribly dangerous and wonderful thing, and we are more likely to embrace it as a people than we are individually. So, my invitation today is this: come let us conspire together, to love without measure, to care for the least and lost, to nurture our children with hope and character and compassion, to challenge our local leaders and politicians to truly serve the people especially the poor and sick and needy. Let us conspire to embrace the way of life that Jesus dared to teach us, and then we will know what it means to have the flame of he Spirit licking at our heads. And maybe just maybe our hair will catch on fire.

I with to acknowledge my debt to The Rev. Barbara Brown Taylor for her sermon entitled The Gospel of the Holy Spirit upon which this sermon draws much of its inspiration. Thanks is also due to The Rev. Sue Joiner who is teaching me how to become a private investigators of the Spirit looking for clues to the Holy Spirit at work in our midst. I also give a shout out to The Rev. John Bulten of East Central Ministries and the incredible ministry the people of that faith community are doing in conspiring with the Holy Spirit.