Sermons - The Episcopal Church of the Trinity

Losing Someone We Care About

2009-11-01T09:30:00.001-05:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

November 1, 2009 (All Saints Sunday)

Read: John 11:32-44; Revelation 21:1-6a and Isaiah 25:6-9

Most of us know what it’s like to lose someone we care about. And in today’s gospel story we hear about Lazarus, who had died. We hear about tears. There are tears in our reading from Isaiah, there are tears in our reading from Revelation where God wipes away the tears…and there are lots of tears in John’s gospel.

In John's gospel, Jesus weeps along with Mary and all the gathered mourners before he demonstrates his power over death. As Barbara Crafton writes, “People looking on were shaken, it seems, by Jesus' display of emotion. Perhaps it made him look weak in their eyes. The Gospel of John is an odd place for this glimpse of a Jesus overcome with sorrow -- the rest of the book depicts him striding through the events of his life and death like Superman, so godlike that his humanity doesn't look much like ours at all. But in the 11th chapter of John, Jesus weeps because his friend has died.

If he was truly human, he was truly mixed. We don't like our mixed nature -- we want people to be good or bad, either strong or weak. We try our best to categorize ourselves and one another, so that we will know always know to proceed. But people aren't just one thing or another; we're each a blend of warring strengths and weaknesses. We can be highly intelligent and still do something really stupid. We are both rational and irrational. We are capable of both nobility and moral shabbiness. We may be strong, but sometimes our strength fails us.

When he enters our world, Christ enters our weakness. The Greeks have a fine word for this: ekenosen, literally, "he emptied himself." He pours out his power. All power comes into this world of no power. Strength chooses to be bound by the weakness that binds us. Why? Why does God choose to live as we live, here where the people you love all die, where you die?”

Barbara continues, “I remember two men I knew years ago when I was on the waterfront. They had known each other from childhood; they were from the same tiny Calabrian town, and they were cabin mates. One was a steward, a head waiter, and the other a wiper in the engine room. Ordinarily, a wiper might be a young person working his way up in the engine department, but this man -- shy, silent, developmentally disabled, I always thought -- had been a wiper for years and, clearly, would never be anything else.

The cabin they shared was tiny and supremely uncomfortable, and the steward had a chance to take a better one for the rest of his contract. He refused it, though, choosing to stay with his friend. He had promised the man's mother to take care of him, he explained, and another cabinmate might not understand the vulnerability of his friend -- or worse, might understand it all too well and capitalize on it. So he stayed in a hard, narrow bunk in a cabin scarcely bigger than a closet, when he could have had his own cabin.

It was a small thing, I suppose -- but a seafarer is on board for months at a time. It's a hard life, and one pretty low on perks. It would have been nice to have a private space befitting his superior rank. For the sake of love, though, he bound himself with the same chains that bound his friend.

Why is there a Jesus? So God can be with us and we can be with God, even now, and so we can know it. So we can know we're not alone, no matter what happens. So we can know that we are understood. God not only loves us and our world into being, but then chooses to know our world as we learn to know it: from experience”.

Most of know of Helen Keller, she’s just one of the extraordinary blind women of history. Frazier Hunt writes in a Redbook magazine: “One July afternoon at our ranch in the Canadian Rockies I rode toward Helen Keller's cabin. Along the wagon trail that ran through a lovely wood we had stretched a wire, to guide Helen when she walked there alone, and as I turned down the trail I saw her coming.

I sat motionless while this woman who was doomed to live forever in a black and silent prison made her way briskly down the path, her face radiant. She stepped out of the woods into a sunlit open space directly in front of me and stopped by a clump of wolf willows. Gathering a handful, she breathed their strange fragrance: her sightless eyes looked up squarely into the sun, and her lips, so magically trained, pronounced the single word "Beautiful!" Then, still smiling, she walked past me.

I brushed the tears from my own inadequate eyes. For to me none of this exquisite highland had seemed beautiful. I had felt only bitter discouragement over the rejection of a piece of writing. I had eyes to see all the wonders of woods, sky and mountains, ears to hear the rushing stream and the song of the wind in the treetops. It took the sightless eyes and sealed ears of this extraordinary woman to show me beauty, and bravery.

Dating back to the third century, the church in all her wisdom has celebrated All Saints Day. This Sunday we honor the tradition as we remember and give thanks for all the beloved baptized in Christ, those among us and those who have gone before us. Today our tender hearts remember loved ones who have died, we will, at communion time have the opportunity to take a carnation and place it on the baptismal font in memory of a loved one.

In our worship we reach out across time to hold hands with Mary and Martha in their encounter with death, and at the same time we grasp the hands of one another as God continues to knit us together in the one beautiful body of Christ Jesus. And what better day than All Saints Day to baptize Evan Michael and Ryan Matthew into the community of faith. Because today, we celebrate those who have gone before us and we also celebrate all of us present here today. We are connected. It’s as if there is a long, long rope filled with knots. All different type of knots. The knots represent each of us as we habitate this earthly realm and as we pass on, the knots unfold and are not as visible; yet, they remain a part of that rope; in communion with us. As our opening hymn this morning states: ‘yet all are one in thee, for all are thine’.

And so with clasped hands, we, like Lazarus and his sisters, are called out from the shadow of death and tears into resurrection life.

Jesus calls us to this tomb to make it clear to us that death has indeed been swallowed up. It is not the end of the road. There is something more…death is the end of one form of existence and the beginning of something new and different. Jesus said, “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.” It is the Alpha and Omega sign that covers the bottom of our baptismal bowl.

Jesus calls us to the tomb so that we might join him when he says “Unwrap him and let him go.” Out of the shadows, out of the darkness, light shines. In the midst of death is life.

The light shines through in the strangest ways and places. Unbind the death cloths that keep you from living. Open your spiritual eyes. Believe and look around you for the glory of God. Listen and hear Jesus calling your name inviting you to live life with him. Amen.

The Emptiness of Success

2009-10-11T09:30:00.001-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

October 11, 2009

Read: Job 23:1-9, 16-17 and Mark 10:17-31

Today’s readings are centered on our relationship with our Creator God. We hear from Job in his distress because he cannot sense the presence of God. The psalm is that one we also hear in Lent, “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me”. Again the sense of hidden, absent God. In our gospel reading from Mark we hear how difficult it is for us to enter the kingdom of God. There is an example of a man who comes to Jesus seeking eternal life, but he is asked to give up his possessions and he turns away shocked and grieving.

Let’s dig a little deeper into the gospel story. First of all, we need to understand that at the time Jesus spoke these words, the idea was that if you lived an obedient life, God would reward you, or bless you, with material possessions, with wealth. A sign of wealth, was a sign of a well lived life. So think about the shock that would be very real, if everything you ever learned about how to live, was turned upside down.

I want to take us back to Job for a minute, because the point of the Job story (I invite you to read the entire book of Job – it’s not that long) is to show that things happen in life that are beyond our control. In other words, “crap happens”, regardless of how carefully we have tried to live according to the commandments.

So, back to our wealthy man and Jesus. Here was a man who had found the emptiness of success. Yes, I said the emptiness of success. He had the very things that most of us think will bring us happiness. Most of us yearn all our lives for the very things this man enjoyed. First of all, he had a lot of money. That one gets most all of us. Our idle dreams of being rich and famous fuel the spate of lotteries springing up in almost every state of the union. We sit around trying to figure out how we would spend our millions if we could just win the lottery.

But here is a man who had all that, and his life was still empty. How many times is that story repeated? We could point to countless individuals like Elvis Presley, Michael Jackson, who had all the money imaginable, but were miserable all the same.

This young man also knows success in religious circles. He proves that even obedience to the law leaves life empty and meaningless. He has kept all the commandments from his youth, but he still has not found eternal life.

Most of us think that wealth and obedience will bring us happiness because we don't have either one. But here is a man with both, and he has found the emptiness of such efforts. He is still searching, so he comes to Jesus looking for answers and for real meaning in life.

That's when Mark gives us a touching picture of Jesus, who really understands this man. "Jesus, looking at him, loved him."

Perhaps, the opposite of rich is not poor. The opposite of rich is free. He was not free to take the hand of Jesus because his hand was too full of his things and his love of things. He might as well have had a ball and chain around his leg. He was not free to follow Jesus.

In fact, the meaning of "rich" may have less to do with how much money someone has as it does with what our attitude is about the money that we have. Some people have a lot of money but they are not enslaved by it; others have very little but they cling to it with desperation.

I read in a book some time ago something about the art of trapping monkeys in India. One technique is to drill a hole in a coconut and place rice in the coconut. A monkey will come along and stick a paw into the coconut, grab a fistful of rice, and then be unable to pull its paw back from the coconut. He is trapped by his greed. All he would have to do is turn loose of the rice, his hand would be free, and he could draw it out. The problem is that he places greater value on the rice that he is holding than he does on his freedom (Raymond Bailey, "Do You Want To Be Healed," Best Sermons 3, Harper & Row, p. 6).

And Jesus uses the example of a camel going through the eye of a needle. Why is it so hard for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle? Think of the image of a camel. Perhaps, because the hump gets stuck. The hump is where all the extra stuff is stored, the fatty tissue that makes the camel self-sufficient enough to make it on its own through the arid places. The young man's money was his hump, it was what he relied on to get him through his own desert, and once it was gone he would have to rely on God instead and he would be streamlined enough to slide right through the eye, with no hump to hang up on the way.

Jesus’ point is that we need to give up whatever it is that keeps us from a closer relationship to God. We need to let go and rely on God, trust in God, instead of in our own strength. And, it’s not an easy thing to do. As Jesus says, “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible”.

A dear friend of mine recently took a camping trip, something he does regularly. But on this particular trip he shares a profound and deeply moving experience, he writes:

“My canoe trip north this year was wet and cold. It rained hard for the first two days, and then the temperature dropped and hovered around freezing. It began to snow on the evening of the third day. As I lay in my tent that night with waves crashing on the beach only thirty feet away, the howling wind was so loud that I couldn’t hear the waves. The cloud cover alternated between grey and dark grey. Much of the trip could be described as damp, cold, alone, discouraged.

The trip also had its profound, beautiful moments, including one I’d like to share. After miles of paddling, interspersed with muddy, hilly portages, I sat down beside a large lake for an hour or so and watched big whitecaps race across the lake toward me. In order to reach the campsite I had in mind, I would have had to paddle a bay about three quarters of a mile across. That was not feasible. As far as I could tell, I was the only person on that fairly remote lake. The waves crashing on the shore, the dark cloudy sky and the wild fury of nature combined to create a surreal scene in which my insignificance was contrasted with the vast power and dark beauty of the unfolding weather.

Years ago, a guide said to me that wilderness trips are a great equalizer. The strong, the confident, get cut down to size. The forces of nature are infinitely more powerful than the strongest among us. If you don’t respect them, adapt to them, they can destroy you. At the same time, the weak build strength on these trips. They discover inner strength, and they discover that the ability to think things through, to maintain perspective, is more important than physical strength”. (from Heron Dance website – Rod MacIver’s October 9, 2009 Pause for Beauty)

My friend came through his camping trip with a new insight. He emerged from the ordeal a slightly different man. Jesus says, “But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.” Upside down is a theme. Remember Job and his suffering. Job emerged from his ordeal transformed – read the book. There is no indication that he ever discovered the reason for his affliction, yet he seems satisfied. He had been treated insensitively by his visitors, yet without a word he intercedes for them in their need. Here is a man who has risen above egocentric inclinations. He understood his relationship with his Creator God.

May God help us to remember Job as we enter our own times of orientation, disorientation, reorientations when the traditional wisdom just doesn’t work. Doesn’t make sense. And may we also, like Job, draw from a deep place in our soul, when we don’t have all the answers and God is seemingly hidden, and have the courage to say, “yet shall I trust him.” Jesus, looking at us, loves us. Amen.

Running Through a Field of Thorns - Marriage and Divorce

2009-10-04T09:30:00.001-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

October 4, 2009

Read: Mark 10:2-16

Wow! Preaching about divorce and marriage is like running through a field of thorns, as my colleague Charles says. Why? Because any congregation today is likely to contain people who are married, people who are divorced, people who are divorced and remarried, people who may get divorced at some future time, people who have been treated shabbily by churches due to their marital difficulties, people whose lives and families and friends have been hurt by the pain of divorce. It's everybody's issue, indirectly or directly. And so, preaching about it looks like running through a field of thorns, and listening to a sermon on marriage and divorce can, no doubt, seem the same way: one misstep and we just add to the hurting. A divorce may be necessary, I can especially think of abusive relationships, but it's never a triumph. It's always made of heartbreak. Just ask anybody who's lived through one.

So let’s journey together carefully into the thorny field, in the hope that amidst the briars we can find together the good news of God in Christ, for a world that's broken and in pain.

The discussion gets started because some of the Pharisees are out to get Jesus. They want to trap him in his words, and so destroy his credibility. The issue they raise is a controversial one at that time, in first-century Palestine: whether it is lawful for a man to divorce his wife. Authorities differ on this question. Some allow divorce only in instances of adultery. Others allow divorce for the slightest of reasons. But note how the issue is framed: Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife? No consideration is given to the possibility of a wife divorcing her husband. That is out of the question. Here, in first century Palestine, men have all the power.

Jesus knows this question is not an honest inquiry. He knows the Pharisees are not interested in learning his opinion, but in testing him, in defeating him. He responds to the question with a question: What did Moses command you? In other words, how does the Law of Moses read, the law you hold in such high regard?

Of course, Jesus knows the answer, and so does everyone within hearing distance. It's what we call today a no-brainer. And so the Pharisees shoot back the correct reference: Moses allows a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her.

The reference here is to Deuteronomy, chapter 24. It's arguable, to say the least, that Moses is giving permission to divorce. What he does instead is to recognize that divorce happens and to set forth norms regarding certain types of remarriage. Like the canon law of the Episcopal Church, Moses acknowledges that divorce happens here in this world outside the Garden of Eden.

Jesus pushes behind Deut 24 to Gen.1-2, Jesus pushes behind the stipulation of the law to the story of Creation, behind the legality of divorce to the intent of marriage.

It is as though he thumps a finger against the chest of each of those Pharisees and says: Don't you get it? Your hearts are hard! If human hearts were not hard, then marriages would always work, and Moses wouldn't have written about what happens when they don't!

Jesus addresses each one of us and says the same thing. Don't you get it? Your hearts are hard! But please note this, and note it well. He's not just challenging the divorced among us. He's challenging every last one of us, even if we have been married happily for six decades. The divorced are not to be regarded as some pariah class different from the rest of us. The problem of the hard heart is not limited to divorced people, but is common to us all. In some it becomes manifest in a marital break-up. In others it shows itself in a marriage that remains together but is lifeless. In still others hardness of heart appears in a failure to forgive our friends, in a judgmental spirit toward our children or parents, or any of the other forms of sin in which we humans become trapped. The divorced are not worse and not better than the rest. We all find ourselves in the same place: outside the gates of Eden.

But then Jesus stops talking about hard hearts. Instead, he takes us by both hands and looks at us with an expression of compassion, hope, and remembrance. He calls us back to a time before the invention of power games, whether it’s the sexism of his own period when men called the shots about marriage and divorce, or today's equal-opportunity destructiveness where either partner can damage the other. Jesus, looking at us with that expression of compassion, hope, and remembrance, calls us back to a time before time, back to when our home was the garden, back to the intention of God at creation. God made them male and female. Delightfully different. Wonderfully equal. Intended to be one flesh. No hardness of heart. No games, no secrets, but naked and unashamed.

(Rev. Charles Hoffacker)

The heart of Jesus’ message is about relationships – and Jesus reminds us of the ideal that we can all strive for in our marriages and in all of our relationships.

The late newspaper columnist Lewis Grizzard wrote articles filled with offbeat, southern humor. But underneath the laughter, there was a sadness—a life of personal suffering and loss. Some of Grizzard’s pain came from his troubled relationship with his alcoholic father, who had abandoned the family when Lewis was a boy. Later in life, Lewis reconciled with his father.

As the old man lay in his final illness, Lewis repeatedly pleaded with him. “What’s wrong, Daddy? Why can’t you stay sober? What can be so bad that you can’t talk about it?”

His father refused to answer. Even when Lewis assured him that it didn’t matter what it was, that he loved him whatever was the awful truth, his father would only sob and weep and sputter, “I’ve made a bad mistake.”

Lewis never learned what his father so secretly and deeply regretted. “But,” he wrote, “it doesn’t matter. Whatever his sin, whatever his secret, I loved him and love him still.”

And that’s what Jesus does. He loves us with a love stronger than sin, a love that is there no matter what. In fact, it’s the love of Jesus that makes our loving possible. In Christ, by the power of his love and forgiveness, we can live in the kind of relationship that God desires for us: relationships that are lasting, life-giving, and loving!

It’s the love of God that melts the hardness in our heart and produces great relationships.

On the night He was betrayed Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it, he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take eat; this is my body.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them saying, “Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the new covenant.” As Christians we are called to a table that celebrates the equal creation of all God’s people. We are called to drink deeply from the cup of forgiveness for the healing of all our relationships. In Christ we become one body and it is in the love of Christ that all love is sustained. Amen.

I Believe We Have Met Before

2009-09-27T09:30:00.000-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

September 27, 2009

Read: Mark 9:38-50

“Whoever is not against us is for us”, Jesus tells us. Mark’s gospel then goes on to talk about what it means for us to be stumbling blocks to new believers. And the cutting off of a foot, the tearing out of an eye. Even though we are quite sure Jesus did not mean this literally, the words remain uncomfortable. And our gospel reading today ends with fire and salt. Fire and salt. Fire can purify, salt can preserve. Salt can also add some savor.

The phrase, “unlimited possibilities” might be a theme of today’s readings. We hear d a portion of the great story of Esther , in which it would seem unlikely that Esther could manage what she did, that Mordecai would be saved from death and that her Jewish people would be saved. But it happened.

And Jesus’ vision is broad where he sees the holiness in human deeds, whether or not they occur in church or are labeled religious. He tells us that “whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because you bear the name of Christ will by no means lose the reward”. Jesus’ vision is broad and inclusive. Whoever is not against us is for us.

So what does that mean? Well, perhaps we end the arbitrary distinctions between “secular” and “sacred” and instead see all of life as holy and whole. We might better answer the criticism of young people that the churches are so bent on internal bickering that they have neglected the needs of the larger world. We might forget our silly distinctions and get on with the important business of bringing water to the thirsty, food to the hungry, attention to the lonely.

Myron Augsburger (Dr. Myron Augsburger is President of Inter-Church and Professor of Theology at Eastern Mennonite Seminary, Harrisonburg, Virginia) shares a story:
Herman Riemple's father was Aaron Riemple. He lived in Gnadenfeldt, Russia. He had a large estate, was a very wealthy Mennonite farmer. He was so well known that the Czar of Russia would come and go hunting on his estate. In the early teens of this century, when the Red and White Armies were battling, they raged back and forth across Gnadenfeldt. One evening Riemple was coming home from the market where he had gotten some things for his wife, and he came by a railroad siding and here was a box car full of people to be shipped off to Siberia, and a man called out and said, "Sir, we're so hungry. We've been in here all day with nothing to eat. Can you help us?"
And Riemple, out of the goodness of his own spirit and heart, went over and shoved his bolognas and his bread and cheese through the slats and the man said, "Thank you."
And Riemple said, "God bless you." And he went on home.

Sometime later the Red Army overran the whole territory. They took a lot of these Mennonite farmers and put them in box cars and shipped them off to Siberia. Now Riemple had lost his estate. He went from wealth to poverty, but he still had his own ingenuity and he was quite an entrepreneur, and in Siberia he began getting tea imported from China, and he was selling tea. But this was contrary to the pattern of the new regime, and he was accused of a kind of capitalism in the midst of the new Marxist pattern of life, and he was brought to trial.

In the trial, of course, the witness was given against him and he was guilty of this capitalism. The Commissar asked him to step forward to be sentenced, and Riemple stepped forward, expecting this to mean his death. The Commissar looked at him and said, "I believe we have met before."

Mr. Riemple said, "Your Honor, I think not."

"Yes," he said, "I think we have. Have you been in Gnadenfeldt?"

"Yes," he said, "I lived in Gnadenfeldt."

The Commissar asked him, "Do you remember one evening when a man called you from a box car and said, `Sir, we've been in here all day with nothing to eat. Would you help us?'"

"Ah, yes," he said, "I remember."

"And what did you do?"

"Why I went over and shoved my bolognas and bread and cheese through the slats."

"And what did you say?"

I said, "God bless you."

The Commissar said, "We have met before. I was that man." He said, "I'm not going to sentence you. If you would like, I will sign papers and you and your family can emigrate."

And Riemple said, "Sir, if you will sign those papers for all Riemples, I've got brothers here with their families." And this whole family immigrated to California. Now little did Aaron Riemple know when he shoved that cheese, bread and bologna through the slats, what would happen in the future, but he did it out of the character of his being, and so I challenge us today to be God's people in truth, to put into practice the quality of the Christian life, to overcome evil by good.”

And he tells another story:

I was walking down the street one day and I met a man sitting on a bench and I stopped to chat with him, and suddenly he said, "Are you a preacher?"
I said, "Well, matter of fact I am."

And then he almost sneered. He said, "Tell me, what difference does it make in my life that Jesus Christ died on a cross two thousand years ago?"

I could have talked to him about some theories of the atonement out of theology, but instead I looked at him and asked, "Do you have some friends?"

"Yes," he said, "I have friends."

I said, "Suppose one gets in trouble."

He said, "You hang in with him."

I said, "It gets really severe."

He said, "You still hang in."

I said, "It gets really rough. When can you cop out?"

He looked at me in amazement and he said, "Man, if he's your friend you never cop out."

Then I smiled and said, "And God came to us in Jesus as our friend, and we're in trouble and He hung in. Our trouble got really difficult, and He hung in. When could Jesus cop out?"

The man looked at me and it was almost as though lights went on in his eyes. He smiled. He said, "You mean that is why Jesus had to die?"

I said, "That's one reason. He came and said, `Your problem is now my problem.'"
He got up from where he was sitting, squared his shoulders and nodded his head and turned and walked down the sidewalk. I watched him go and I said to myself, "Man, you don't know it but you have been evangelized." Once you know a God who says, "Your problem is now my problem," you can never be the same.

And Jesus said, “have salt in yourselves and be at peace with one another.” Amen.

Keep your Dragon in the Snow

2009-09-13T09:30:00.000-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

September 13, 2009

Read: Mark 8:27-38

“But who do you say that I am?” Jesus asks his disciples as they make their way to another village. “But who do you say that I am?”.

When strangers meet, there is a fairly standard ritual followed as they seek to get acquainted. It begins with names, of course. Then follow the questions: where do you live? Are you married and do you have a family? Where did you grow up? What is your job? Where did you go to school? What are you hobbies? A stranger turns into an acquaintance and we get a sense of who the other person is when we gain a context.

But if the relationship develops, there are other insights to be gained: the values that shape behavior and decisions; the vision of success that provides the sense of direction; the awareness of whether the other is trustworthy, whether the other has integrity, whether the other treats people with dignity and compassion. Then an acquaintance turns into a friend. And with further experience, a friend may turn into a life companion.

But there are limits to how much we can know about another person. It seems in everyone there are secrets of the heart that will not be revealed or that cannot be discerned. Even two people who have lived together in a wonderfully shared marriage for half a century and more will find there are surprises in the other, and ever new insights to be gained. It is the wonder of life in human community that people are endlessly fascinating as they express in attitude and in word and deed who they are.

Jesus has been in relationship with his disciples for a while. And now, on the road he asks about what other people are saying and then turns the question on the disciples. “who do you say that I am?”

Peter sees Jesus for who he truly is as he says, “you are the Messiah”. Peter sees. But when Jesus begins to talk about his upcoming suffering and death, Peter is overwhelmed with his own feelings and takes Jesus aside and rebukes him. Jesus, in front of the other disciples, rebukes Peter and says, “get behind me Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

Peter’s great confession and denial both come from the same tongue, the same heart, the same man. In all of us, there is that capacity for both divine things and human things. Peter’s confession and denial both come from the same tongue, the same heart, the same man. We all have the capacity for doing both good and evil. It is the self-discipline of desiring to live a faithful life that helps us keep the lower part of ourselves under control.

There is a fable entitled “Keep your Dragon in the Snow”:

A self-styled dragon hunter went into the mountains to trap a dragon. He searched all over the mountains and at last discovered the frozen body of an enormous dragon in a cave high up on one of the tallest peaks. The hunter brought the body to Baghdad. He claimed that he had slaughtered it single-handedly and exhibited it on the bank of the Euphrates.

Thousands of people turned out to see the dragon. The heat of the Baghdad sun started to warm up the dragon’s frozen body, and it began to stir, slowly awakening from its winter hibernation. People screamed and stampeded, and many were killed. The hunter stood frozen in terror and the dragon devoured him in a single gulp.

Your lower self is like that dragon, a savage tyrant. Never believe it’s dead, it’s only frozen. Always keep your dragon in the snow of self-discipline. Never carry it into the heat of the Baghdad sun. Let that dragon of yours stay always dormant. If it’s freed it will devour you in one gulp.

Thankfully, in Jesus’ wisdom we find the path open to ourselves and to the strength and courage that helps us keep the dragon in the snow. When Jesus spoke to the disciples about his upcoming suffering and death, Peter became afraid. He was afraid of losing Jesus, he was fearful for his own life. That is simply human and normal. He let the dragon temporarily warm up until Jesus called him on it. “Get behind me, Satan”. Jesus was speaking of the selfish words that were spoken out loud.

Jesus suffered and was killed on a cross. It was a death that opened the door for forgiveness and release of our sins. If we take up our cross and follow Jesus, it doesn’t mean a bed of roses for us. It doesn’t mean life will be easy. It means that we can be assured of God’s mercy and lovingkindness toward us. It means that Jesus is with us every step of the way, no matter what. It means that God fully understands any pain and suffering we might endure during this lifetime. It means that God loves us deeply. With an everylasting love.

Thomas Dorsey lost both his wife and newborn son in childbirth. In his grief, he wrote “Precious Lord, Take My Hand”. As I read the lyrics, think about what Dorsey says about hanging on when life gets tough. And how does Dorsey answer the question Jesus put to Peter, “who do you say that I am?”

Precious Lord, take my hand
Lead me on, let me stand
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn
Through the storm, through the night
Lead me on to the light
Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home
When my way grows drear
Precious Lord linger near
When my light is almost gone
Hear my cry, hear my call
Hold my hand lest I fall
Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home
When the darkness appears
And the night draws near
And the day is past and gone
At the river I stand
Guide my feet, hold my hand
Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home
Precious Lord, take my hand
Lead me on, let me stand
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn
Through the storm, through the night
Lead me on to the light
Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home.

And Jesus asks each and every one of us, “But who do you say that I am?”
May we all experience the leading and guidance of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Turn to LEVAS 106 and sing together Dorsey’s truly inspired music.

Allow Time for Breathing Space

2009-09-06T09:30:00.001-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

September 6, 2009

Read: Mark 7:24-37 and James 2:1-17

The story of the Syrophoenician woman is one of my favorites. I appreciate her “hutzpah,” her courage, in speaking boldly to Jesus. And this story is one that has no easy answers when it comes to interpreting the meaning. It involves assumptions about different cultural experiences, socio-economic experiences, etc. We aren’t sure if this was an instance of Jesus caught without compassion when he rudely calls the woman a dog, or if there may have been a smile on his face and he and the woman knowingly bantered for the sake of opening closed minds. We just don’t know for sure.

But, what is evident is that there is communication between representatives of two very different groups of people. Jesus, a male and a Jew and this Gentile, who was also a woman. You may know that a Gentile woman was not permitted to speak openly to a Jewish man. And so there was a breaking down of boundaries that allowed for healing and wholeness to occur. And the deaf man with a speech impediment, who was not able to communicate in the customary way with Jesus, managed to communicate through other people. This was a breaking down of a boundary.

And did you catch the irony in the fact that Jesus heals the man of speech impediment and then tells him not to talk. But they boldly speak of Jesus’ healing.

This morning I want to focus on the ‘breathing space’ in our story. Jesus is confronted with a woman who is outside of the usual circle he moves in. He listens to what she has to say. There is breathing space in the story which gives time for Jesus to fully understand her perspective, her point of view in life. Jesus changed his mind.

The current Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, was in Manhattan on September 11, 2001. He was two blocks from the World Trade Center at Trinity Church preparing to record a program on Spirituality when the towers came down. As the awful events of that morning unfolded, the people at Trinity Church found themselves trapped by the choking cloud of dust and debris. Rowan Williams wrote a small book entitled, Writing in the Dust, as a reflection in the days after September 11. He speaks of having some breathing space in our relationships, in our dealings, with other people, other countries, other cultures. We often assume things about others, that may or may not be truth.

And whether we want to admit it or not, our perception of things is what makes them real for us. Some very simple examples:

When I got my first pair of glasses, I was sure that everyone was staring at me. No one could change my mind.
When we perceive that the room is cold, then it doesn’t matter what anyone else says, we believe it’s cold.
When I begin to think I’m the only person at home who takes out the garbage, I only notice when I take it out. Even if Ronda takes it out twice as much as I do, what I perceive is the only reality I know.

And, our perceptions define our realities. The problem for many of us, I think, is that we don’t often question our own perceptions. Sometimes the only way we can see things differently is through the eyes of an outsider. An expert, perhaps, who comes from out of town to help us do what we already know how to do. Those “on the outside” can see things we can no longer see. Only a visitor to our church, for instance, can tell us how friendly we are to visitors.

Jesus tries to get away by going to a foreign land. An outsider reminds him of the truth he already knows: no one is outside of God’s love. And once he is reminded, he never forgets. The very next story, in fact, is of another outsider who Jesus sees and hears and heals.

The Syrophoenician woman knew that she had everything she needed to take the next step. Her perspective was a perspective of abundance, not scarcity, and with the courage and fortitude of knowing she had SOMETHING going for her, she stepped out in faith and asked Jesus—insisted to Jesus—that he heal her daughter.

Now back to September 11 and Writing in the Dust with Rowan Williams. On page 59 of his reflection he writes:

“The trauma can offer a breathing space; and in that space there is the possibility of recognizing that we have had an experience that is not just a nightmarish insult to us but a door into the suffering of countless other innocents, a suffering that is more or less routine for them in their less regularly protected environments.

And in the face of extreme dread, we may become conscious, as people often do, of two very fundamental choices. We can cling harder and harder to the rock of our threatened identity—a choice, finally for self-delusion over truth; or we can accept that we shall have no ultimate choice but to let go, and in that letting go, give room to what’s there around us—to the sheer impression of the moment, to the need of the person next to you, to the fear that needs to be looked at, acknowledged and calmed (not denied). If that happens, the heart has room for many strangers near and far. There is a global hospitality possible too in the presence of death.”

“Breathing space: if the cross is what we say it is, it requires that kind of hesitation, that kind of silence.”

And Williams also shares: There is the story of the woman taken in adultery which is preserved in John 8. When the accusation is made, Jesus at first makes no reply but writes with his finger on the ground. So, what on earth is he doing? Commentators have had plenty of suggestions, but there is one meaning that seems to me to be obvious in the light of what I think we learned that morning. He hesitates. He does not draw a line, fix an interpretation, tell the woman who she is and what her fate should be. He allows a moment, a longish moment, in which people are given time to see themselves differently precisely because he refuses to make the sense they want. When he lifts his head, there is both judgment and release.

There is breathing space, time. Time for our demons to walk away.

Thiessen has this to say about the Syrophoenician woman:

There is a miracle in the overcoming of a divisive distance: “ the prejudice-based distance between nations and cultures, in which the divisive prejudices are not simply malicious gossip, but have a real basis in the social, economic, and political relationships between two neighboring peoples. The Syrophoenician woman accomplishes something that for us today seems at least as marvelous as the miracle itself: she takes a cynical image and “restructures” it in such a way that it permits a new view of the situation and breaks through walls that divide people, walls that are strengthened by prejudice. ”

Breathing spaces: if the cross is what we say it is, it requires that kind of hesitation, that kind of silence. Time to breathe, time for our demons to walk away.
Amen.

Blessed are the Pure in Heart

2009-08-30T09:30:00.001-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

August 30, 2009

Read: Mark 7:1-8,14-15,21-23 and James 1:17-27

So, this morning we hear Jesus calling the Pharisees and the scribes hypocrites. The word hypocrite originally comes from ancient Greek theatre. It meant to act a part in a play, to pretend, to display a mask. A good definition of a hypocrite is a person who is not, on the inside, what he or she is showing on the outside. In other words the person is incongruent. There's a noticeable inconsistency between what's on the inside and what people see on the outside. Jesus is calling the Pharisees and the scribes hypocrites. It seems a bit harsh, because they were serious about keeping or upholding the law. And it was God’s law – written in Leviticus. The point of being a Pharisee was to be faithful, as faithful as possible to the law of Moses. That wasn't a bad goal; it was a good one. So what’s up with Jesus? What is he saying?

Perhaps Jesus is saying that faith begins to die when it becomes nothing more than a set of rules. A faith that focuses only on rules gets in the way of the relationship that the rules were designed to protect; we can't hear God speaking to us in the present, because we are so absorbed in our efforts to embody perfectly what God has said to us in the past.

Jesus goes on to say that it is the “inside” of us that matters. That what comes from within us is the real problem, or perhaps is the real solution. To be congruent, or authentic, is what is important to living a life of faith, to being in relationship with others, to being in community. Mother Teresa has said that if you judge people, you have no time to love them. And there is that wisdom about point a finger at our brother or sister. When you point that finger, there are three others pointing right back you. Jesus is calling us all to self-reflection, self-observation. Jesus is calling us to be exactly who we are at this point in time. It is recognizing and accepting who we are as a human being that is the beginning of true life.

So let’s go back to that definition of hypocrisy – presenting ourselves one way to the rest of the world, while covering up who we really are and what is really going on in our life.

Suze Orman, financial planner and author of "The Courage to be Rich", tells of her successful career that went through a period when it was unsuccessful. During that time she struggled to save face, to maintain an image of success. She continued to entertain her friends at fine restaurants, and to drive her luxury car to keep up the image of a successful professional. The truth was that every dinner, every car payment, every tank of gas was taking her deeper into debt. When she developed the courage to talk about the harm that trying to maintain an image caused, she began to truly help other people and create success for herself and others.

And another, older example….On one occasion Stephen Douglas sneeringly referred to the fact that he once saw Abraham Lincoln retailing whiskey. "Yes," replied Lincoln, "it is true that the first time I saw Judge Douglas I was selling whiskey by the drink. I was on the inside of the bar, and the judge was on the outside; I busy selling, he busy buying."

The story is told of an old man who said, "When I was young, I wanted to change the world. I found I could not do that, so I tried to change my community. I found I could not do that, so I tried to change my family. I found I could not do that, so I decided to let God change me." The strange thing is, God did change that man, and as a result, the world was changed. It became a better place.

Jesus is offering us a deeper relationship with him. Jesus wants us to be who God created us to be. Jesus is changing hearts today, at the price of his cross. He waits for us there.

A young rabbi went to serve his first synagogue, and he noticed that on the first Sabbath, when he said the prayers, the congregation on the left side of the synagogue stood at the beginning of the prayers, and the congregation on the right side remained seated. The young rabbi thought this was a little odd, but continued to say the prayers. After the first couple of petitions, he noticed a murmuring, which intensified as he continued the prayers. Finally, it got loud enough that he was able to make out some of the words.

The murmuring in the congregation was a disagreement between the two halves of the congregation; the left half was saying that in this synagogue the tradition was that the congregation stood during the prayers, and the right half was saying that in this congregation the tradition was that they sat during the prayers.

As the prayers continued, the voices got louder, until finally the rabbi stopped because he was sure that God was the only one who could hear him anymore.

Hoping that this event was due to having a new rabbi (and attempting to influence him), the young rabbi did not discuss it with anyone, but the next Sabbath, it happened again. The argument once again got so loud that the young rabbi stopped before he had finished his prayers - people were actually yelling at each other. The tone had gotten rancorous, and each side of the congregation started to engage in accusations of heresy and other name-calling.

The young rabbi looked up the elderly rabbi who had served this congregation for years, and told him what was going on. The question he asked at the end of his story was, "So is it the tradition of the congregation to stand during the prayers?"

The older rabbi stroked his beard and replied, "No, that has never been the tradition of that congregation."

"So the tradition is that they remain sitting during the prayers?"

The older rabbi looked off into the distance, as if remembering the good years serving God as a rabbi and said, "No, that was never the tradition of that congregation either."

The young rabbi threw his hands in the air in exasperation, and said, "There must be some solution to this! The way things are now, they just end up screaming at each other during the prayers."

The old rabbi's face lit up in a smile as he lifted an admonishing finger to the sky and said, "Yes! That was our tradition!"

God is more concerned with who we are on the inside than the outward ceremonies we observe. You can pray standing up or you can pray sitting down and still never really pray. You can wash your hands a thousand times and still have sin in your heart. You can sing every song in any hymnal and still not know God. You can worship on red carpet all your life and never really experience holy ground. It's not the outward form of the tradition that matters; it's what lies in our hearts that counts. It’s the Why are you doing it question. The Bible tells us that God's concern is with the inward self, not the outward appearance. If you look up the word "heart" in a concordance, you'll find passages like these: "Man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart." "He knows the secrets of our hearts." "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me." "Blessed are the pure in heart." And so on.

God wants to do a new thing today, and we need to be open to it. What worked yesterday may not have power for today. We live in a new day with new challenges, and we need to hear the word of the Lord for today. Let’s be open to the newness of God’s mercy, grace, love.

Paul said in Philippians 3:13, "Forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus."

Let's be open for God to do a new thing in our lives. Amen.

The Whole Armor of God

2009-08-23T09:30:00.000-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

August 23, 2009

Read: Ephesians 6:10-20 and John 6:56-69

Once again we hear Jesus speaking about eating his flesh and blood, which we understand in a spiritual sense. In today’s gospel, Jesus says that the words he has spoken are spirit and life. Spirit and life. Key words to living a life that is truly alive in Christ.

We also hear today in Ephesians, Paul giving us an example of what it might look like to prepare or pray or be in relationship with God in a way that helps us to live that Christian life. Paul says, “be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power. Put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.”

I’m the first to admit that I don’t particularly like war language, or thinking of the Spirit, the Word of God, as a sword. When I hear this language it makes me think of all the holy wars of the past as well as the holy wars that are still being waged by major religions today. Holy wars can be one of the biggest arguments against organized religion. Finding a passage that could be and probably has been used to justify them is not what I am looking for in the Bible. So, I have to ask, is that what this passage is doing? Is that what God intended us to understand? Because whether or not I like it, I have to deal with this stuff if I am a serious follower of Christ.

You may not be surprised to hear me conclude that I don't think it is. In fact I think it is an anti-violence passage. It is the armor of God we are to wear instead of the armor of human institutions. This passage was not written to a military superpower. It was written largely to the persecuted of Paul’s time. It was written to those without much human power letting them know that they had an even greater power than did their foes. It was written during a time of great human violence. People could relate to this language.

Let’s also remember that this passage instructs us that our enemies are not those of flesh and blood. That is not whom we are to fight. Instead, we are to recognize a cosmic struggle of the heavenly powers and principalities. In this struggle, it is our moral choices, our willingness to speak truth and our telling of the way of peace that will matter. It is our realization that God has saved us from a pointless existence of violence and meanness and called us to the beauty of love that will give us the strength to endure and not become consumed by the evil around us.
But Paul’s real focus in this passage in Ephesians is not actually the identity or nature of the opposition, it is on how we should prepare ourselves so that we will be able to hold our ground in the struggle. And this is where the rubber really hits the road for us. We all know that the easiest way to live is to just conform with the norms and expectations of the society we live in. The more we try to model our lives on Jesus Christ, the more we are going to be seriously out of step and it is going to be tough. Just holding our ground is going to come at a cost, let alone making significant progress. In a world where deception, negativity, meanness, stepping on someone else to get ahead, I could go on…when those seem to be the norm, it can be tough and downright painful to stand firm in kindness, gentleness, truth, justice, righteousness, all of those attributes of a spiritual life.

So, the image Paul uses to describe how we should prepare ourselves is the image of a patrol of peacekeepers getting dressed and armed for dangerous duty. He says we are going to need all the arms God gives us, but the armor and weapons he describes are truth, justice and righteousness, a passion for peace, faith, salvation, and a knowledge of the Word of God.

Paul describes each of them in turn, but then he says that the most important part of our preparation is prayer. It is no use having all the armory if you’ve never been in training and have no idea how to use it. You’ll just panic at the first outbreak of trouble and turn and run. And you may not have noticed, but Paul didn’t describe any protection for your back. If you turn to run, you’ll be totally defenseless. Like Jesus himself, we are called to be Christ-like while remaining engaged with the world, not to run away and create a Utopia in isolation from the world. So pray. Pray long and pray hard, because when all hell breaks loose, nothing else will enable you to stand firm.

Kobutsu, from The Engaged Zen Foundation (Heron Dance Interview (Issue 13, February 1997) had this to say about “practice”, as in practicing a spiritual life, in an interview.

“Practice has been described by a Tibetan teacher as the wearing out of a old pair of shoes. Wearing the soles thin. Wearing through ego and delusion. You may approach Zen thinking that you are going to become enlightened, become a great teacher and have fantastic powers that people will respect. Doing the practice, you come to realize that you don’t give a damn whether people respect you or not. You really don’t want to be a great teacher. What you want is to be helpful. To be of assistance – a benevolent entity.”

I love that – a benevolent entity. It is what Paul is describing in putting on the whole armor of God. Finding the power and strength of God’s Spirit, through prayer, to keep us alive in our spiritual lives - in our journey toward God.

Benevolent people stand firm in their Christian identity. There is a difference between being stubborn and standing firm. Paul is not asking us to be stubborn, wedded to an opinion, rooted in prejudice, or close-minded. But he is asking us to stand in something that is not transient, something that is transcendent and renewing. This means being willing to be humble and to risk being unpopular. A stubborn person will not listen to ideas that differ from her own. A stubborn posture rejects alternatives out of hand and refuses, regardless of the situation, to change one’s position. Stubbornness is not self-or-other discerning – it is not benevolent. It is not informed and it does not grow. It is enshrined in a closed circle of certainty and becomes fearful, boisterous and one-dimensional. The stubborn heart and mind are impervious to reason and may constitute one way to hide insecurity.

Standing firm is different. Standing firm means that one is willing to debate, listen, and consider alternatives in order to reach a beneficial goal, while at the same time not sacrificing basic principles. Martin Luther King, Jr. stood firm on nonviolence. Margaret Sanger, the twentieth-century suffragette, stood firm on women’s rights. Nelson Mandela stood firm and resolute against apartheid. Robert Sobukwe stood firm as he faced the evils of imprisonment under apartheid. All stood firm against injustice.

Standing firm gives the struggle purpose and us meaning. So, in the midst of controversy we might ask, “is the price to be paid worth the struggle?” Sometimes, in the midst of struggle and fatigue, we may find our strength renewed. We may find ourselves assessing and reassessing our situations and coming to new resolve. Surely, during the twenty-seven years of his imprisonment, Nelson Mandela became discouraged. But he found strength to hope. He stood firm in his convictions. Such spiritual struggle requires discipline. Preparing ourselves inwardly and prayerfully for the outer struggle. The outer struggle, the struggle against the principalities and powers will test our inner resolve again and again . So, dear friends, let’s put on the whole armor of God and live a life that is alive in the spirit of Christ.

M23 U.S. Army Cartridge Belt - $100.00
Bullet proof vest - $399.00
Ballistic Entry Shield - $424.99
Combat Assault Helmet - $399.00
Seal Combat Knife - $161.95
The Whole Armor of God – Priceless.

The good news is that God never ceases to offer fresh opportunities to assess our situation, to grow and deepen our spiritual lives. Amen.

The Spiritual Life is a Process

2009-08-16T09:30:00.000-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

August 16, 2009

Read: John 6:51-48 and Ephesians 5:15-20

Our gospel reading from John for today is a little disturbing. And it’s meant to be. The idea of eating Jesus’ flesh and blood conjures up thoughts of cannibalism. His words would have been equally offensive to the Jewish people that he was addressing at the time. So, we can be relatively sure that Jesus’ intent was to disturb us, to cause us to think much more deeply about the meaning of his words.

We can surmise now that Jesus was speaking metaphorically about his death, about the sacrifice of his very life for all the world. He was speaking about the spiritual nature of his life and his death and his glorious resurrection. And what that means for all of us.

There is an ancient legend of a man with a scarred face who, in trying to hide his scars, had a mask made to cover his face. The mask appeared as a saint. He winds up falling in love in the legend. Years later his past is revealed, and in an attempt to reveal what he really looked his mask was ripped away. What they saw was a face, his face that had taken on the form of the saint's face.

We become what we habitually imitate. We become what we make ours just as the bread we eat. The thoughts that fill our minds, the loves that fill our souls--these are creating who we are. If we fill our hearts and minds with the trivial, the faddish, the debase, we're making ourselves a smaller person. That is why it's so important what role models we choose for ourselves and our children. We will become the patterns by which we live. If we fill our hearts and minds with God's Word and attempt to love as he loves and to care as he cares, we are creating a soul for eternity. We are becoming imitators of God.

There is the old story of the farmer and his mule. In order to save money, he tried mixing in sawdust with oats. About one-fourth seemed to work. Then he tried half. That seemed to work, so then he tried three-quarters, which seemingly had no effect. The farmer went to all sawdust. Two days later the mule died. The farmer commented, "That mule ate himself to death."

We must be cautious on what is filling our lives. At first it may not seem to matter, but what we are filled with will be what we are.

Jesus is offering his life to fill our souls. His bread, his body, his blood, his drink. And the one who eats this bread from heaven will live forever.

I have a friend, Rod, who loves to paddle down rivers in his canoe. And he recently wrote about how the currents in wild rivers are similar to the currents in our spiritual lives, in our creative lives, in our relationships. The currents are often stronger than we are, we cannot outpower them. All we can do is tune in to them and exercise leverage at the crucial points on the journey.

He writes, “There is usually more than one water path through a rapids, but usually one is deeper than others and requires fewer turns. Streams of water move through rapids at different speeds. Rocks, the bend of the river, the different depths across the breadth of a river, all affect the speeds of the water paths. If part of the canoe is in one water path, and part in another, the current will exert conflicting pressures on the canoe’s hull. In harmony with the river’s flow, the paddler uses the differing currents as part of the turning strokes. Out of harmony, the river turns the paddler. That’s rarely good”.

It’s rarely good when we make a choice to fill our lives with sawdust. We all have scars that we wish we could hide. We need the true bread of life that God offers us through Jesus Christ.

We are welcoming Aiden Palmer Brown into the community of faith today through baptism. We will give thanks for the gift of water and all that that water represents – the promise of new life. And we will renew our own Baptismal Convenant. Seeking the choice to look for God in our lives. Seeking choices that fill our souls with the bread of heaven. Seeking choices that heal our wounds. Seeking choices that contribute positively to the world in which we live.

My friend also writes, “to connect with the currents moving through your life, or with the currents moving through a rapids, you need to move slower than the energy flows. There are just too many haphazard rocks around to move faster than the current. If you go with the flow and leave your speed up to the river, the river will determine where your canoe goes and it will go into rocks. In life too, I don’t want circumstances to determine my path. I want to get a lot out of life, and that takes vision, effort and courage.”

We are faced with choices every day. May we be granted the grace to put our paddles into the deep water path that is the force and movement of God in this world. May we tap into that strength and stand firm knowing that a decision made for the Kingdom of God, is a decision that we will not regret. May we continue to feed on the bread from heaven that keeps us strong and sure of our current in life. May we make that melody referred to in Ephesians, that melody to the Lord in our hearts, giving thanks to God the Father at all times and for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

The spiritual life is a process, not an event. It takes time and love and help and care. It takes our patient presence. It takes our energy and commitment.

God loves us so deeply, so completely, that he gave his Son, Jesus Christ to the world. Thank God! Amen.

Remember Whose Child You Are

2009-08-09T09:30:00.002-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

August 9, 2009

Read: John 6:34, 41-51

Jesus says, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty”. Bread and water. The basics for sustaining life – physical life. But we know that Jesus is referring to something deeper than a physical life, he is referring to our spiritual lives. That to taste of Jesus is to know life – true life – vibrant life.

He says this about himself, “I am the bread that came down from heaven” and what happens? They began to complain. The Israelites were famous complainers, but they are hardly alone. We are all tempted to feel abandoned when life becomes difficult -- and to challenge the scriptures and historical Christian beliefs when they run counter to popular culture -- and to complain, to complain, when God fails to meet our expectations. When life becomes difficult, we complain.

In his book, Growing Spiritually, E. Stanley Jones tells of a guide taking his group through a grand cavern. There were many beautiful stalactites hanging from the roof and stalagmites growing up from the floor. The stalactites and stalagmites are formed by water dripping from the ceiling. Each drop of water, having percolated through layers of rock, had a tiny amount of minerals dissolved within. As those drops of water dripped from the stalactites (the ones that hang from the roof), each one deposited a molecule or two of mineral on the stalactite or the stalagmite. Over the years, those little bits of dissolved mineral formed those beautiful stalactites and stalagmites -- some of them many feet in length.

But the guide told them that the water traveled through the center of the stalactites -- not on the outer surface. He said that when that channel becomes clogged, that stalactite stops growing.

Stanley Jones commented that we are like that. Many people "are spiritual stalactites with channels clogged." He went on to say, "We need perpetually to get rid of the things that clog mind and spirit."

Our center, the bread and water that feeds our center, comes from God. Jesus is the bread of life and whoever believes in him will never by thirsty.

The influence that this food can have on us appears in a Chinese story originally told by Linda Fang. [She presented this story at the Smithsonian Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Washington, D.C., March 19, 1988.]

At the foot of a great mountain in China lived a father and his three sons. They were a simple and loving family. The father noticed that travelers came from afar eager to climb the dangerous mountain. But not one of them ever returned!

The three sons heard stories about the mountain, how it was made all of gold and silver at the top. Despite their father's warnings, they could not resist venturing up the mountain.

Along the way, under a tree, sat a beggar, but the sons did not speak to him or give him anything. They ignored him.

One by one, the sons disappeared up the mountain, the first to a house of rich food, the second to a house of fine wine, the third to a house of gambling. Each became a slave to his desire and forgot his home. Meanwhile, their father became heartsick. He missed them terribly. "Danger aside," he said, "I must find my sons."

Once he scaled the mountain, the father found that indeed the rocks were gold, the streams silver. But he hardly noticed. He only wanted to reach his sons, to help them remember the life of love they once knew. On the way down, having failed to find them, the father noticed the beggar under the tree and asked for his advice.

"The mountain will give your sons back," said the beggar, "only if you bring something from home to cause them to remember the love of their family."

The father raced home, brought back a bowl full of rice, and gave the beggar some as a thank-you for his wisdom. He then found his sons, one at a time, and carefully placed a grain of rice on the tongue of each of them. At that moment, the sons recognized their foolhardiness. Their real life was now apparent to them. They returned home with their father, and as one loving family lived happily ever after.

Today we gather in this church to receive a reminder of home, a taste of food that will help us remember who we are. I mean the bread of life, our Father's gift to us. This is the food of God's kingdom, and reminds us that this kingdom is our true home.

We need this reminder of heaven because we are like the sons in the story. We have left home to climb a fascinating mountain. We are unwilling -- or unable -- to return home. And so our Father grieves for us. Our absence fills his heart with sadness.

What is the mountain we have climbed? It is the mountain of illusion. We know that many have lost their way there, yet we insist on exploring it.

Jesus finds us where we are, and places on our tongue a particle of that food from home. We recognize our foolishness, how we have left home and come to a lifeless place. At the same time, we remember our true home. Once again we can smell it, taste it, see it.

The heavenly bread we receive in the Eucharist helps us come to our senses. We recognize both our disorientation and our Father's invitation to return home.

It would seem like a nice ending if we then left the mountain and went to live forever in a loving family. But while we still draw breath, the time to do so has not yet come.

What happens instead is that we realize our Father is with us right here on the mountain. Because he is present, we are home already. No longer is this mountain simply a place of darkness and danger. Once we eat what he gives us and open our eyes, we discover that even this mountain shimmers with the light of heaven.

Home is where the Father is, and since he is with us, we are home already. Again and again we eat the bread of life, lest our eyes grow dim and we fail to see his splendor, lest our minds grow dark and we forget the joys of home.

The kingdom of heaven is here and now. What does that mean?

Thich Nhat Hahn writes - Many years ago, I met a young American named Jim Forest. Jim is an intelligent man, and he asked me to teach him about the practice of mindfulness. One time when we were together, I offered him a tangerine. Jim accepted the tangerine, but continued talking about the many projects he was involved in -- his work for peace, social justice, and so on. He was eating, but, at the same time, he was thinking and talking. I was there with him. I was really there; that is why I was aware of what was going on. He peeled the tangerine and tossed the sections of it into his mouth, quickly chewing and swallowing.

I said to him, "Jim, stop!" He looked at me, and I said, "Eat your tangerine." He understood. So he stopped talking, and began to eat much more slowly and mindfully. He separated each of the remaining sections of the tangerine carefully, smelled their beautiful fragrance, put one section at a time into his mouth, and felt the juices surrounding his tongue. Tasting and eating the tangerine that way took several minutes, but he knew that we had time for that. We he finished eating, I said, "Good." I knew that the tangerine had become real, the eater of the tangerine had become real, and life also had become real at that moment. What is the purpose of eating a tangerine? It is just for eating the tangerine. During the time you eat a tangerine, eating the tangerine is the most important thing in your life.

The next time you have a tangerine to eat, please put it in the palm of your hand and look at it in a way that makes the tangerine real. "You do not need a lot of time to do it, just two or three seconds. Looking at it, you can see a beautiful blossom with sunshine and rain, and the transformation of the baby fruit into the fully developed tangerine in your hand. You can see the color change from green to orange, and you can see the tangerine sweetening. Looking at the tangerine in this way, you will see that everything in the cosmos is in it: sunshine, rain, clouds, trees, leaves -- everything. Peeling the tangerine, smelling it, and tasting it, you can be very happy....

One day, an American scholar told me, "Don't waste your time gardening, growing lettuce. Write more poems instead. Not many people can write poems the way you do, but anyone can grow lettuce." That is not my way of thinking. I know very well that, if I do not grow lettuce, I cannot write poems. For me, eating a tangerine, washing dishes, and growing lettuce in mindfulness are essential to writing poetry. The way someone washes the dishes reveals the quality of his or her poetry. - Thich Nhat Hanh, Mindfulness and Meaningful Work: Explorations of Right Livelihood

Jesus is the bread of life. Remember whose child you are. You belong to God and God loves you so deeply that He sent his Son so that we might have life and not just life, but abundant life. Amen.

Do Not Be Afraid

2009-07-26T09:30:00.000-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

July 26, 2009

Read: Ephesians 3:14-21 and John 6:1-21

Miracles. Today we hear of two of Jesus’ miracles stories. The feeding of the 5000 and walking on water. The feeding of the 5000 is the only one of Jesus’ miracle stories that makes it into all four gospels – Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. That is significant. So what is the message or messages in this story. What do you think of?

Oh, this story reminds me of so many things. You see, I'm always amazed how God takes whatever little we have and does a great thing with it, over and over again. The Bible is full of stories like that. Do you remember Moses holding only a shepherd's staff and God asking him, "Moses, what do you have?" "Only a stick, Lord." And in the service of God, a mere shepherd’s staff did a mighty thing. Oh, the Bible is full of stories about God taking something very little and doing a mighty thing. Like little boy David with only a slingshot and a pebble and at the service of God, that pebble felled a mighty giant.

It is the power of God that fills people with what they need and sees that there is plenty left over. In a world where we are told repeatedly that there is not enough to go around, God gives face to the lie by feeding a large crowd with what appears to be a meager amount. What would a world grounded in an understanding of abundance look like in comparison with one based on fears of scarcity?

Fear. We hear today Jesus saying, “It is I; do not be afraid.” The most frequent saying of Jesus in the New Testament is, "Do not be afraid." Jesus walks over a sea that has risen up because of a strong wind. In John's Gospel, Jesus does not calm these rough seas—instead, he walks over them, accompanying and comforting those who are frightened in the boat.

“It is I; do not be afraid.” In Ephesians we hear a prayer asking that we all know what is the “breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that we may be filled with all the fullness of God. And that we, by the power at work within us, are able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine.” Abundance. Not scarcity – abundance. Far more than we can ask or imagine.

There is enough. In fact, there is more than enough. Jesus knows this, but nobody else seems to. Why would they? They can count—five loaves and two fish versus all those people. So it's just Jesus and the little boy against all the voices of common sense.

There is a tension in our life between responsibility and vision. Understanding what has been and holding on to that which seems to have worked and a new vision for the future. A future, that by definition, is unknowable. Where do we obtain the courage to step out in faith?

Through a radical trust in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Through trusting that he will be with us through it all, storm-tossed or not. We will Wade in that Water of life, knowing that God’s love is abundant. We will open our hearts to let Jesus in. We will open our eyes to see the extraordinary in our ordinary lives. It is there. It is present.

Gerda Weissman Klein spent six years in a Nazi death camp. Hollywood made a documentary film – “One Survivor Remembers” – of her experience. The film won an Oscar for best documentary.

Gerda had this to say about those years. She said:

“Most people think the Holocaust camps were like snake pits—that people stepped on each other for survival. It wasn’t like that at all. There was kindness, support, understanding.” She continued: “I often talk about a childhood friend of mine, Ilse. She once found a raspberry in the camp and carried it in her pocket all day to present to me that night on a leaf. Imagine a world in which your entire possession is one raspberry, and you give it to a friend. Those are the moments I want to remember. People behaved nobly under unspeakable circumstances.”

There is something of worship or prayer in laying down an offering at someone’s feet and then going away quickly. The nicest gifts are those left, nameless and quiet, unburdened with love, or vanity, or the desire for attention.

Writer Anne Lamott tells of her profound experience of Christ indwelling in her. She was unmarried, pregnant, and decided to have an abortion. She coped with the pain in her usual way, by smoking dope and getting drunk. When she started hemorrhaging a week later, she sobered up fast.

It was that night she became aware of someone in the room with her. She writes, “the feeling was so strong that I actually turned on the light for a moment to make sure no one was there—of course, there wasn’t. But after a while, in the dark again, I knew beyond any doubt that it was Jesus.” What she felt was appalled. In her circle of family and friends, nobody was a Christian. They were all like the Ephesians: worldly, sophisticated, and in need of no one but themselves. But Jesus remained in the corner, ‘watching me with patience and love, and I squinched my eyes shut, but that didn’t help because that’s not what I was seeing him with.”

She had been going to church for some Sundays, drawn in to a funky little church mostly by the music. The next Sunday she went back. She could not escape the feelings. “It was as if the people were singing in between the notes, weeping and joyful at the same time, and I felt like their voices or something was rocking me in its bosom, holding me like a scared kid, and I opened up to that feeling—and it washed over me.”

When she got home to her houseboat, she opened the door, hung her head and said to Jesus, “F--- it: I quit.” She actually said this out loud: “All right, you can come in.”

Anne let Jesus into her heart.

We seem to be immersed in a culture that has all but lost the capacity to wonder. A people grown skeptical about the extraordinary is likely to miss the extraordinary that lies within the ordinary. Elizabeth Barrett Browning said this:

Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes----

Truth is, we have closets packed with thousands of excuses why our boats are too small to sail in the big, deep side of the ocean called life. So often we opt for the safer floating along in the shallow end of the predictable, taking no risks, never going outside our comfort zone, never befriending anybody who does not look like us and think like us and believe like we do. But the real and deeper Truth is that Jesus is with us on that deep side of the ocean called life. And he is saying to each and every one of us, “It is I; Do not be afraid”. Trust that God’s power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine. Offer Jesus whatever you have, no matter how small or insignificant you believe it is. God can work miracles. To Him be glory forever and ever. So, wade in the water, children. Wade in the water. Amen.

Herod's Dilemma

2009-07-12T09:30:00.000-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

July 12, 2009

Read: Mark 6:14-29

So. John the Baptist’s head on a platter. This is an uncomfortable story. One that has been referred to as a ‘text of terror’. We are faced with the dark side of human life, in this case we are recounting Herod’s adultery with his brother’s wife and the imprisonment and execution of John the Baptist.

Consider the personal and social dilemmas in which Herod finds himself in this passage. He is trying to negotiate complicated relationships within his own household and society and discovering that it is difficult to please everyone around him and still uphold his own personal standards. He is at odds with his wife over John the Baptist and odds with John over his wife. He is eager to appear a generous and trustworthy leader and troubled by his daughter’s request for John’s execution. His relationship with John evokes mixed feelings of fear, perplexity and protectiveness. Herod is conscious of how social perceptions shape one’s possibilities in life, yet he is also seeking some measure of truth by which to guide his life choices. He is caught in a web of relationships that seem to render him a “reactor” instead of an “actor” in the drama of life.

I think we can all understand Herod’s dilemma. This story is extreme to make the point clear. But, daily life often presents personal and spiritual dilemmas for us to negotiate. For a harried mother of a toddler, there is the questions of how best to love and parent a child in the face of a defiant “No!” and a full-fledged temper tantrum in aisle 6 of the grocery store at the end of a long day. A corporate executive wonders how her announcement of a long-awaited pregnancy will affect her employees’ perceptions of her as an effective boss. A stay-at-home dad wrestles with the whispers of former colleagues that he just couldn’t handle the pressures of work. Teenagers experience the angst of competing for acceptance in desirable social cliques, of serial broken hearts in the complex world of adolescent dating, of familial tensions over privileges and responsibilities. Younger children long for popular toys advertised on television, worry about parental fights and the potential, or actual, breakup of their families, and wonder if the trouble they have learning multiplication tables or basic grammar means they are stupid. Across the lifespan, persons question who they are and how they should act as life pushes and pulls them in conflicting directions. And, as in the story of Herod’s struggle, there are lives at stake as they decide which actions they will take. Will they be a reactor or an actor in the drama of life.

The challenge is in deciding which decisions to make. Good faith or bad faith decisions? “Bad faith” decision making is easier to identify in the story of King Herod because we read this story in the context of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus and know that Herod is making a mistake. The challenge for us, the body of Christ, is to read our own decisions in light of that same story and ask ourselves whether the choices we are making are self-protective, in other words, are they made out of fear, or are they part of God’s transformation of the world.

I have a friend, Rod, who paddles down rivers in his canoe. And he recently wrote about how the currents in wild rivers are similar to the currents in our spiritual lives, in our creative lives, in our relationships. The currents are stronger than we are, we cannot out power them. All we can do it tune in to them and exercise leverage at the crucial points on the journey.

He writes, “There is usually more than one water path through a rapids, but usually one is deeper than others and requires fewer turns. Streams of water move through a rapids at different speeds. Rocks, the bend of the river, the different depths across the breadth of a river, all affect the speeds of the water paths. If part of the canoe is in one water path, and part in another, the current will exert conflicting pressures on the canoe’s hull. In harmony with the river’s flow, the paddler uses the differing currents as part of the turning strokes. Out of harmony, the river turns the paddler. That’s rarely good.

It’s not good in Herod’s story either. Herod was out of harmony with God’s plan, and societal pressures turned him. Had he gone with the Spirit’s flow, he would have trusted that part of him that did not think it right to kill John the Baptist. Remember, he was perplexed, he liked to listen to John. Truth has that kind of affect. But what decision is finally made? Herod made a ‘bad-faith’ decision. In our story today he is remembering John when faced with Jesus. Perhaps he is looking for a second chance. Perhaps he regrets the poor choice and is hoping for that second chance.

My friend also writes, “To connect with the currents moving through your life, or with the currents moving through a rapids, you need to move slower than the energy flows. There are just too many haphazard rocks around to move faster than the current. If you go with the flow and leave your speed up to the river, the river will determine where your canoe goes and it will go into rocks. In life too, I don’t want circumstances to determine my path. I want to get a lot out of life, and that takes vision, effort and courage.”

We are faced with choices every day. May we be granted the grace to put our paddle into the deep water path that is the force and movement of God in this world. May we tap into that strength and stand firm knowing that a decision made for the Kingdom of God, is a decision that we will not regret. And when, by chance, we do make those ‘bad-faith’ choices, may we trust in the God of second chances and of new life.

Flow, river, flow. Amen.

Shake Off the Dust and Go On

2009-07-05T09:30:00.001-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

July 5, 2009

Read: 2 Corinthians 12:2-10 and Mark 6:1-13

One of my favorite pieces of scriptures today is from 2 Corinthians – “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” Comforting words when I know that I have failed. Somehow God’s grace will be sufficient in the midst and God’s power made perfect in the weakness.

And in Mark’s gospel today we hear about Jesus’ poor reception in his hometown. He was rejected. He could do no deed of power there. And Jesus sends his disciples out two by two and gives them authority over unclean spirits. He orders them to take nothing for their journey. That is quite an order. They are being asked to be vulnerable. No back-up plan in case things don’t go well in one of the communities they visit. What if they are rejected, what if there is no place they are welcome to rest for the night? Jesus gives instructions....”If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet..” In other words, don’t carry any baggage with you as you move on in life. Don’t hang on to those negative feelings, to that rejection, let it go, shake it off. Begin again. Don’t let a seeming failure stop you in your tracks. Continue the journey in trust and faith in our God.

In 1961, the Swedish warship Vasa broke the surface of the water after 333 years on the bottom of the sea. Divers had discovered the ancient wooden vessel just a few years before. When it was built in 1628, the Vasa was a marvel of the latest technology. It was the atomic bomb of its day, the biggest and mightiest of warships with two decks and 64 massive cannons. The Swedish king was in a desperate fight with Poland and was eager to have the new weapon involved in the war.

On Sunday, August 10, 1628, the beaches around Stockholm were filled with spectators and foreign diplomats eager to watch the maiden voyage of the mightiest ship ever built. The voyage was to be an act of propaganda for the ambitious Swedish king.

The Vasa set her sails, fired a salute and made her way into the harbor. But after only a few minutes of sailing the ship began to heel over. She righted herself slightly, and then heeled over again. Then to everyone's horror and disbelief, the glorious and mighty warship suddenly sank killing about fifty of the 150 people aboard.

Many people wondered why the Vasa sank. Deep down in the Vasa several tons of stone were stored as ballast to give the ship stability, but it was not enough to counterweight the guns, the upper hull, masts and sails of the ship. As it turned out the plans used for building the Vasa were intended for small ships with only one gun deck. Because the Vasa had two gun decks with heavy artillery higher on the ship than ever before, the standard calculations did not apply. When the ship began to heel over, water poured through the open lower gun ports and quickly sank the ship. (From the web site for the Vasa Museum, www.vasamuseet.se, June 17, 2000)

So now they have raised the Vasa and made it into a museum. Modern day Swedish children can see this ancient vessel that was supposed to be the most glorious warship of its day, but instead it became the biggest failure of the day. I think it is wonderful that there is such a museum -- a museum to failure.

Can you imagine how embarrassing this episode was for everybody involved? It was a horribly public failure. But then, many of us can understand because we have known failures that were almost as public as this one.

Failure is a word that strikes fear in the heart of everybody. Our society has become so success-oriented that we have very little tolerance for failure.

If you live long and attempt much, you will run up against failure. People fail every day. They suffer from failed relationships, failed marriages, failure at work and failure in health. Most of us can identify with failure, and we know from experience that failure is hard to cope with in a world like ours. When we fail at something, most of think of it as the ultimate and irreversible tragedy of all time. We see it as the one aspect of life from which there is no reprieve and no reversal.

I find it interesting that in our passage for today Jesus both experienced failure himself and expected his disciples to fail.

Jesus prepares them for failure when he says, "If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them." Jesus makes it clear that they will not be insulated from failure just because they are going in his name. In fact, Jesus knows that failure will be a real possibility, so he provides his disciples with a sacrament of failure - shaking the dust off their feet.

Jesus' inauguration of a "sacrament of failure" does not mean that he is sending the disciples out to fail. Rather, he is showing them how to carry on in the face of failure. Nobody likes to hear they are going to have to face failure in life. But understanding how Jesus provided all Christians with a sacrament of failure can empower all of us to carry on when we fail.

In his book A Theology of Failure, John Narrone says, "A theology which takes failure seriously does not encourage fatalism, passivity, indifference to the world; rather it affirms that the man who cannot freely lay down his life is one whose ideals and values are already compromised." (John Narrone, A Theology of Failure [New York: Paulist Press, 1974], 11).

Jesus tells his disciples that they should not fear failure, He says to shake off the dust and go on.

Sometimes our highest hopes are destroyed so that we can be prepared for better things. The failure of the caterpillar is the birth of the butterfly. The passing of the bud is the blooming of the rose. The death of the seed is the prelude to its resurrection as wheat. Someone has said that plants grow best in the darkness of night just before dawn. Our failures can be the door to a new success.

The name of John James Audubon is forever associated with the magnificent paintings he made of the birds of North America. No one else has so accurately painted the birds and the natural environment in which they were found. It might not have happened had he not gone bankrupt in business! In 1808, he opened a store in Louisville, Kentucky. It was after he went bankrupt in 1819 that he began traveling and painting birds. We are all richer because of his business failure (Ministers Manual 1991, p. 320).

Shake off the dust and go on.

Sometimes we get stuck it a rut and it takes failure to jolt us out of the routine so that we can be truly creative. An adventurous life requires risk-taking. Great courage is needed to face real change. A great failure can be the influence that enables us to risk and change.

When we listen to the exalting music of Handel's Messiah, we usually assume it was surely written by a man at the pinnacle of his success, but that is not the case. In fact, it was written after he had suffered a stroke. It was written while Handel lived in poverty amid bleak surroundings. He had suffered through a particularly deep night of gloom and despair over his failure as a musician, and the next morning he unleashed his creative genius in a musical score that continues to thrill and inspire us generations later (Peter Rhea Jones, Ministers Manual 1991, p. 58).

Shake off the dust and go on.

Failure is not the end of the world. Failure is not a debilitating disease that ruins us for eternity. In fact, we should not be afraid to fail. We should expect failure at times. Then exercise Jesus' ritual of failure - shake the dust and go on.

Take comfort in our Lord’s words to us – “My grace is sufficient for you.” Amen.

Appearances Can Be Deceiving

2009-06-14T09:30:00.001-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

June 14, 2009
Read: 1 Samuel 15:34-16:13; 2 Corinthians 5:6-10 and Mark 4:26-34

Today we are hearing in our scripture stories about how appearances can be deceiving—that what we see on the outside may not necessarily be what lies within. We heard “for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” And, “We walk by faith and not by sight”. And then there is the mustard seed, a very tiny seed that contrasts with the size of the shrub when it is given the opportunity for growth.

And with regard to the mustard seed, John Crossan makes a good point about the interpretation:

[The point] is not just that the mustard plant starts as a proverbially small seed and grows into a shrub of three or four feet, or even higher, it is that it tends to take over where it is not wanted, that it tends to get out of control, and that it tends to attract birds within cultivated areas where they are not particularly desired. And that, said Jesus, was what the Kingdom was like: not like the mighty cedar of Lebanon and not quite like a common weed, like a pungent shrub with dangerous takeover properties. Something you would want in only small and carefully controlled doses. If you could control it.

Jesus said that the kingdom of God is so small and inconspicuous that we are unlikely even to notice its presence in our midst. It's like a mustard seed -- almost invisible. Would you notice a mustard seed on the sidewalk as you walked down the street? Probably not! Would you notice a mustard seed if a bird happened to drop one in your garden? Probably not!

But Jesus warns, "Look out! That little seed -- tiniest of seeds -- is going to take root. At first, you will hardly notice the little sprig of green
in the corner of your garden, but the mustard shrub will soon be several feet tall. The bird that dropped that seed into your garden will come and sit in the shade of the mustard shrub's branches.

Jesus was telling us that, just as there is unbelievable power in the workings of a simple mustard seed, so also there is unbelievable power in the workings of the kingdom of God.

Can we open ourselves up to see the presence of the Kingdom of God in our midst? Can we see beyond the exterior, the obvious, to what lies within, beneath, behind or beyond? We hear in 2 Corinthians that “If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see everything has become new!”

How does that transformation occur? Like the growth of the mustard plant, perhaps slowly and mysteriously, with God’s great grace. We are not removed from the real, everyday world as Christians, we are called to transform our worlds, to see our reality in a different light; in a new light. Stephen Covey writes of the 90/10 principle. That 10% of life is made up of what happens to you. 90% of life is decided by how you react. We have no control over 10% of what happens to us. How we react, how we see ourselves in the midst of those unforeseen, uncontrollable events is important. It is a matter of experiencing life through the eyes of faith.

Parker Palmer writes on matters of faith and life and how the two intersect. In his book The Active Life he describes going on an Outward Bound course:

“I took the course in my early forties, and in the middle of that course I was asked to confront the thing I had fears about since I had first heard about Outward Bound: a gossamer strand was hooked to a harness around my body. I was backed up to the top of a 110-foot cliff, and I was told to lean out over God’s own emptiness and walk down the face of that cliff to the ground eleven stories below.

I remember the cliff all too well. It started with a five-foot drop to a small ledge, then a ten-foot drop to another ledge, then a third and final drop all the way down. I tried to negotiate the first drop; but my feet instantly went out from under me, and I fell heavily to the first ledge. “I don’t think you quite have it yet,” the instructor observed astutely. “You are leaning too close to the rock face. You need to lean much farther back so your feet will grip the wall.” That advice went against my every instinct. Surely one should hug the wall, not lean out over the void! But on the second drop I tried to lean back; better, but not far enough, and I hit the second ledge with a thud not unlike the first. “You still don’t have it,” said the ever-observant instructor. “Try again.”

Since my next try would be the last one, her counsel was not especially comforting. But try I did, and much to my amazement I found myself moving slowly down the rock wall. Step-by-step I made my way with growing confidence until, about halfway down, I suddenly realized that I was heading toward a very large hole in the rock, and—not knowing anything better to do—I froze. The instructor waited a small eternity for me to thaw out, and when she realized that I was showing no signs of life she yelled up, “Is anything wrong, Parker?” as if she needed to ask. To this day I do not know the source of my childlike voice that came up from within me, but my response is a matter of public record. I said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The instructor yelled back. “Then I think it’s time you learned the Outward Bound Motto.” Wonderful, I thought. I am about to die, and she is feeding me a pithy saying. But then she spoke words I have never forgotten, words so true that they empowered me to negotiate the rest of that cliff without incident: “If you can’t get out of it, get into it.” Bone-deep I knew that there was no way out of this situation except to go deeper into it, and with that knowledge my feet began to move”.

Author Brennan Manning has made the observation that in everyone’s spiritual journey there is that first moment when we believe, when we stand before a congregation, or privately before God, and profess our faith. But that is only the first step, says Manning, because in the spiritual life there is always a second step, when we come to trust God walks beside us through all the peaks and valleys of our lives. This is where the journey of subtraction will end, as Meister Eckhart suggests, when we are able to lean upon a God as near to us as our very breath, dwelling inside us, waiting to be discovered so that the work of re-creation and transformation can begin.

Jesus lets us in on an astonishing secret. God has chosen to change the world through the lowly, the unassuming and the imperceptible …. That has always been God's strategy -- changing the world through the conspiracy of the insignificant. He chose a ragged bunch of Semite slaves to become the insurgents of His new order.... And, who would have ever dreamed that God would choose to work through a baby in a cow stall to turn the world right side up? It is still God's policy to work through the embarrassingly insignificant to change his world and create his future.

In Christ we are a new creation. So, lean back, knowing that your feet are on solid ground, on rock – a firm foundation is Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.

Trinity Sunday - The Holy Spirit is Like a Tide

2009-06-07T09:30:00.001-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

June 7, 2009 (Trinity Sunday)

Read: John 3:1-17

Several years ago in San Diego, a ship strayed off course and became stuck in a reef at low tide. Twelve tugboats were brought in. They attached cables from the tugs to the ship and tried to pull it, but that did not work. Then the tugs moved to one side and tried to push the ship off the reef. Black smoke was belching everywhere. The water around the big vessel had turned to a white foam with the twelve tugs pushing with all their mighty power against the ship, but they could not budge it! Finally, the captain instructed the tugs to back off. He sighed, "I'll just be patient and wait." He waited until high tide. Eventually, the ocean began to rise, and what human power could not do, the rising tide of the Pacific Ocean did by lifting the ship and putting it back into the channel. The water was the visible instrument, but the invisible tide provided the power.

It seems that the Holy Spirit is like that tide--not so much seen of itself, but nevertheless a power at work in the world. Today is Trinity Sunday. And the Trinity is description we came up with to attempt to explain the concept of how God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit are, at the same time, three in one. It is God in relationship, a mysterious relationship. St. Augustine has written of the Trinity as "The Lover, the Beloved, and the Love who binds all together in One."
The encounter with God will always remain deeply mysterious: "The wind blows where it chooses." It cannot be caught securely in the nets of dogma or liturgy or spiritual practice. Human language is inadequate to describe our understanding and relationship with the mystery that is God, and sometimes the more analytical we are, the less we allow ourselves to enter into relationship.

So I’m not going to try to be analytical about God relationships. Let me share some stories about the one who meets God. The transformation of our life, the "new birth," relationship: Relationship that is given life-new life- through the power of the Holy Spirit. The relationship that is born of God, through Jesus Christ, by the power of the Holy Spirit:

A mature, well-dressed Wall Street banker had car trouble on his way to work one morning in the Bronx, and he ended up taking the subway. Naturally, the subway crowd showed no more respect for him than anyone else, so he got pushed and shoved in normal style. He was annoyed and very irritated. Finally, he couldn't stand being quiet about it any longer. He turned to a guy in overalls, carrying a lunch box and hanging on to the strap next to his, and said, "You know, I hate this subway. I hate being jammed in here with all these people. As a matter of fact, this is the first time I have been compelled to ride it in over ten years." At which the guy in overalls replied loudly, "Mister, you couldn't possibly have the slightest idea of just how much we've missed you." When we are self-absorbed we think that what is happening to us is all that matters.

On the other hand, the person whose nature is being moderated by the Holy Spirit, is moving from concern for self to consideration of others. A higher nature begins to show. In his book, On Being a Real Person, Harry Emerson Fosdick wrote: "A great day comes when a man begins to get himself off his hands. He has lived, let us say, in a mind like a room surrounded by mirrors. Every way he turned he saw himself. Now, however, some of the mirrors change to windows. He begins to get out of himself--no longer the prisoner of self-reflections but a free man in a world where persons, causes, truths, and values exist, worthful for their own sakes. Thus to pass from a mirror-mind to a mind with windows is an essential element in the development of real personality. Without that experience no one ever achieves a meaningful life." God's Spirit moves us beyond ourselves. Those who are responding to the Spirit of God are discovering that their attitudes are changing from self-absorption to concern for others.

Another way that God's Spirit becomes evident is in changed actions. People who are not open to God's Spirit are afraid to open themselves to love because love can be costly. After reading Ernest Hemingway's first book of stories, D. H. Lawrence said that the moral of the stories could be characterized like this: "Avoid one thing only: getting connected up (to anyone)." Scott Donaldson, in a study of Hemingway, says that that really was his philosophy. Hemingway once fired a babysitter because his sons were starting to care for her too much. Hemingway said that you could only love a person so much, but then you had to stop or you'd get hurt.

Doestoevsky, in his novel, The Brothers Karamazov, counters that idea when he writes: "Love all of God's creation, the whole and every grain of sand in it. Love every leaf, every ray of God's light. Love the animals, love the plants, love everything. If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery of things. Once you perceive it, you will begin to comprehend it better every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an all-embracing love." Love is evidence of the presence of God's Spirit.

Those who are being led by the Spirit of God, are learning to act in the interest of others. It is that kind of action that makes us useful. I heard a basketball coach give a speech a few years ago in which he was describing the characteristics of his players. Of one of them, he said, "This person is not a great player, but he is a good player. He is the kind of person who can give other people the ball. He makes others look good. Such people are necessary for team spirit. They make us a good team." As the Spirit gains ascendancy in our lives, we can give up being hotshots who need all the glory and put our efforts forth for the common good.

Not only do we become useful when we act in behalf of others, our own lives are enriched. How cramped our lives are when all we can rejoice in are our own achievements or good fortune. How numerous, on the other hand, are our opportunities for rejoicing, if we will allow ourselves to enter into the good fortune of others. Those of us who are parents know how enlarged our lives become when we enter into the victories of our children and grandchildren. If we could also learn to identify with the good fortune of our neighbors, or with the hometown boy who made good, or with the Californian who has made a discovery, or with the American who has landed on the moon, or with the human being who has won the Nobel Peace Prize--how filled with good will our world would be and how much happier our own lives.

Of course, our natural attitudes and actions do not change quickly. Indeed, they only change at all because God's Spirit fills our lives with something beside ourselves.

In the movie "Rain Man," a selfish, hustling salesman discovers that his wealthy father has died and left him only a 1948 Buick. He discovers further that he has an institutionalized, autistic, older brother who has been left three million dollars. He takes his brother away from the place where he is cared for in an effort to make himself guardian, and thereby gain control over his brother's inheritance. Daily he learns how much care his brother needs and how ill-prepared he is to provide it. Little by little he becomes more concerned for his brother's well-being and less concerned with himself. The self-concern which has dominated his life is replaced by genuine love and affection for another. And he becomes a decent human being in the process.

In such a way God's Holy Spirit fills our lives, changes our attitudes, changes our actions, and helps us to discover a new affiliation--that we are children of God. As Paul says, “...all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God.” (Romans 8:14) The Holy Spirit may not be something we can see, but like the rising tide, we can tell where it is active. All we have to do is to look for the rising tide of love in our midst. Amen.

(Note: stories taken from a sermon by Dr. David Rogne)

The Holy Spirit as our Advocate

2009-05-31T09:30:00.001-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

May 31, 2009

Read: Ezekiel 37:1-14, Acts 2:1-21 & John 15:26-27; 16:4b-15

Last Sunday we heard about the Ascension, when Jesus rose into the air and seemingly disappeared. We talked about God not saying goodbye, but saying Hello in a new and different way. We talked about it being an exchange. Jesus’ Ascension was necessary in order for the coming of the Holy Spirit. And today, is that great feast of Pentecost. Also called the birthday of the church, because of the coming of the Spirit marked by wind and flame.

The decorations and toys all have something to do with the flames and the wind. In our reading from Ezekiel, we heard about the dry bones. And God’s breath giving those dry, dry bones life. New life. “Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.” And in Acts, when they were all together in one place, suddenly “from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind” and “Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them”.

So what does that seem like to you? Does it seem calm, quiet, meditative, serene? I don’t think so. Pentecost is our reminder that there is another side to God’s Spirit – one that can set us on fire, transform our lives, turn the world upside down. It is not predictable. It is risky and it is beyond our control. And thank God for that! When we think of the Spirit, we remember that “the wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.”

In John’s gospel today, Jesus is telling us about this arrival of the Spirit – he will send an Advocate. Other words for the Greek, parakletos, are: comforter, helper, counselor, “one called to assist another”, advocate. What does that mean for us? To have the Spirit’s presence with us always as an advocate. There is a story that illustrates a bit of what that means for us.

A woman named Linda set out in a little Honda Civic to drive from Canada to Whitehorse, Alaska. She stayed overnight in a motel, and asked for an early morning wakeup call. The clerk looked surprised when she asked for that early morning wakeup call, but she couldn't imagine why. But the next morning, when she got up, she understood. The place was totally "socked in" by fog.

She went to the restaurant for breakfast, and two truckers asked to join her. They asked where she was going, and she said, "Whitehorse." The truckers laughed, and one of them said, "Whitehorse! In that little Civic! No way! The pass is dangerous in weather like this."

But she said she had to get there, so the trucker said, "Then I guess we're just going to have to hug you."

Linda said, "Don't you touch me!"

But the trucker said, "Not like that! We'll put one truck in front of you and the other in back, and we'll get you through the mountains."

So Linda spent the morning following the two red taillights of the truck in front of her -- and had the comfort of knowing that there was another truck following her -- and they made it through the mountains.

Those truckers were Linda's Paracletes -- her buddies -- her helpers -- her Comforters.

A precious gift that we all receive is the Holy Spirit. Pentecost is a day about celebrating that Spirit and remembering that we need to allow that Spirit to move and breathe within us and through us. The Spirit gives us the power and the courage to speak our own voice; to be our authentic selves.

The Holy Spirit, the advocate, comes to stand with us and within us as we face the world. The Holy Spirit does not come to give us an excuse for not acting, but rather gives us the power to act. It is not the comforter who pats us on the back and assures us that all will be well, but rather the comforter that pushes us along with words of encouragement. "Go ahead, you can do it."

The advocate is not one who stands in our place, but stands alongside of us and helps us find the words to speak and the approach to take. It is the coach who keeps us focused and on track. The spirit of God comes in so that we may speak out and proclaim the good news of salvation.

Rubem Alves, a liberation theologian from Brazil, says that, “Hope is hearing the melody of the future. Faith is to dance to it.” The Spirit calls us to imagine this world as it should be, to hear the melody of God’s future. And to dance to it.

But that can be intimidating, can’t it. What if we don’t hear the melody and don’t know the steps. And what if we begin to dance to the melody of the future and someone tells us that we’re doing it all wrong? What if we begin to dance to the melody of the future and someone laughs at us, calls us naïve, or drunk, or worse? What if we begin to dance to the melody of the future and we realize that we’re out there all alone? What if we begin to dance to the melody of the future and it sweeps us away, overcomes us, changes our lives and our outlook altogether? (1)

The prophet Joel, as quoted in Acts today, talks about young men and old men, sons and daughters, slaves seeing visions and dreaming dreams.

In the book, Animal Dreams, by Barbara Kingsolver, Codi, who has gone back to her hometown to face her past, corresponds with her sister Hallie, who has gone to teach agriculture to the peasants of Nicaragua during the time that the United States is sending millions of dollars to the Contras. Codi is proud of Hallie, but is scared for her, too, and in one of her letters she writes:

“I feel small and ridiculous and hemmed in on every side by the need to be safe. All I want is to be like you, to be brave, to walk into a country of chickens and land mines and call that home, and have it be home. How can you just charge ahead, always doing the right thing, even if you have to do it alone with people staring? I would have so many doubts—what if you lose that war? What then? If I had an ounce of your bravery, I’d be set for life. You get up and look the world in the eye, shoo the livestock away from the windowsill, and decide what portion of the world needs to be saved today..”

Hallie, in her return letter to Codi, writes this:

“Codi, here’s what I’ve decided: the very least you can do in your life is to figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under it’s roof. What I want is so simple I almost can’t say it: elementary kindness. Enough to eat, enough to go around. The possibility that kids might one day grow up to be neither the destroyers nor the destroyed. That’s about it. Right now I’m living in that hope, running down its hallway and touching the walls on both sides.”

Remember Linda in her little Honda Civic winding her way in the fog, through the dangerous pass, but being “hugged” all along the way. May we be open to the Spirit moving in and through us. May we trust that our Advocate, the Spirit, will be with us as we step out in faith and do a little dancing in our lives.
Breathe on us breath of God! Amen.

(1) The Rev. Cindy Weber, taken from a sermon on desperate preacher site 2008

Jesus' Ascension

2009-05-24T09:30:00.001-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

May 24, 2009 (Ascension Sunday)

Read: Acts 1:1-11 and Luke 24:44-53

Today we mark one of the great and often neglected festivals of the church: the festival of the Ascension. It winds up getting neglected, because it’s fixed on a Thursday, 40 days after Easter. That’s because of the note in Acts that Jesus appeared to his disciples for that period of time after his resurrection.

So it’s often neglected, we moved it to Sunday so it wouldn’t be neglected—and it’s great, because our Lord’s Ascension is worth celebrating, it’s a cosmic event.

Truly, cosmic, I mean, in Acts, we just heard that Jesus was speaking to the apostles and as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. In Luke’s gospel, as He was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven.

Did you notice the disciples in this story? One more time, they just don’t get it! They’ve heard the promise of Jesus, that they would receive his power. They were reminded that they are called upon to tell the story of Jesus near and far, to the ends of the earth. They were given a clear and specific task.
And what did they do? Did they spring right to attention, hustle into action, getting right to their work?

Nope! They gazed into heaven, their eyes glued to the spot where they had last seen Jesus.

Artists who have portrayed this story in paintings and woodcuts have not only pictured Jesus’ feet disappearing into the clouds--many of them have also shown us something else. If you look closely at these paintings and woodcuts—not up in the clouds, but down on the ground—you will see footprints on the earth. Some artists have painted indentations in the rock. Others have etched black and white footprints on the ground not far from where the disciples are standing with their mouths open. Perhaps the artists simply have been imagining details that are not in the text. Or, perhaps, they keep pressing us with the question asked long ago: “Why do you stand looking up toward heaven?”

What would you do? And, what difference does it make? What does it mean for us? What’s the benefit of Jesus’ departure, leaving the disciples—the church—alone?
That’s where the Ascension gets puzzling!

A colleague of mine describes what many of us feel about absence:
When someone leaves us there is crisis. Absence creates a void. What will fill it? Absence means silence-awesome, lonely, gaping silence. No wonder we fear it, avoid it, cling to the presence, do anything to avoid good-bye. (1)

Jesus who called, taught, turned water into wine, and raised the dead is gone. I bet they had a thousand questions to ask too. "What’s to become of us?" "Yes, you told us that you won’t leave us orphans, but can we be sure?" Presence gives way to awful absence.

Something deep down in us resists the move from presence to absence. When someone is present to us, our space is filled, we are not alone. There is conversation and communion. When someone leaves us, there is crisis. Absence means silence--lonely, gaping silence.

One thing is for sure--we had better get accustomed to bidding farewell. Life is a series of leave-takings, of movement from presence to absence. Carly Simon sings, "Nobody ever stays in one place anymore..You say hello, but I say good-bye."

We honestly need God when it comes to hellos and good-byes. Our faith used to be embodied in words like the English, "good-bye”, the Spanish "adios", the French "adieu." They all imply that when we part--in that moment between here and not here, between presence and absence, we'd best give someone to God when we can no longer hold them ourselves. Good-bye means God be with you.

So really Jesus' good-bye turned out to be God's big hello! The real story goes like this: God never left. Never moved. Never said farewell. God simply made an equal exchange. A shift in the plan. For tucked right smack in the middle of our lesson from Acts are these words:

...when the Holy Spirit comes upon you,
you will be filled with power,
and you will be witnesses for me in Jerusalem
and in all of Judea and Samaria,
and to the ends of the earth,"

So, far from saying goodbye, God is saying hello in a big way. God is no longer contained to a single person, in a single location on planet earth. By coming into our very lives, God now wants to work through us, giving us the power to live out our faith, to share the Good News, and to grow in our relationships.

Also, because God says hello with the giving of the Spirit, it means that we can say goodbye. We can say goodbye to our attempts to cling to the past, to cling to people, to structures, to old ways of thinking and doing, and even to our comfort zones.

We can follow God's Spirit as the Spirit moves among us to give us greater mission, clearer vision, and the power to do what we've never done before. As we follow the lead of God's Spirit we may also have to risk walking down new paths at times.

But the bottom line is that far from a goodbye, God has granted us the Spirit of Jesus and that means that we are filled with power to follow in our Lord's footsteps--to be in joyful mission to a hurting world. In the midst of our current crises and periods of transition, let us on this day embrace and celebrate God's great big hello, the giving of God's Comforter and Encourager. For we are the people of God, empowered by the Spirit of Jesus. Amen.

(1) William Willimon, “Good-Bye,” Pulpit Digest (May/June 1991), page 19

My Mother Would Prune Me

2009-05-10T09:30:00.001-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

May 10, 2009

Read: John 15:1-8

Happy Mother’s Day! I found a short history of Mother’s Day that I thought you might find interesting:

The earliest Mother's Day celebrations can be traced back to the spring celebrations of ancient Greece in honor of Rhea, the Mother of the Gods. It was a pagan celebration. As Christianity spread throughout Europe the celebration changed to honor the "Mother Church" - the spiritual power that gave them life and protected them from harm.

During the 1600's, people in England celebrated a day called "Mothering Sunday". Celebrated on the 4th Sunday in Lent, "Mothering Sunday" honored the mothers of England. During this time many of England's poor worked as servants for the wealthy. On Mothering Sunday the servants would have the day off and were encouraged to return home and spend the day with their mothers. A special cake, called the mothering cake, was often brought along to provide a festive touch.

Over time the church festival blended with the Mothering Sunday celebration as people began honoring their mothers as well as the church.

In the United States, Mother's Day was first suggested in 1872 as a day dedicated to peace by Julia Ward Howe (she also wrote the words to “The Battle Hymn of the Republic”). Howe held organized Mother's Day meetings in Boston every year.

In 1907 Ana Jarvis, from Philadelphia, began a campaign to establish a national Mother's Day. She persuaded her mother's church in Grafton, West Virginia to celebrate Mother's Day on the second anniversary of her mother's death, the second Sunday of May. By the next year Mother's Day was also celebrated in Philadelphia.

Jarvis and her supporters began to write to ministers, businessmen, and politicians in their quest to establish a national Mother's Day. It was successful as by 1911 Mother's Day was celebrated in almost every state. President Woodrow Wilson, in 1914, made the official announcement proclaiming Mother's Day a national holiday that was to be held each year on the second Sunday of May.

There you have it, the story behind our celebration of Mother’s Day.

Today we celebrate Mother's Day, and with this day we remember the countless ways that mothers and maternal figures in our lives have shared love with us.

So with all of that in mind, what, pray tell, is our primary text for this Mother’s Day? The Gospel of John’s metaphor of God the vinegrower pruning branches on the vine.

Well, that’s interesting. I don’t know about you, but I don’t find a knife wielding mother particularly comforting. Maybe it’s just me, but I immediately started hearing the theme music from the movie Psycho. The whole concept of “pruning” is not necessarily one that we would connect with motherhood. At least not at first. But let’s think about this. Jesus says, “I am the true vine” and God is like a mother who lovingly and carefully tends the vineyard garden. She wants the vineyard to grow and be prosperous so she removes every branch from the vine that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit she prunes carefully, constructively, and surgically to make it bear more fruit.

The pruning metaphor works best if we think of God as a gardener who grieves while watching a violent storm rip through her beloved garden. Afterward, she tenderly prunes the injured plants in order to guarantee survival and to restore beauty and harmony. But we can’t confuse pruning with the crises that overtakes us. No, pruning has more to do with clearing away the debris those crises leave behind.

And there’s one particular brand of crisis that continually calls for pruning. It’s the self-imposed crisis. It’s when we mess up. It’s when we sin that we need pruned the most (Walter Wink, "Abiding, Even Under the Knife," Christian Century, April 20, 1994).

My mother would prune me.

Now I don’t know how your mother handled discipline, but my mother was pretty good at it. Let’s just say I gave her lots of practice. My mother was very good at staying calm and with a very non-anxious voice she would cut me down to size. But that wasn’t the good part. The good part was the way my mother practiced the art of accountability. Her criticism was always to the point. The sin was clearly pointed out. But there was also affirmation of some good that I could build upon. In other words, my mother would prune me. She would acknowledge my inherent worth but help me clear away the debris in my life, the things that were unhealthy and only holding me back.

Needless to say, this was not always a painless procedure. But nothing that involves a pruning knife ever is. Yet there’s a big difference in the way a knife is handled. There’s also a big difference in the kind of knife used! My mother’s acts of pruning were more surgical scalpel than slashing machete. Which I am very grateful for.

And yet we all know what it’s like to have someone come at us with the slashing machete. Criticism is not something we deal well with to begin with. So when the criticism is not constructive, when it’s leveled with malice, when it is used to tear down instead of build up we are left bruised and bloodied. Intellectually we may know that this unconstructive criticism is without merit and should be dismissed, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting right in the gut.

If God’s tender upbuilding pruning is the model then that is what we should expect from one another and what we should extend to one another.

The other side of the coin is true as well here. When we are called upon to be critical, do we seek to prune in love, or do we go Psycho shower scene. If God’s tender upbuilding pruning is the model then that is what we should expect from one another and what we should extend to one another.

But it’s more than just an individual thing. When Jesus says, “you are the branches” that “you” is plural. Together we are a branch.

A man once planted cucumbers in his backyard. He had made sure that the ground was well prepared. He bought the best cucumber seedlings and set to work with the skill of a man who had planted cucumbers for many seasons. To his delight, soon he had cucumber vines all across his back yard. The plants were green and healthy. One day, he noticed that some of the leaves didn’t look as green as the others.

Not many days later, some of the leaves were as good as dead. He followed the vines with the dead leaves until he got back to the main plant. There at the base of the main stem he noticed that some kind of grub had almost eaten through the stem. The cucumber plant was dependent on the main stem for water and nourishment. Life giving juices flow from the main stem to the branches and enables high-quality delicious fruit to appear. It's not possible to produce fruit without being connected to the stem. Even though the man had cultivated the ground carefully and watered daily, the cucumber vines were unable to receive that goodness and so withered and died.

Harry Emerson Fosdick wrote: We ask the leaf, "Are you complete in yourself?" And the leaf answers, "No, my life is in the branches." We ask the branch, and the branch answers, "No, my life is in the root." We ask the root, and it answers, "No, my life is in the trunk and the branches and the leaves. Keep the branches stripped of leaves, and I shall die!" So it is with the great tree of being. Nothing is completely and merely individual.

Once upon a time a man dropped out of church. He figured he could worship God just as well on his own. A few weeks went by and the minister came to visit. They sat in the living room by the fireplace and made small talk. Then the minister took the tongs and picked up a glowing ember and placed it to one side of the hearth. The two men watched without saying a word. In no time, it began to cool. A few minutes later, the minister picked up the dead ember with his fingers and pitched it back into the fire. Immediately, it came back to life. Without a word, the minister put on his coat and started to leave. The man walked him to the door and said, “That was one of your best sermons. I’ll see you in church this Sunday.”

Jesus said,

“I am the vine, you are the branches.
Abide in me and bear much fruit,
for apart from me you can do nothing.”

The Good Shepherd vs. Hired Hands

2009-05-03T09:30:00.001-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

May 3, 2009

Read: Psalm 23 and John 10:11-18

We heard a great deal about shepherds in our scriptures for today. And, not surprisingly, today is referred to as “Good Shepherd Sunday”. Psalm 23 tells us that “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not be in want. ..he leads me beside still waters. He revives my soul”. And in John’s gospel, Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd.”

Today, let’s consider the difference between good shepherds and hired hands; that is, between those who care out of a genuine sense of compassion and love, and those who care because of the benefits, either real or perceived.

John begins with “I am the good shepherd”. What we need to know is that, in Jesus’ day, the term, “good shepherd,” would have been heard as an oxymoron – a contradiction of terms. In Jesus’ day, shepherds were anything but good. They lived as nomads, grazing their sheep on other people’s land. The life of a shepherd was anything but picturesque. It was dangerous, risky and it was menial. Shepherds were rough around the edges, spending time in the fields rather than in polite society.

And so, for Jesus to identify himself as a shepherd is quite remarkable. It goes along with his willingness to befriend the outcast, touch the leper and eat with tax collectors and sinners. It speaks of Jesus’ humility, to become as one of us in order to redeem us from our sinful nature and give us grace to become more like him. Paul said it best when he wrote to the Philippians,

“ … Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped,
but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave …” (Phil. 2:6-7)

Or, in the case of today’s text, taking the form of a shepherd.

All this is to say, we don’t have to be perfect in order to walk in Jesus’ company, he meets us where we are. The Good News is, we’re accepted, zits and all.

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” That is what makes him good, according to John—his willingness to get involved, to risk his life for the life of his flock. His flock. Not somebody else’s flock, which he gets paid five dollars an hour to look after, but his own flock—the one he has invested his time in, the one he has doctored and protected, the one he has come to develop a relationship with. He cares deeply, he loves, his flock. He is invested in his flock in more ways than one.

His sheep are his livelihood, for one thing, but they are also his extended family. They know his voice, his touch, his walk. If they are grazing with a thousand other sheep and he calls them, they will separate themselves from the crowd and follow him home. His flute is the sound of safety for them—the sound of still waters and green pastures. He knows them too, by name and disposition: Houdini, who is always escaping from the flock; Pegleg, who limps from the time she stepped in a hole; Bossy, who likes nothing better than butting heads.

There is something about a sense of ownership here that creates a certain kind of relationship. The ownership is not about mere possession, but about being bound to something beyond ourselves, about identifying with it so strongly that it becomes part of us. When it is threatened, we defend it as if we were defending our own bodies, and sometimes that can get us into trouble.

Barbara shares a story about visiting a friend in California not too long ago. They met at the airport and as they were getting into the car to leave, my friend opened his door so wide that it whacked the sideview mirror of a red sports car parked next to it. There was no harm done, but the owner of the sports car happened to be sitting inside of it at that time, and when he heard the whack he exploded out the driver’s door.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he yelled at my surprised friend, at which point his friend jumped out of the car and said, “Don’t you talk to him like that! It was an accident, for crying out loud, and you can see for yourself that nothing’s broken.”

“I’m talking to him, not you, buster,” the man said furiously.

“Yeah, well, when you’re talking to him, you’re talking to me.” My friend’s friend said, and the man backed down.

Say what you will about brawls in airport parking lots, there is ownership in that statement. “when you’re talking to him, you’re talking to me.” There is intimate relationship in that, full willingness to risk one’s own safety in order to defend someone else’s. Not because he can’t take care of himself, but because you care for him—you are connected to him, and you know it.

We all deserve to have someone in our lives who will say, “when you’re talking to him, you’re talking to me.” Someone who will tear her clothes off and dive into the water when what is disappearing down the river happens to be us. That is agape, self-giving love, the kind of love the good shepherd practices and the kind he teaches.

If the shepherd had been a hired hand, we would not even know his time. A hired hand would have taken one look at the wolf, or the river current, or the bully, and vanished….because a hired hand does not care for the sheep; he does not involve himself so deeply in their lives that he risks his own to protect theirs. He minds his own business. He takes care of himself.

The good shepherd, on the other hand, lays down his life for the sheep. He cares deeply. The good shepherd is calling and inviting us into a close and loving relationship with himself. Jesus desires to know us and be known by us. Jesus longs to be our leader, to be our guide, to be our friend and our protector.

When was the last time you listened for that voice?

He’s calling today. Amen.

Jesus Was the Talk of the Town

2009-04-26T09:30:00.000-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

April 26, 2009

Read: Luke 2:36b-48

Jesus was the talk of the town! Everyone wondered what the events in Jerusalem meant. What were they to make of the disaster of that Friday and the mystery of that Sunday? And now rumors abounded that Jesus was still alive.

The disciples and the others gathered in Jerusalem were immersed in chaos and confusion—fear, frustration, guilt, grief, doubt, anxiety, suspicion, distrust, restlessness, despondency and terror. Their leader was dead, and his wounded body missing. And, in the midst of their confusion, out of nowhere, Jesus himself appears!

Jesus shows up, providing words of comfort, assurance and chastisement. “Peace be with you” was followed by “why are you freaking out?”. As he had done so many times in Luke, Jesus asked what was for dinner! It was the same Jesus, yet different—once dead but now alive, caring yet still fussing. Jesus acted as if nothing had happened—he seemed normal, natural, just what they had come to expect.

Yet the appearance of Jesus after his cry of abandonment, the giving up of his spirit, and being laid in a tomb is anything but normal, natural, or expected. Earthly, human power had triumphed over him. The high priest, the scribes, the elders, the skeptics, and the curious had all condemned Jesus as a scoundrel and blasphemer—guilty as charged! The governor, the Roman soldiers, interested bystanders, and criminals had condemned Jesus as a traitor and a rebel—guilty as charged! Even God seemed to confirm the verdict, with no rescuing angels, no last-minute acquittal, no surprise witnesses to change the verdict—guilty as charged! According to the law of the day, Jesus got what he deserved. This should be the end of the story.

I’d like to share a poem entitled Dying from the Cold Within, the author is unknown:

Dying from the Cold Within
Six humans trapped by happenstance, in bleak and bitter cold.
Each one possessed a stick of wood. Or so the story's told.
Their dying fire in need of logs, The first woman held hers back,
For on the faces around the fire, She noticed one was black.
The next man looking cross the way, Saw one not of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give, The fire his stick of birch.
The third one sat in tattered clothes, He gave his coat a hitch,
Why should his log be put to use, To warm the idle rich?
The rich man just sat back and thought, Of the wealth he had in store.
And how to keep what he had earned, From the lazy poor.
The black man's face bespoke revenge, As the fire passed from his sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood, Was a chance to spite the white.
And the last man of this forlorn group, Did naught except for gain.

Giving only to those who gave, Was how he played the game.
The logs held tight in death's still hands, Was proof of human sin.
They didn't die from the cold without, They died from the cold within.

Is this the end of our story? Dying from the cold within? It wasn’t the end of Jesus’ story. We are surprised. The disciples and the others were surprised, startled and terrified. Just when we think the story is over, God has something to say. It’s not about us. It has always been about God and continues to be so. It has always been about God’s purposes, aims and agendas for creation—repentance that leads to forgiveness of sins and the wholeness of creation.

The risen Christ appears to groups and couples to assure them that he lives; to teach them to put their fear and doubts in the context of God’s grand plan; to open their understanding of the Scriptures; to commission them as witnesses of all that God has done and is doing in the world. The defense is sure—Christ is risen!

A Civil War story: Robert E. Lee once visited a woman in Kentucky after the hostilities ceased and found her mourning the remains of a grand old oak tree that had stood in her front yard for who knows how long. Its limbs and trunk had been destroyed by Union artillery fire. She waited for Lee to condemn the North or at least commiserate with her. But he did nothing of the kind. All he said to her was, “Cut it down, my dear madam, and forget it.”

There’s a wonderful story about a church custodian’s discovery one Monday morning when he went to clean the sanctuary. Instead of finding the usual fare - forgotten Bibles, umbrellas, bulletins covered with children’s drawings, and torn-up notes the teenagers had passed to each other instead of listening to the sermon - he found something very different indeed.

In a middle pew on the right side of the church lay a discouraged man’s anger towards God. On the back left pew sat a woman’s profound disappointment and fear over an uncertain future. Further down the pew lay a middle-aged father’s feelings of failure. Across the aisle the custodian found a young couple’s lukewarm commitment. On the front row he discovered an old man’s fear of death. In the corner, so small he could barely see it, lay a young person’s sins. On other pews he found jealousy, bitterness, pride, fear and doubt. The custodian was not sure what to with all this - but finally he swept it up - all those wounds, hurts, fears and sins - and threw them away.

Sisters and brothers, that story is your story and my story. Or if it isn’t, it can be. Dying from the cold within doesn’t have to be the end of the story. Because God has forgiven us and made us his friends and his family, and freed us and given us a new future, we can walk away from all that binds and shackles us. Just walk away.

Consider the signs of hope in our world, where we do share our logs and our sticks, where we choose life and keep the fire glowing. Patricia Quigley and Susan Retik, are two mothers who were widowed on 9/11. Patti was eight months pregnant with her second child when her husband Patrick was killed while traveling on United flight 175. Susan was seven months pregnant with her third child when her husband David was killed on American flight 11. Patti and Susan were profoundly moved by the support offered by friends, family and strangers from around the world. They were cared for financially and emotionally and today they remain deeply grateful to all who helped them.

And, grateful for the outpouring of support they received, they started thinking about the women in Afghanistan who, when widowed, lose status in that society and therefore find their already difficult lives even harder. They raised money and formed a foundation called Beyond the 11th to support Afghani widows, and even made visits to Afghanistan in 2006 to meet the widows they were helping. For them, these connections have helped to make sense of the world.

You see, Jesus is among us, in the midst of our fear, frustration, guilt, doubt, anxiety, suspicion, despair, restlessness, despondency and terror. He is not dead. He is real and says to each of us, “Peace be with you”. Do not be afraid. Let’s keep the fire glowing. Amen.

The Lord is Risen

2009-04-12T09:30:00.000-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

Easter Sunday – April 12, 2009

Read: John 20:1-18

Our gospel story today begins with the words…. “early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb.”

Mark’s version is also on your insert, although we didn’t read it this morning. It begins “very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen."

While it was still dark and at early dawn. Early dawn. The Greek for early dawn can also be translated as deep dawn. I love that description...deep dawn. What is deep dawn? It is that indefinable time between darkness and light.

My friend Jim wonders if, while circling the earth in outer space, you can see an arched line that can only be described as earth’s deep dawn. There is such a thing as deep, deep dawn, but I think only the eyes of the heart can see it. Only the eyes of the mind can see it. And I doubt there’s an actual line. If you’ve ever watched the sun rise, you know there’s no actual line. And you also know the truth in the phrase, “it’s always darkest before the dawn”. And it’s true during the cold winter months, that the temperature drops to it’s lowest point just before the dawn. It is darkest just before the dawn.

It was the women who came to the tomb at deep dawn. All the gospel writers agree it was women, they disagree on the names and number, but they all agree it was women. In John’s gospel, which we read this morning, it was Mary. Mary wasn’t able to see clearly in the deep dawn. It was dark when she arrived. And Mary experienced a deep dawn moment.

Do you know what I mean by a deep dawn moment? Deep dawn, for example, is that moment just after you hang up the phone and you have to go to the police station to pick up your son or your daughter. At that moment, you believe there is hope for a new beginning, like Jesus taught; or you believe there is nothing but angry rebellion and angry retribution.

Deep dawn is that moment just after the doctor comes in and says it’s cancer….and then says these are the things he can do but makes no promises. At that moment, everything you have been taught to believe about hope is true or it is a lie….either you believe there is hope or you believe there is nothing but disease. It’s at that moment, we must remember what Jesus taught us.

It always happens at deep dawn. That in between space and time. That moment just after the news is bad….like when one parent comes home and says to the other—I don’t love you anymore….or when someone says I am powerless over my addiction…or when the boss says your job has just been phased out.

It’s just then we must remember how Jesus taught us: “Come to me all who labor and are heavy laden, I will give you rest...” “I am with you always even to the end of the ages..” “This is my body broken for you” Then you will know there is hope that will not let go.

Then you will know there is hope that will not let go. Mary tried to hold on to Jesus; to cling to Jesus. Barbara Brown Taylor says----the only thing we cannot do is hold on to Jesus. He has asked us please not to do that, because he knows that, all in all, we would rather keep him with us where we are then let him take us where he is going. Better we should let Jesus hold on to us, perhaps. Better we should let him take us into the white-hot presence of God, who is not behind us, but ahead of us, every step of the way.” Jesus leads us into new life; into new relationship.

Mary begins the day in fear, confusion, and tears – deep dawn. And then she finds new life standing before her. It is not what she expected. An unlikely movie expresses it - the movie Ratatouille. Ratatouille is an animation in which Remy, the French rat, lives underground in pipes and sewers as rats do. But one day, all the rats get swept away by a surge of water and Remy gets separated from all his friends and family. Late at night –in the dark-hungry, lost and alone, he starts climbing up the dripping, slimy pipes to get his bearings. He reaches street level and continues up between walls of buildings, through cracks, along girders, out on a balcony, up the vines of a pillar, and finally onto a roof where suddenly he is looking out over the Eiffel Tower and all of Paris at night. He says, "All this time I've been underneath Paris. Wow!"

Deep dawn is that indefinable time between darkness and light….that time when the promise in which we believe is true; or the promise in which we believe is a lie.
Mary went to the tomb at deep dawn. She was in the dark. The darkness that comes just before the dawn. She didn’t see. Then the angels appeared. And still she didn’t see. Then Jesus appeared. And still she didn’t see. She was in that moment of deep dawn. Then Jesus spoke her name. And the sun appeared. Light came. Mary could see clearly. But don’t hold on to Jesus. Let Jesus hold on to us and lead the way into light and life.

In those moments of deep, deep dawn in our life. Remember. If we take that word apart it is Re and Member. To Re-Member is to put back together. To put back together a broken body. Jesus’ body was broken for us, but we know about the resurrection.

Just remember in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snows,
Lies the seed that with the sun's love
In the spring becomes the rose.

(from "The Rose" by Amanda McBrooom)

So, in those moments of deep, deep dawn, when we remember what Jesus taught us, we will know, we will believe, we will be sure that there is hope so strong that not even the grave can contain it. Let me repeat that….there is hope so strong that not even the grave can contain it. That hope for us is the truth of Jesus of Nazareth.

Alleluia. The Lord is Risen.

Jesus is In Our Midst

2009-03-29T09:30:00.000-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

March 29, 2009

Read: John 12:20-33

Nice Greek girls are supposed to do three things in life,” says Toula’s father in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. “Marry a nice Greek boy, make babies, and feed everyone till the day we die.” Not that Toula, a thirty-something single needs reminding. Day after boring day, she toils in the family Greek diner, her lank hair falling around her face, her body hidden in a sackcloth dress.

One day Prince Charming walks into the diner—a handsome, sensitive, artsy guy named Ian. Does Ian sound Greek to you? That’s the problem. Toula falls in love with a guy who is not a nice Greek boy. Not surprisingly, Toula’s Mr. Right becomes her parents’ Mr. Wrong—“a big xeno,” her father moans, “with long hairs on top of his head.” Her father wonders aloud of Toula’s fiancé. “Is he a good boy? I donnn’t know. Is he from good family? Is he respectful? I donnn’t know.” Eventually a date is set, however, for this clash-of-the-cultures wedding.

You can almost hear the Us and Them screeching and colliding as the story develops. Ian’s uppity parents writhe in embarrassment as they arrive at Toula’s get-acquainted party. The limo pulls up to the curb and there, amidst modest suburban homes, is Toula’s house, a miniature version of the Parthenon replete with Corinthian columns and statues and –horror of horrors—a lamb roast on the front lawn.

By movie’s end, our pale WASP family finds in the Greeks a robust and exotic community, though unorthodox (they mime spitting on each other for good luck), and both cultures are able to move beyond their suspicions to form a new family. But you just never know what will happen when the Greeks arrive.

Greeks. That’s who arrive at Passover in our gospel lesson today. Technically, the word refers to Toula’s kin—people of Greek descent, language and culture. But by the time of the Caesars, Greek meant anyone influenced by Greek culture—most of whom lived in towns and cities rather than in the rural countryside. But among pious Jews in Jerusalem, the word, “Greek,” had taken on its broadest meaning. There are only two groups in the world: Jews, a group of people held together by descent, language and culture, and Greeks—the rest of the world.

John tells us that some Greeks—non-Jewish types—who had come to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover, paid a visit to Philip. “Hey we want to meet your leader,” they ask. “Please wait right here,” Philip says, “and I’ll get right back to you.” Philip casually turns the corner and then mad-dashes over to Andrew.

“Hey Andrew,” whispers Philip out of breath, “we’ve got a problem—some Greeks want to see Jesus.” “Greeks?” Andrew responds incredulously. “Are they good boys? We donnn’t know. From good family? Respectful? We donnn’t know.” Apparently so undecided about what to do with the Greeks, they take their request to Jesus.

For once it seems a group comes looking for Jesus with no apparent agenda- no request for healing, no attempt at controversy...just this: we would like to see Jesus.

Did Jesus really respond to the request? His reply seems to go in another direction from the questioner's intent. Or is his monologue really a statement/reply about where Jesus can really be seen--in the hour of his glory, as the seed goes into the ground and dies, on the cross, and in the faithful setting aside of self-interest of his disciples?

We all see Jesus in different ways. Healer, Savior, Friend, Teacher, Prophet. John is the gospel of signs, and he reminds us that after all the signs if we really want to see Jesus then there is only one place to look- the cross.

As much as it might hurt us to think about the darkness, the abandonment, and the pain, we must. We have to go look at the cross and we have to stay there. If we stay long enough we might just catch a glimpse of the glory of God. The truth might hit us like thunder: "Ohhh...so that's
what God is like!"

In January, 2007, The Washington Post set up an experiment to learn whether people would pause long enough to recognize real quality in their midst. They arranged with Joshua Bell, a young violinist, to dress in jeans, T-shirt, and baseball cap and play his violin near a busy Washington D.C. Metro (subway) station.

Bell stood by a wall near a trash can, took his violin from its case, tossed a few bills and some coins in the case to encourage donations, and began to play. He played his violin for 45 minutes as subway riders passed by -- more than a thousand of them. While he was playing, a few people tossed a little money in his violin case -- $32 in all. Most of the rest walked by, scarcely acknowledging his presence. $32 doesn't seem too bad for 45 minutes work. That figures out to $42 an hour -- if you don't have to take any breaks.

But Joshua Bell does better at his day job -- or, as it were, at his night job. A few evenings earlier, he sold out Boston Symphony Hall with most tickets going for $100 or more. In that concert, he played a Stradivarius violin worth $3 million -- the same violin that he played at the subway entrance.

I wonder if we would notice Jesus if he were in our presence today. He is in our presence, of course. Remember what he said? "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me" (Matthew 25:40).

May we recognize Jesus in our midst and glorify the name of the Lord. Amen.

Venom Comes From More Than Snakes

2009-03-22T09:30:00.000-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

March 22, 2009

Read: Numbers 21:4-9 and John 3:14-21

In this morning’s passage from Numbers we hear about snakes; serpents. Poisonous snakes. Yuck. A recent Harris poll on “What We Are Afraid Of?” discovered that 36 percent of all adults in the United States list snakes as their number one fear.

I, for one, am not fond of snakes. In a recent visit to the Inn at Freedom Village, I entered the front doors and there in front of me was a young man sitting at the desk with a very large snake wrapped around his neck. Almost like a necklace or a boa. He explained it was indeed his pet and he is a boa constrictor…who greeted me by lifting up his up his little face and stuck his tongue out at me when I expressed some curiosity. I am still not fond of snakes. Pets or not pets.

Snakes, or serpents, remind us of the story in the Book of Genesis about Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, in paradise, and the temptation of the serpent. We tend to associate snakes with evil intent and I wonder if that may have a little something to do with the large percentage of people who fear snakes.

The story in Numbers is an odd one. The people are once again grumbling and complaining – which isn’t a new thing for the group - but this time what is different is that they speak out against God . Complaining about their leaders, Moses and Aaron, is one thing. Complaining about God is something else altogether.

The Lord sends poisonous serpents among the people, and they bit the people, so that many Israelites died. When they realized their sinful ways, they went to Moses once again for intercession. Please pray for the Lord to take away the serpents.

The Lord’s response was not to take away the serpents; but rather to have Moses create a bronze image of the poisonous serpent and put it on a pole. Anyone who was bitten was to look at the serpent of bronze and they would live. They would be healed.

Now, think about that. The very thing that you are most afraid of – a poisonous serpent biting you and killing you – is what you need to look up to for healing. We need to look at what we fear the most, in order to receive life. Hmnnn. Another thought: poisonous venon and anti-venom come from the same place.

The first sentence in our gospel reading from John today is: “Jesus said, “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”

Ellen Edwards Kennedy, a writer and born-again Christian, wrote the following -- whether about herself or about a character in one of her books I do not know:

“When I became a Christian, I began to look at a particular young woman with scorn. I felt little but contempt for her as I thought of her quick temper, her selfishness, her spiteful gossiping, and the way she took her loving family for granted. Any time she was mentioned, I could think of very little good to say. But one day as I was leafing through an old picture album filled with photos of her, Jesus spoke to my spirit and told me, "I have always loved her, despite her sins, and I have forgiven her. I want you to forgive and love her too."

As I gazed at the young face in the pictures, my heart was filled with compassion for the girl. Along the way in searching for life's meaning, she had made many mistakes. God gave me a gentle love for her and the ability to forgive her. That moment of healing, when I decided to forgive and love her, also gave me a new strength and a new freedom to love others as never before…because the woman in the pictures was me.”

Lent is a time of honest self-examination, of correcting course, of forgiving self and others. Lent is a time to take what we are afraid of, those parts of ourselves that we are afraid to look at, or to let others see, and lift them up into the light. Transformation can occur when we look at, or acknowledge, what is causing our fear, our anger, our bitterness, our frustration, our negativity, our hatred. We can be healed, transformed, given new life when we walk in the light.

Thomas Hall tells of a startling interview between a Time correspondent and a sniper during a recent skirmish. The sniper had worked in his profession for years. Before the outbreak he was a javelin thrower-an aspiring Olympic competitor. During the war he got used to killing. He had claimed to have cut down 325 people who had tried to cross what became known as Sniper Alley to get food and water. The sniper said he didn’t begin to hate until his mother was jailed and beaten by the other side. Now he hates. But probably the most telling part of the interview was when he described his visit to see his mother recently. He said, "I have no feelings for what I do. When she hugged me, I felt nothing." That hate over time has turned this young Olympic hopeful into a killing machine. Venomous bites can be lethal.

Only a few Jewish families live in Billings, Montana, but for some, one was thought too many. A few people began their own hate campaign. They donned those ridiculous KKK hoods and marched out and around the Jewish homes shouting expletives and abuse. Understandably, peace-loving people in the community became frightened. Doors quickly closed and curtains shut out the blatant racism, as if their silence would make the problem go away.

But one faith community in town glanced around long enough to send a message to the beleaguered victims. They hung little menorahs in their sanctuary windows as a sign of love and support. Crosses and menorahs together in the windows.

The circle of rage and hate against these families, and now against their supporters, grew larger. Within a week the faith community itself was pelted with rocks and paint and its doors were smashed by these angry people. The poison of hatred and racism will kill God’s love inside a person and its venom can paralyze a person’s ability to love and be loved. Resentment and bitterness against others is ultimately against God. And with the resentment and bitterness comes the snakes. And with their venom comes death.

So now, a thousand years after the story about hatred and poisonous snakes we see a man standing in the darkness talking. And he says, "Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life." That’s not the story they were used to hearing.

Jesus doesn’t talk about hatred, racism, or other poisons. I guess by this time, the fact that we’ve all been bitten by poisonous snakes is obvious. So Jesus moves to the antidote. "When I am lifted up on that pole-just like when Moses erected the snake in the wilderness-people will recover and experience fullness of life."

John doesn’t tell us the rest of the story right here. But we know it. When Christ was lifted up on that old cross, God allowed God’s very being to be bitten for us. God took the bites of all the poisonous serpents that slither through our society. All the serpents of hatred, bigotry, racism, sexism, and unforgiveness. He took the hit for us all. So that in the suffering of God there is healing for our hatreds, healing for our self-destructive poisons, healing for our lives.

In the midst of this poison, in the whirl of hatred, healing came to the faith community I just spoke of. CBS picked up the story and our nation, for a brief moment in time, heard about a little congregation and Jewish families who joined together to fight hatred and racism. Donations and money for repairs came from all over America to that little congregation and Jewish neighbors.

In the end, it was love, not hate that won the day. They were able to move from the poison to the remedy: God’s love. For in that split second we saw the form of a figure stretched spread-eagle on a cross, and the message read,

"I love you,"
-God

Clean Up Your Mess

2009-03-15T09:30:00.000-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

March 15, 2009

Children’s Sermon

Are any of you familiar with the book series written by Stan and Jan Berenstain called the Berenstain Bears?¹ The stories are all wonderful lessons of life for young people as Mama and Papa Berenstain Bear along with Brother Bear and Sister Bear encounter things like a bad dream, trouble at school and going to the dentist.
There is a story "The Berenstain Bears and the Messy Room." It is a lesson about house cleaning. The introduction warns:

"When small bears forget to pick up, store and stash,
Some of their favorite things end up in the trash."

The crisis in the story comes when Mama Bear gets fed up with the mess in Brother and Sister's room and is too much to take. It goes this way:

"Well, the mess just seemed to build up and build up until one day... maybe it was because Mama's back was a little stiff, or maybe it was stepping on Brother's airplane cement, or maybe she was just fed up with that messy room, but whatever it was... Mama Bear lost her temper!

She stormed into the cub's room with a big box. 'The first thing we need to do is get rid of all this junk!' she said. Brother and Sister were watching in horror as Mama began to throw things into the box."

It's like that sometimes with our lives, isn't it? Things pile up until it is just too much to take. We have to clean up the mess. Whether it is a messy room or a messy set of circumstances at school or at home, the time comes when we just want the mess cleaned up.

Why do we want the mess cleaned up?

I think because a mess devalues something of worth. It might be a room we want to enjoy or a household where we want some peace and quiet. But, when it's messy, it can't serve its intended purpose. There are times when a mess can be so serious, nothing but radical housecleaning will correct the situation.

That's what today's gospel lesson is all about. Jesus finds a horrible mess in the temple and becomes very angry. He actually took a whip and drove the merchants out of the temple courtyard where they were conducting business. He overturned the tables where the accountants were making change and he told the merchants to take their merchandise away.

What is it that has created such passion in him?

I think because God was no longer put first in the temple. Jesus is telling us that
God needs to be first in our lives. Not the messes that we make more important than God. God first.

¹ Stan and Jan Berenstain, Random House / First Time Books; New York, 1983

Sometimes You Don't Need a Flashlight

2009-03-08T09:30:00.000-04:00

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

March 8, 2009

Read: Mark 8:31-38

Early in Jesus ministry, he chose 12 people to go with him into the future together. They were going to be leaders, proclaiming good news and preaching in front of throngs of people. And the early days of ministry were wildly successful. Together, they helped Jesus feed the 5000. They were there for the healing of sick people, the winning of debates against critics. They were learning from Jesus how to calm the angry seas by a simple word. It was all very, very cool.

And then one day, Jesus made a sharp right turn. He asked the disciples if they had figured out who he was. After a few guesses, Peter identified Jesus as the Son of God. It was a powerful, holy moment. But in his very next words, Jesus told them that he was on his way to Jerusalem to die. “Die?” Peter says. “Die? You’re not going to die! The party’s just getting started!”

And it was then that Jesus offered them a three-fold standard for leadership. “If you are going to be leaders” Jesus tells them, “then you must deny yourself, take up the cross, and follow.” It all seemed so backwards to them, that they should have to deny themselves (whatever that meant), and take up a cross (they knew exactly what that meant!), and to be followers. And yet, this is precisely what Jesus expected of them — that they would deny themselves — that they would set aside their own selfish wants and wishes, and pursue what was best for the group. And when Jesus spoke of the cross, they learned that being a disciple would mean hardship, and sacrifice, and possibly even death. And finally, the disciples learned that Jesus wanted them to follow him…to imitate him…to love the people that he loved, and to trust the God that he trusted.

The disciples didn’t really get it until after the Resurrection. Finally then, they understood what Jesus was saying — that to be in his company, he required people to set aside their personal agendas, and to be willing to suffer, and to live life like him, because this life is not the end. When Jesus rose from the dead, it all made sense to the disciples. In fact, that three-fold standard — self-denial, taking up a cross, and following Jesus — became the way they lived…and the way they died. Every one of them.

A number of years ago, a friend of mine was during youth ministry and attended a conference at a Christian camp in North Carolina, with some of the top youth leaders in the country. It was a beautiful place, nestled in the Smokey Mountains and surrounded by trees. After dinner one evening, the people who were leading the program suggested that all of us youth leaders - all 200 of us - hike to the mountaintop overlooking the camp. It was a warm summer evening, and since they were in charge of the program and not us, we readily agreed to take that hike.

The journey up was relaxed. A narrow dirt path wound its way, probably two miles to the top of the mountain. But when we arrived, it was all worth it! You could see for miles, the sun had painted the sky a thousand colors, and the view of the camp down below was spectacular. We sang songs and hymns and had a sort of impromptu worship service on the top of the mountain. When the lights came on down in the camp, it appeared as though we were looking down at a constellation of stars. And then it occurred to someone to say out loud “You know, it’s gotten dark, and we’ve got a two mile hike down to base camp.” Hmmm, that same thought occurred to our program leaders at just about the same time! 200 people making their way down the mountain in pitch dark wasn’t what they had planned.

Fortunate for us, one guy discovered a flashlight in his backpack. One flashlight - 400 broken ankles waiting to happen! Another person said she was very familiar with the trail back to camp. These were now our leaders, and we were the timid followers. It was a slow and humbling experience; 200 bold and gifted leaders having to follow one flashlight and one college co-ed in the darkness.

He’s thought about that scene countless times over the years, because it was that night that he realized that he’s not a very good follower. And we live in a culture of others who are not very good at following. That’s somewhat odd, because the first thing we teach our children at a very young age is to follow. “Follow daddy down to the basement.” “Follow Mommy out to the garden.” We teach them games like “Follow the leader” and “Simon Says” and “Captain May I?” And we are pleased when they follow well. (Steven Molin)

The story is told of a man living in London during the Second World War. Every night German planes appeared overhead dropping countless bombs on the city below. Buildings burst into flames, sirens wailed incessantly, entire blocks were reduced to rubble. One day this Londoner was sitting in the wreckage of his home. The walls remained, but the roof was gone.

The man himself was near despair. His home ruined, his city devastated, his country under attack. These thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

The man opened the door and was shocked to see a small regal figure. It was the king! King George VI! He was touring the war-damaged neighborhood and had stopped at that particular house. The startled man welcomed the King of England into what was left of his home.

Jesus is a king like that. He comes, of his own accord, to the ruin that I am, and knocks firmly on the door of my heart. He comes not once, but often, always knocking on that door. This king comes to me in time of crisis, across the devastated landscape.

We say that a king must be wealthy, having for his own gold and jewels, castles and palaces, fine horses and elegant clothing. But this King Jesus I know to be the prince who has become a pauper. His birthplace is a stable. His palace is a hillside. If I am to catch a glimpse of him today, then I must look in the right place: among the poor, the disinherited, the powerless. It is there that the king will be found. He is there today as he was two thousand years ago.

Perhaps my greatest temptation is not that I will insult him, reject him, blaspheme him to his face, but that I will simply overlook him. For no longer is his uniform a robe, sandals, long hair. Now he appears as a weary woman raising her kids alone on a back street not far from here. He appears as an old man dying slowly and alone at the city hospital. He even appears as someone who commutes daily to work, suffocated by success, numb to inner emptiness. In each of these disguises King Jesus appears to me. He's a prince who's become a pauper. Pray that I may recognize him and kiss his hand.

A king must be powerful, we say. He must sit secure upon his throne and wield his scepter well, and remain confident in who he is. But Jesus is a king of a different kind. He lays aside the stunning mantle of his omnipotence, and drains the cup of human experience, human limitation, even down to the dregs of our suffering, sorrow, and death. There's no calamity I have known or can ever experience which remains unknown to him. All my dark rooms are places he has walked before.

Strange to say, it is by letting go of all power that all power comes to him. The king dies a disgraceful death. He is an outcast, a failure, abandoned and forsaken. No royal sepulcher awaits where his body can rest in peace. Instead, there is begging for the corpse by a friend, a borrowed tomb, hasty burial. But it is through this death and this one alone that the world is reborn. Through his new and unconquerable life the gates of eternity are thrown open.

Is this Jesus a king? Yes, a king like no other. His relinquishment of control tells me that I do more good when I give than when I grasp, when I allow myself to be a deep river of peace rather than a blowtorch of misbegotten anger. His relinquishment of control tells me that the only game that matters is won already, and when the results are tallied, the winning team will be The Holy Fools and not The Wise of This World. One after another rulers die and are replaced. The crown is handed down from each one to the next. Royal houses are proficient at filling graves. Today a king, tomorrow a corpse!

But Jesus reverses this saying. Once a corpse, now he is a king forever! And his resurrection holds for me the hope that the absurdities of my life will not have the final say, but that his unconquerable life may be mine forever, and that the city where he rules unquestioned may become my permanent address. (The Rev. Charles Hoffacker)

Sometimes, I remember that there is a Leader out in front of me. He doesn’t have a flashlight, he IS the Light. Amen.