Haiti Trip 2012 -- Day 2

Oct. 26, 2012, 4:34 p.m.

“Le Dieu des Paradoxes” – sign over a tap-tap windshield in Port au Prince.

“God of the Paradoxes” may be the most theologically astute proclamation I’ve ever seen in Haiti.  The tap-taps – vehicles of various sizes, from pick-ups to school buses – nearly always carry religious proclamations of some kind, written on the vehicle in some decorative script, often accompanied by cartoonlike paintings of Jesus or the Virgin Mary.  The statements may be specific Scriptural citations (I saw Psalm 23 today, as well as something from Lamentations, which seems particularly apropos).  Sometimes they’re encouraging phrases in French such as “La Grace de Dieu” (the grace of God) or in Kreyol, such as “Bondye Bon” (God is good).  Sometimes they’re less religiously oriented – my personal favorite is, “Just Do It.”  But today, driving out of Port au Prince, we were greeted by a tap-tap proclaiming, “Le Dieu des Paradoxes.”  That captures a theology of Haiti like nothing I’ve ever seen.

Every time I think I have some insight about this place, other evidence comes along that contradicts what seems clear.  Haitians’ sense of nationality arose out of the experience of slavery, rebellion, and marginalization by the international community; but they reject comparisons with the African American experience of ongoing struggle against historical oppression because they call the shots in their own nation.  Haiti carries poverty like a millstone around its neck, but people are gracious and giving, practicing abundant hospitality.  Haiti has a communications infrastructure that enables a huge percentage of the population to have cell phones, but there is no infrastructure whatsoever to deal with trash in the streets (other than life-threatening flooding that washes trash to the few sewers and then clogs them beyond hope).  Life here is about as difficult as life gets on this planet, but people understand God to be deeply, profoundly present and good – not to mention absolutely deserving of our trust.  There’s a tie here to other profound paradoxes that are definitional to Christianity:  the first shall be last and the last shall be first; blessed (literally in Scripture, “happy”) are the poor and the mourners, for they shall inherit the kingdom and find joy; it is in dying that we find eternal life.  None of these statements, about life in Haiti or the life of the kingdom, make a bit of sense the way we look at things.  And yet, they are profoundly true – true enough that people have staked their lives on those truths for thousands of years.  God of the Paradoxes, indeed.

9:16 p.m.

As is always the case in Haiti, our plans have changed.  We were scheduled to offer an early-childhood education seminar tomorrow, as the group did last year – continuing education for the preschool and kindergarten teachers at all the Episcopal schools in this part of Haiti (about 35 teachers).  Because of Hurricane Sandy, the teachers can’t travel yet to get into Les Cayes to attend the seminar, so it’s been postponed until Thursday (after I leave, frustratingly enough).  So tomorrow, we’ll go into Cayes to procure some supplies (a bookcase for the school, Bibles to inscribe and give our graduating students, a Haitian cell phone, etc.).  We’ll also prepare the teachers’ packets for the seminar and assemble the teaching materials (felt boards, soil and seeds for a hands-on gardening lesson, blocks, and books).  Then, in the afternoon, we’ll go out to Port Salut to the beach for an evening of grilled lobster, Compline on the beach, and a fabulous sunset.  Some parts of the experience of Haiti are pretty nice.

Tonight’s Compline was wonderful, too.  After dinner – and many hours today of intense conversations about specific details of our mission, how much we pay teachers, whether they should be paid for performance, the importance of listening to the teachers about the efficacy of teacher training, how to take best practices in early-childhood education into a third-world system rooted in didactic instruction and memorization – after dinner, we sat on the veranda and reflected on where God had been in our day.  Some of us saw God in the resolve of poor Haitians standing on the roadside in the wake of a hurricane, refusing to give up as their homes and fields stand flooded.  Some of us saw God in the gifts of the Body of Christ revealed in the somewhat motley crew that our group of missionaries always is.  Some of us saw God in the blessings of the skills of our driver, Zo, who negotiated fallen boulders, the effects of mudslides, mountain roads with people standing in them, and rain, and still managed to get us to Cayes safely.  Along with us, he got all our baggage there safely, too, including 12 duffels of supplies carefully wrapped up on the top of the van.  They were mostly dry – and, remarkably, not thrown to the ground – after a grueling, jarring four-hour drive.  Finally, some of us saw God in our gathering around the table, hearing one member apologize to another for an unintentional slight, hearing one member speak eloquently about the family that’s forming around the table, hearing one member pour out her heart in frustration over the insoluble realities of Haitian life.  In these, and many other, ways, God was there.  So we prayed Compline, sang along with a recording of chant from the worship of Taize, enjoyed a cold Prestige, and are now ready for bed.  Thank you, Lord, for a day of paradoxical blessing.

Haiti Trip 2012 -- Day 1

[What follows are journal entries from St. Andrew's recent mission trip to Haiti.  Because we lacked internet access, I couln't post them in real time, but here they are, in daily increments.]

Oct. 25, 2012, 8:45 a.m.

The morning began at night – up at 3 a.m., out of the house at 4, and to the gate by 4:50.  All eight travelers made it fine:  Kathy Shaffer, Chris Nazar, George and Carolyn Kroh, Mary Ann Teschan, Anne Renne, Shannon Dover, and me.  We were blessed by Carolyn Kroh’s American Airlines Gold Card, which took us, and all 12 duffel bags of supplies, to the front of the check-in line.  That was blessing #1.  Then we made our way through security without incident or delay – blessing #2, particularly given that we entered the gate as the flight was boarding.  We had to check our carry-ons because the flight was so full, so we had some anxiety about them not following us all the way to Port au Prince.

Had that been the case, we would have been at least somewhat prepared because of a purchase I made at a newsstand in O’Hare.  One of the projects we hope to pursue this week is installing “Coke bottle lights” in one of the darker classrooms at the school in Maniche.  These simple light sources harvest solar energy to produce 50 watts of light each.  You mix bottled water with Clorox; seal the 2-liter plastic bottle; cut a hole in the roof; seal the bottle into the hole, with the top sticking out; and voila – free light that lasts about two years before having to be remixed.  One complication with the technology, in this now-digital age, is that the lights require 35-mm film canisters to be glued over the bottle top.  Of course, airport gift shops don’t sell film anymore.  But they do sell small cans of Axe Body Spray, whose plastic lids are just the right size.  Plus, if we end up with only one set of clothes for the week, that body spray will come in handy….

 

11 a.m.

Approaching Ft. Lauderdale, we found out what effect Hurricane Sandy might have on our plans.  According to an e-mail from Pere Colbert, the streets in Les Cayes and Port au Prince were flooded yesterday from the storms.  For Haitians, hurricanes are just one more threatening fact of life.  They don’t get too upset; they just see it as another harsh manifestation of the inscrutable “will of God.”  I might quibble with their theology; but if I were in their shoes, trying to reconcile the realities of their lives with the presence of a loving and merciful God, I’d probably not try too hard to explain divine mysteries either.

One of the missionaries, on her first trip to Haiti, looked worried as we stood on the Jetway for one of our flights today.  I asked how she was feeling about the trip, and she said, “Basically, I’m terrified.”  I remember that feeling, four trips ago.  The differences between our lives in the States and life in Haiti are so great and can be so frightening – hordes of young men at the airport, all trying to take your bags from you, not because they’re trying to rob you but because, if they take a bag, you have to give them a dollar as a tip.  Such are the effects of endemic third-world poverty, and such are the fears we blans have to move past when we find ourselves called into such a different context to serve the inscrutable Lord.

9:25 p.m.

So we’ve come to the end of the day, having made it safely into Port au Prince despite Hurricane Sandy (which mostly passed through yesterday, a deluge with something like 25 inches of rain).   The flight from Ft. Lauderdale to Port au Prince was fine, actually – a little dicey in takeoff, with high winds making the place tilt first one way, then the next, on the runway; and a little dicey in descent, with low clouds surrounding the airport and a fair amount of turbulence.  But we landed safely and made it through customs with little difficulty (other than one trip member having filled out the immigration paperwork in red ink, which sent her to the end of two planes’ worth of passengers).  Zo, our ambassador in getting through customs and wonderfully loyal driver, was there to meet us, as always – another of the many blessings of the day.

We drove through nearly empty streets to come to Walls International Guest House, which has quite a bit to do to live into the aspirations of its name.  They wanted to put all five single women into one room, despite our explicit request in the reservation that they not; so we stood in the rain for many minutes trying to negotiate an additional room.  We did, and we got soaked.  There’s a saying here, among missionaries at least: “What do you do when it rains in Haiti?  You get wet.”

We enjoyed dinner of spicy spaghetti flavored with sardines and sliced hot dogs.  The meal tasted much better than it sounds.  Plus, we were really hungry.   That – along with good conversation about politics, Mormonism, Voodoo, and same-gender blessings; theological reflection on what we’d experienced so far; and some lovely Prestige beer – made for a rewarding end to a long day.

 

Where Do Our Blessings Come From? Look Around.

[Sermon from Oct. 14, 2012]

So welcome to week 2 of our stewardship season.  Last Sunday, we began a four-week sermon series on “Choosing to Say, ‘Thank You.’”  The question we were exploring last week was, “What am I thankful for?”; and to me, at least, the answer to that question is that I’m most thankful for the gift of relationships.  So today, as we continue with this series, the question is, “Where do my blessings come from?”  And here’s the answer:  They come from God.  There you go – the shortest sermon of all time.

Well, maybe not.   There’s a bit more to it than that.  I mean, we all know our blessings come from God.  But how does that work, exactly?  On one level, it’s the simple truth we recognize every time we say grace before dinner or say the Lord’s Prayer: that God is the source of our daily bread – and our houses, and cars, and clothing, and on and on.  But when it comes to our deepest blessings, the blessings that make our lives meaningful – blessings of love and laughter, care and compassion – God has designed a particularly ingenious system for sharing those blessings.  It’s all around you.  In fact, it is you.  God uses us, the people of this church, as instruments for blessing one another and those around us.  In fact, that’s really what the Church is all about.  It isn’t God’s only way of blessing the world, but I do think that’s why we’re here.

So it’s ironic that, since we gathered here last week, one of those news stories has come out that puts Christianity on the front pages for a day, at least.  According to a well-respected research group, the Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life, we’ve reached a watershed moment:  Protestant Christians are no longer a majority of our population.  This is the first time that’s ever been the case.

And the primary reason why?  It’s not that our Roman Catholic neighbors are outdoing the Protestants.  It’s because of the growing segment of the population that chooses to opt out of the religious marketplace.  Today, 20 percent of the population chooses “None” as their religious affiliation, an increase of five points in just the past five years.  Some of the folks in that 20 percent are avowed atheists.  But many of them are part of a growing segment of the population, the SBNRs – “spiritual but not religious.”  They are the topic of many a continuing-education event for clergy these days, because the SBNR option is the Church’s primary competition.  The SBNRs do see themselves as people of faith – at least their own individualized, cobbled-together faith.  But they have no use for religion, which they find gets in the way of being “spiritual.” (http://apne.ws/SIZ6VG)

Should we take this as an indictment of the Church?  Yes, absolutely.  There are many other social factors at work, too, but – Christian religious institutions have spent way too much time and energy being religious institutions, rather than the Body of Christ on a mission to reveal the kingdom of God.  We’ve focused on internal squabbles and often preached a Gospel of self-perpetuation.  It’s not a healthy pattern.  The more time we spend focused on ourselves, the less time we spend on blessing people nearby and far away. 

I think there’s a lesson for us in our Gospel reading today about this call not to be an institution but to be the primary delivery system for God’s blessings.  It’s the story of the rich man who comes to Jesus asking, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” (Mark 10:17).  Jesus tells him he needs to follow the Law of Moses – no great surprise there – which the man says he does … religiously even.  But Jesus sees that something else is getting in the way.  This man is trying to secure what’s coming to him, both in this life and the next.  He’s probably sincere in following the rules, but what he’s trying to do is to solidify his spiritual position just as he’s built up his worldly holdings – trying to put the pieces in place in his spiritual portfolio so he can get the same success in the next life as he’s had in this one.  The malady this man suffers from is consumption – being consumed with what he has rather than who he is, and consumed with getting to eternal life rather than being in eternal life.

We’re also at risk for consumption.  That’s not a surprise to any of you.  You don’t have to watch TV or surf the web very long to notice what our culture asks of us.  Buy; possess; consume; repeat.  By count of the messages we receive, that’s clearly our primary function in the culture’s eyes.  Preachers have been railing against it for years, with not a lot to show for the effort.  But Jesus didn’t show a lot of success along those lines, either.  After all, the rich man in the Gospel reading “went away grieving,” back to his “many possessions,” rather than following Jesus to reveal the kingdom of God (Mark 10:22). 

It’s a matter of whether we put our focus on the things we have or on the relationships we have.  Deep down, at our core, each one of us is a child of God designed for relationship with other children of God.  Even in this individualized culture, we’re still wired for relationship.  It’s where we find our greatest blessings, as I said last week, and where we find our spiritual healing.  When Jesus diagnoses the rich man with consumption, being consumed by the things he has, the prescription is to get rid of his possessions – but not because possessions are inherently bad.  They’re not.  They’re blessings from God.  Instead, the prescription is to sell them and give the money “to the poor” (Mark 10:21) – which, to me, implies the need to connect with people the rich man would have otherwise never known, and to bring them God’s blessing.

For churches, we face the same kind of choice between focusing on the institution we have or focusing on relationships yet to be made.  If we want to turn around that trend toward SBNR and “None” being the fastest-growing religious categories, then our choice has to be building relationships.  No matter the beauty of our buildings, or the acumen of our theology, or the richness of our tradition – where the rubber meets the road is where Jesus is leading the disciples in today’s Gospel:  to the blessings of community.  Those who turn away from their consumption, and turn toward relationship instead, will find their blessings multiplied by a “hundredfold,” Jesus says – “now in this age … and in the age to come” (Mark 10:30).

At our best, that’s what we experience right here in this parish, our spiritual and relational home.  In fact, you may be surprised to find out just how much blessing happens through the life of the people of this church, week in and week out.  I took a minute, and looked at the parish calendar, and started counting.  In the week that’s just passed, if you were here all day and all evening long, you would have encountered 30 different gatherings and meetings – everything from Intercessory Prayer to Youth Group to choirs to Cancer Support to 10 different adult learning opportunities.  And in the week ahead, we’ll see 33 more gatherings and meetings among people of this church.  If you estimate eight people at each of those gatherings – and that would be a conservative average – that’s about 250 times someone walks into this building each week for something other than worship.  Across the year, that’s 13,000 times the doors open for a moment of blessing.

And that doesn’t even count the funerals and the weddings.  It doesn’t count the hundreds of pastoral appointments and conversations Mtr. Anne and I have – and even those are only the tip of the iceberg when you consider all the caring conversations taking place among the people of this church every week.  It doesn’t count the fellowship of coffee hour or a greeeting from the ladies in the gift shop.  It’s no exaggeration to say that tens of thousands of moments of blessing happen in this church, and among its people, every year.

This is the secret of Christianity’s endurance, the reason for our persistent presence in the world after 2,000 years, despite our own failings and the forces working against us.  Our blessings come from God – but just as important, our blessings come from God through each one of us.  The polls may show that we’re slipping, but nonetheless you are part of a mighty force – a holy company of saints making the blessings of God real and concrete, incarnating Christ’s love, and opening the door to the reality of eternal life happening right now. 

So rather than seeing yourself as part of an institution, be part of the movement Jesus is leading.  Be part of the life of the body of Christ here.  Pledge yourself to support it, in time and talent and treasure.  Say “thank you” for the blessings God is pouring out on you, and let them flow through you to bless people nearby and far away. 

That’s not just how the institution of St. Andrew’s will thrive in its second century, although that’s true.  It’s also our witness to the SBNRs we know.  The next time someone says to you, “I’m spiritual but not religious,” you can say to them, “I’m spiritual, too.  But, you know, you get a lot more out of being spiritual together.” 

What Am I Thankful For?

Sermon from Oct. 7, 2012
Genesis 2:18-24; Hebrews 1:1-4,2:5-12; Mark 10:2-16

Welcome to the 2012 stewardship season!  What, no applause?  Now, this may not be a season you look forward to quite as much as, say, football season or the Christmas season, and that’s understandable.  For many of us, “stewardship” is the Church’s code language for, “Give us money.”  Coming to church in the fall can feel like turning on NPR during the pledge drive – you wait for the pitch to end so you can get back to regular programming. 

Even though we’re officially kicking off our pledge campaign today, a number of you have beaten us to the punch.  At this point, we’ve already received 70 pledges for 2013, including seven new ones.  You’ll hear more from one of our Stewardship chairs, Glenn Crawford, in just a few minutes. 

So yes, there’s certainly a financial component to stewardship; but it doesn’t mean, “Give us money.”  And I hope this year’s stewardship season makes that point loud and clear.  For example:  The pledge card this year does ask for a financial pledge, but it also asks for a pledge of time and talent, because your bank account isn’t the measure of your life.  And the pledge card is about more than pledging, too.  It includes a bookmark with Scripture verses for you to read and pray over each day in order to flesh out the deeper reality of stewardship: that our lives are gifts from God that bless us when we pass them along.  That’s why the theme for this year is choosing to say “thank you” for the love that God showers on us.

But that begs the question, what exactly do I have to be thankful for?  I mean, we all know we’re supposed to be thankful; but frankly, there’s a lot that’s wrong these days.  We’re anxious about the economy, with many people still out of work or uncertain about their jobs.  We’re anxious about our social institutions like marriage and family, with “long-term relationships” now measured in a few years rather than lifetimes.  We’re anxious about our nation’s politics and the polarization that keeps us from governing ourselves responsibly.  We’re anxious about the future, fearing that our children’s lives will be harder than ours have been. 

So there’s plenty for us to worry about.  And yet, this pledge card reads, “Choose to say, ‘Thank You.’”  Thank you for what? 

For me, at least, our readings today point to an answer:  What we have to be most thankful for is the gift of relationships.

The reading from Genesis begins the story.  After six days of creation, even as God has spun the majesty of the heavens and the earth out of nothing, God realizes the work isn’t quite done.  All the “stuff” is right – oceans and forests teeming with life; food free for the taking; the human being serving as God’s deputy, naming the animals and caring for creation.  But the human being is not yet complete.  He yearns for something: mutual relationship with someone who makes him whole.  God sees it and makes for him not another thing to manage but a partner to complete him.  The human being now has “bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh” (2:23), and the two can become the “one flesh” together they each long to be (2:24).  The gift of relationship begins there in the Garden and makes creation perfect.  And every time God calls us into the fullness of relationship with another human being, every time we make ourselves vulnerable and give ourselves to another, every time love happens and endures – that perfection of creation blossoms once again.  That’s quite a gift to be thankful for.

And in the reading from Hebrews, we hear what holy relationships look like:  They look like the relationships modeled by Jesus, the one sent not simply to speak for God but to show us “the exact imprint of God’s very being” (1:3).  This is why Christianity is so shocking, even 2,000 years later – because the exact imprint of God’s very being looks like giving yourself up for those you love.  In fact, God loves us at the ultimate cost, experiencing human death in order to defeat it and let us live forever.  In Jesus, God gives us a relationship of love that never dies.  That’s quite a gift to be thankful for.

And then there’s the Gospel reading, where we hear words we may find harsh, even judgmental.  When it comes to divorce, Jesus is clearly not a fan.  But to me, at least, the point here isn’t simply “divorce is bad,” and it certainly isn’t that divorced people are bad.  The point I hear Jesus making is about love and control.  When we can’t get what we want, sometimes we choose control over mutual self-giving.  But the gift of deep relationship comes when both parties give up trying to control it, when we empty ourselves of power over the relationship. 

I think that’s why Jesus’ comments about divorce are followed, oddly, by the story of little children coming to him.  The kids aren’t seeking anything but love.  The disciples try to keep them away from Jesus because children were the lowest of the low in Ancient Near Eastern culture, and no respectable rabbi would want to get his hands dirty with them (literally).  But Jesus sees the kids’ desire to be with him as the contrast to the Pharisees’ “hardness of heart” in justifying divorce.  The powerless kids don’t come into the relationship with any need for control.  They’re just hoping to be loved.  And, Jesus says, that’s the kind of relationship God gives to us – the intimate, freely given love of a parent for a child.  That’s quite a gift to be thankful for.

But it’s hard to live in a state of thankfulness, remembering God’s blessings in anxiety and stress.  Frankly, I’m not always as grateful for my life as I know I’m supposed to be.  In this job, there are times when counting my blessings isn’t exactly the first thing on my mind.  I had one of those times a few weeks ago, when Mtr. Anne was gone on vacation.  We were getting ready for the fall program, and juggling schedules for restoration work on the building, and developing commission mandates, and planning for next year’s budget, and working on the pledge campaign.  I had a wedding to prepare for, and people in the hospital, and a couple of funerals to do.  And in the midst of all that, a parishioner whom I’d never met, a member in name only, was making her way into the last stages of her life.  Honestly, it just felt like one more thing I had to attend to.  But as it turns out, I was truly blessed to be able to visit her in her last weeks. 

On the first visit, I sat with her in her beautiful living room and got to hear about her life – her joys, her struggles with some relationships, her fight with cancer, and her wishes for her funeral.  We talked about how surprising it is that healing can come from situations like hers, both in terms of healing present relationships and in terms of the ultimate healing – God’s love in eternal life. 

Going over to her house for a second visit, I had more limited expectations.  She had taken a turn and wasn’t able to communicate; family and friends were preparing for the end.  I brought my oil stock and expected a quick visit – anointing and prayers, then on my way.  I rang the doorbell, came in, and found her sitting on the couch, dressed to receive guests, with her hair combed and wearing makeup, and smoking a cigarette.  I was dumbfounded and said something really caring like, “What are you doing, sitting there on the couch?”  She looked at me, smiled, and said, “Well, I’m smoking a cigarette.”  I came and sat with her, and we talked about the turn for the better she’d taken that morning.  Then she asked, “Did you bring Communion?”; and I said, “No, I didn’t think you’d be up for a meal.  But have you got a cracker and some wine?”  So she got up, went into the kitchen, and came back with the necessary elements for a complete celebration of Holy Eucharist: a cracker on a small clay plate, a bottle of wine, and a Dixie cup.  We sat there together and celebrated the Eucharist, making her coffee table God’s altar, and transforming a cracker and paper cup of wine into the banquet of the kingdom of heaven.  

On my third visit, she really was at the end of this life.  Her eyes were closed; she couldn’t speak; and I didn’t know what she might be able to hear.  But I came to her bedside and sat with her, praising her for finishing up some letters to significant people in her life.  I got out my oil for anointing the sick, inscribed a cross on her forehead, and prayed that she would soon know God’s ultimate healing – that God would usher her gently from this side of eternal life and bring her joyfully to other side.  I sat with her a few minutes, holding her hand.  Finally, I looked at her and said, “Have a good trip.”

In the car, driving back to church, I received a call from the family.  She had died minutes after I left.  From the family’s perspective, she had heard whatever it was that she needed to hear in order to let go and make her journey home.  Her breathing had changed; she’d become peaceful; and she’d entered into the fullness of eternal life, coming into her Father’s loving embrace.

What am I thankful for?  I’m thankful for the gift of holy relationships. With my family, with my friends, with you whom I see week in and week out, and with people I never expected – in all those holy relationships – God gives me windows into the kingdom of heaven, windows into eternal life begun in the here and now.  That is quite a gift.  And for that gift, I choose to say, “Thank you,” and pass it along.

A Hard Week to Be a Christian

[Sermon from Sept. 16, 2012]

This is a week when it’s harder than usual for us to be followers of Jesus Christ.

We’ve watched in outrage and grief as media reports have brought us images of a burning American consulate in Libya, as well as angry protestors at our embassies in Egypt and more than 20 other countries.  The images evoke all kinds of pain:  The abomination of an attack on the anniversary of Sept. 11; the fear of more violence against Americans around the globe; and, for those of us of a certain age, the memory of an attack on the American embassy in Iran, 33 years ago, as well as the deaths and hostage-taking that came from it.  At the same time, we find ourselves appalled by the epic foolishness of a dark-hearted filmmaker whose ugly movie about the Prophet Mohammad has spurred much of this violence.  As we see the reports about attacks on our citizens and embassies this week, and as we see the damage done by a hatemonger’s recklessness, it’s hard not to want the vengeance that deep pain always demands.

Our pain and outrage are made all the deeper by the fact that the deaths included an American statesman, Christopher Stevens, the ambassador to Libya.  Not that his life was inherently more valuable than the other three who died.  But there is special meaning to the killing of the embodiment of the United States in a foreign nation.

And in this case, that pain and outrage are even deeper because Chris Stevens was clearly someone who should not have been killed by deluded zealots wanting to punish America.  Chris Stevens was just the opposite, the kind of diplomat even our enemies respected.  I’m sure you’ve read much of this already, but I think it’s worth repeating some of Chris Stevens’ story because it ties into our Gospel reading today.  After graduating from a prestigious university, seemingly set for a powerful career, he joined the Peace Corps instead.  He worked in an isolated mountain town in Morocco, teaching English.  When he returned to the U.S., he became a lawyer and eventually a diplomat, but he wasn’t seeking a pathway to power.  He took postings in tough spots, dangerous capitals in the Middle East and North Africa.  Eventually he became deputy chief of mission in Libya; and when the Libyan people rose up against Gadhafi, it was Chris Stevens who served as envoy to the rebels, coaching them in building a government as they toppled a dictator.  As Stevens’ stepfather said, “He wasn’t looking for a ... cushy ambassador’s spot.  He loved the Libyan people and was passionate about helping” them.¹  As a friend remembered, “Chris really was that American you always hope exists somewhere.”² In a nutshell, Chris Stevens managed to take a position of power and use it as a position of self-giving instead. 

Now, I have no idea what kind of religious faith Chris Stevens held, if any.  But I do think his life and death give us a window into the divine reality Jesus was proclaiming in the Gospel reading we just heard – interestingly, a reading not selected for this particular day but simply what came next in the Sunday lectionary.

Jesus begins with a little Q and A with the disciples, bringing them along to glimpse his identity in a way no one had seen so clearly before.  “Who do you say that I am?” Jesus asks.  “Peter answered him, ‘You are the messiah,’” God’s anointed ruler sent to inaugurate the kingdom of heaven on earth. (Mark 8:29)  Clearly, Jesus is the authority.  The disciples can bank on what he has to say.

So here’s Jesus, standing before his followers as God’s ultimate ambassador.  And what might the royal proclamation be?  He’s set up to make a pronouncement about heavenly power toppling evil worldly authorities.  But that’s not at all where Jesus goes with his power.  Instead, the messiah announces that he will “undergo great suffering, and be rejected … and be killed, and after three days rise again” (Mark 8:31).  The evil powers of sinful self-interest will have their way with him.  They will even appear victorious.  But on the third day, the suffering messiah will rise.

That message is reassuring for us Christians to hear this week.  Sin will not have the last word.  The kingdom of God will rise.  The good guys will win in the last act.  That’s the story we want to hear.

What’s harder to hear is Jesus’ next comment.  Peter tries to convince Jesus that he doesn’t have to undergo all this suffering.  You’re the messiah, after all, Peter must have said.  You can dish out suffering rather than having to take it.  But Jesus “rebukes” Peter, telling him the easy way is not the holy way (8:33).  And then he takes this hard Good News up a notch.  Calling together the disciples and the crowd, Jesus says this path of self-emptying, this call to offer himself for others – it isn’t just his path alone.  It’s the path of discipleship, the one we’re all called to walk.  “If any want to become my followers,” Jesus says, “let them deny themselves, and take up their cross, and follow me.  For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.” (Mark 8:34-35) 

So what does that mean for us, in this bitter and bloody week?  What does Jesus’ call say to us about American foreign policy and the response our nation should make to the killings in Libya?  I don’t presume to say.  I learned in eighth grade that, for us, “the supreme law of the land” is the Constitution, not the Bible; and it will be the Constitution that will govern our nation’s actions.  We all have our opinions about that – opinions formed by our faith, I hope.  But you don’t want your priests making foreign policy any more than you want your diplomats preaching your sermons. 

I don’t know what today’s Gospel will say to the president or his advisers if they’re in church this morning, hearing the readings from the Revised Common Lectionary, which is used in so many denominations.  But I know what I hear this Gospel saying for me, and maybe for you, too. 

When I see our consulate being attacked or our embassies being threatened; when I see black flags being hoisted in opposition our nation’s flag; when I see the body of a good, good man lying dead from unprovoked attack – when I see these images, I want retribution.  I want revenge.  I want to know when the president is going to strike back and who the target will be.  But then – amid memories of the twin towers falling 11 years ago and the fear that we might be attacked again, amid the desire for vengeance from this week’s attack – along comes the memory of Jesus Christ and the hard path he calls us to take. 

The cross we bear looks different, one day to the next.  Sometimes it’s serving others when we’re completely tapped out.  Sometimes it’s loving someone who’s lied to us.  Sometimes it’s just continuing down a dark path facing one assault after another, when we can’t see any Easter sunrise on the horizon.  But taking up that cross is always about turning away from the smallness of my own heart and turning toward the fullness of the heart of God.  It’s always about emptying my heart of sin and self, and opening my heart to the people Jesus loves enough to die for – which is everybody.   Taking up the cross is always about the fact that those who want to save their lives must give them up, despite how hard that is.

I can’t do anything about sinful extremists killing innocent people.  I can’t do anything directly to influence my country’s response.  The only thing I can influence is the response of my own heart.  As Jesus says elsewhere in Scripture, “You have heard that it was said, “You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’  But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you so that you may be children of your Father in heaven.” (Matthew 5:43-44) 

That’s why this is a hard week to be a follower of Jesus Christ.

So may our hearts be open to his hard, good news.  And may what Abraham Lincoln called the “better angels of our nature” lift us, with Jesus, to a place where we can truly pray, “Father, forgive them….” (Luke 23:34)

1.        Pearson, Michael.  “Slain ambassador died ‘trying to help build a better Libya.’”  CNN.com.  Available at:  http://www.cnn.com/2012/09/12/world/africa/libya-us-ambassador-killed-profile/index.html?iid=article_sidebar.  Accessed Sept. 14, 2012.

2.        Tarnopolsky, Noga.  “Remembering Ambassador J. Christopher Stevens.”  Globalpost.  Available at:  http://www.globalpost.com/dispatch/news/regions/middle-east/israel-and-palestine/120912/ambassador-j-christopher-stevens-a-friend.  Accessed Sept. 14, 2012.

 

Hurricanes and Neighbors

[Sermon from Sept. 2, 2012]

This week, we’ve once again held our collective breath as we watched a hurricane threaten people we care about, in our own country and beyond.  As a powerful tropical storm, Isaac passed over southwestern Haiti last Saturday.  In the storm’s path was Maniche, the home of our partner school; but from what we’ve heard, there was no significant damage there.  Elsewhere in Haiti, 24 people lost their lives.  A few days later, we held our breath as Isaac grew into a hurricane and stalked the Gulf Coast, landing near New Orleans seven years almost to the day after Hurricane Katrina.  It was “only” a Category 1 storm, so the damage was certainly less than seven years ago.  But still, thousands are suffering; and we hold them in our prayers today, along with the people of Haiti, Cuba, and the Dominican Republic. 

There are always stories of heroism and love in situations like these – people in small boats, picking up neighbors on rooftops; first responders saving lives despite the elements; churches and hospitals rallying to meet overwhelming need.  We take such heroism almost for granted, knowing that people will step up and amaze us with their care for one another. 

Among all the media coverage of the storm, I was struck by a TV news story about Faith Bible Church near Dallas, Texas.  The hurricane “news” there wasn’t about the storm directly.  The news was the church’s preparation for people expected to come from far away.  As you’ll remember, when Katrina struck the Gulf Coast, thousands of displaced persons needed to be resettled temporarily, going even as far as Dallas looking for help.  Well, this congregation in DeSoto, Texas, had turned its worship space into a dormitory, with hundreds of cots set up in careful rows, bedding neatly in place – each one ready to welcome someone in need.  But at the time the story aired, of course, not a soul had come; and the reporter seemed almost apologetic that he didn’t have any drama yet to show the folks at home.  (See http://thescoopblog.dallasnews.com/2012/08/north-texas-revs-up-hurricane-isaac-relief-efforts.html.)

But seeing the church’s set-up on TV made me realize how much work that congregation must have put into planning for this contingency.  They must have spent years preparing to love and serve people they didn’t even know.  They’d developed a relationship with the Red Cross and built a detailed plan for caring for whoever came their way.  It’s a great example of faithful people who discerned a calling to very specific work:  the job of being available, ready to serve others in need.

Tomorrow is Labor Day, so we might have work on our minds as we come to worship this morning.  Interestingly, so does God, at least if today’s readings are any indication.  These readings have no official relationship to Labor Day; they’re just what the Sunday lectionary calls for.  But I hear them being all about the work God calls us to do, both as individual disciples and as St. Andrew’s parish. 

In the reading from Deuteronomy, Moses calls the people to demonstrate their faithfulness to God as they begin their lives in the Promised Land.  And what’s the most important way to do that?  It’s not so much about believing specific doctrine.  It’s not even so much about worshipping just the right way, as important as that is in the Law.  Instead, God cares deeply about the day-to-day, mundane aspects of life – preparing food, relating to family and neighbors, working with livestock, resting on the Sabbath.  So to honor God, the people must focus on the primary work involved in keeping the Law: bringing God’s holiness and justice alive in the world around them.

The theme continues with the psalm.  It asks, “What qualifies someone for admission to God’s holy temple for worship?”  Is that based on getting the doctrine right or doing worship just right?  No.  It’s about the work of faith, just “do[ing] what is right” (Psalm 15:2):  treating neighbors honorably, telling the truth, keeping promises, refusing to profit from other people’s poverty.  Faithfulness is in how we live and what we do.

Then the theme continues in the reading from James: God “implants” the Word in our hearts with “the power to save [our] souls” (1:21).  And what should be our response to this gift?  James says, “True religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress…” (1:27).  Do the Word; don’t just hear it.

And finally, in the reading from Mark, Jesus puts a fine point on the kind of labor God’s looking for.  The religious leaders give Jesus trouble because his disciples don’t always keep the ritualistic aspects of the Law.  So Jesus cuts to the heart of the matter: Keeping God’s law isn’t about maintaining ritual purity, he says; it’s about enacting God’s purposes through the way we live in the world, day in and day out.

But bringing God’s purposes to life always happens in a specific context and by specific people – you and me, this parish.  We have to know our gifts and strengths, know how God has wired us, know ourselves well enough to be able to say, “Here’s the job I can do to bring my faith to bear in the world.”  At that church near Dallas, clearly they discerned gifts for organization, logistics, and coordination with community agencies.  The storm wasn’t even in their city, and they’d gone to work, getting ready to care for “orphans and widows” from a distant storm.

As we’ve discerned the work God asks of us, we’ve also found ourselves called to care for people battered by distant storms.  We may not have many people in our congregation who are hungry and homeless, but we go downtown each week to serve hungry people there.  We may not have many children here lacking educational opportunity, but we fund a school for 150 kids in rural Haiti, and we work to support the teachers and students at three schools in our own city.  We may not have many people coming to our church seeking food each day, but we’re taking a step in that direction, too.  Our Outreach Commission and our children’s ministry are joining forces to collect food regularly for the pantry at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church at 40^th and Main.  In fact, the first Sunday of the month, we’ll bless a token of the food we’ve gathered – you’ll see it in front of the altar this morning when you come up for Communion.  St. Paul’s pantry is serving more hungry people than ever before.  They don’t have enough food to meet the need or enough volunteers to help give it away.  Well, service is one of our core values here, and our mission includes “sharing God’s love” with the world.  So we’re going to become “Pantry Partners” with St. Paul’s.  We’re going to serve people whose lives are battered by hunger’s distant storm. 

And at the same time, fulfilling our mission to share God’s love with the world means discerning what work God wants us to do here in our own neighborhood.  As the Hodges and Murrays described at the parish meeting last Sunday, we’re listening to you and to our neighbors to hear what needs, in Brookside, God’s asking us to step up and work on.  Last Sunday, after the meeting, several parishioners went out and did surveys in our neighborhood, standing in the sun at Price Chopper and going door-to-door, talking to people who live here.  We’re also listening to urban-studies experts, and Brookside business leaders, and people in homes associations, and educators, and city council members – the list goes on.  The point is to see where our calling to share God’s love might take us in our own backyard.  Maybe we can help meet the needs of lonely seniors.  Maybe we can help families whose kids and teens need a safe place for recreation.  Maybe we can help kids and teens who need mentoring and tutoring.  Maybe we can help social entrepreneurs get a start on their own work to build our community and heal its divisions.  Months ago, we talked about the idea of e = mc²:  that our church’s mission in our second century (“mc²”) involves several “E” words, such as education and the essentials of life.  Maybe social “entrepreneurship” is another “E” for that list.  We don’t know yet, but I do think we’re asking the right questions.

Now, if a tornado were to cut through Kansas City, I have no doubt we’d be all over it.  But day to day, our call is to use the gifts and skills God’s given us in the context where God’s put us.  That certainly looks like serving people afflicted by distant storms.  But it also looks like sharing God’s love with the people of our neighborhood. 

In both contexts, the message is the same, as we heard in our readings today.  The measure of our faithfulness isn’t so much about getting all the answers right or doing worship perfectly (thank God).  The measure of our faithfulness is how we live, day in and day out.  As we begin our second century and discern what it looks like to share God’s love with people near and far, we have a pretty good handle on the “far” part of the equation.  How we share God’s love with our neighborhood?  That’s still a work in progress.  It might not end up being what many people would expect a church’s “neighborhood ministry” to look like.  It might not necessarily make for good TV.  But it will be authentic to us.  And it’ll be the job that God will have given us to do – the labor that best uses the body of Christ in this time and place to share God’s love with the world.

Remember and Believe

[Sermon from Sunday, Aug. 19]

In the past couple of weeks, I’ve been thinking a lot about relationships.  Last weekend, Ann and the kids and I were out of town, in Springfield, to celebrate my parents’ 60^th wedding anniversary.  The party was at my folks’ parish, Christ Church, which was very appropriate, given the relationships that matter most to them.  Because my family loves to sing, we began the celebration with Evensong and then continued with a reception in the parish hall – very intimate and lovely.  As my parents were blessed in their wedding 60 years ago, so we invoked God’s blessing on them still, praying that Christ would empower them “to honor and keep the promises and vows they [had made]” (BCP 425).  For them, for my sisters and me, and for their friends from 60 years of married life, it was a great opportunity to remember how deep my parents’ relationship runs.

Ironically, or maybe fittingly, this party took place on the 22^nd wedding anniversary for Ann and me.  Our celebration took a back seat to my parents’ party this time; but still, we remembered.  We had cards for each other, at least – small tokens of the day when we covenanted to give each other “all that I am and all that I have” (BCP 427). 

Then yesterday, a very different kind of relationship began.  We took our daughter, Kathryn, to college at Truman State and moved her into her dorm.  For the first time since our kids were very small, Kathryn will have to negotiate the relationship of being a roommate with someone – another person who, remarkably, may not always recognize just how often Kathryn is right about things.  Now, I don’t know how Kathryn and her roommate will work out the details of their new relationship:  Your things go here and mine go there; we’ll be quiet after 11 p.m., you control the TV on these days of the week, and I control the TV on those days of the week.  But I could imagine something like a contract coming in pretty handy in that situation.  It’s very helpful to be able to go back to the agreement and remind your wayward roommate that yes, indeed, it’s Wednesday; and that’s my day to take the remote. 

Roommates and spouses have very different relationships, obviously.  Roommates may have contracts, but spouses or partners share covenants.  A covenant is about more than keeping certain terms; it’s about fulfilling a mutual commitment.  And that deep, intimate commitment is what keeps you together through the rough times.  After all, spouses or partners always end up failing in their mutual obligations; and if it were a contractual relationship, any sane person would simply note that the terms were broken and make a new contract with someone else. 

But in deep relationships, the commitment trumps the specifics of the agreement.  In fact, the commitment takes on a life of its own, forming you as the marriage goes on, shaping you into someone who gives yourself away rather than someone who meets obligatory terms.  Ultimately, that sacramental commitment makes you into someone with the capacity to work a miracle – to live out the impossible vow to love another person with “all that I am and all that I have.”  That mutual commitment empowers the couple to love each other into submission – not submission to each other’s will but submission to God’s purposes. 

And an anniversary is a moment to remember all that.  Whether it’s been 60 years, or 22 years, or whatever, an anniversary is a moment to remember the sacramental nature of the relationship, making it real and tangible in a way it can’t be every day.  On an anniversary, we bring our covenant into active and living memory; and in doing so, we bring it to life anew. 

So you may wonder what all that has to do with our readings today.  Well, the kind of deep relationship people enter into in marriage – that’s the kind of relationship that Jesus is asking us to make with God.  You might think of it as a divine proposal.

The Gospel reading today picks up where we left off last week, with Jesus trying to explain to the thick-headed crowd what it means for him to be the “bread of life.”  He reminds them that, centuries ago, God gave the people of Israel manna to eat in the wilderness.  It kept them going as they journeyed to the Promised Land, but that was as far as their deliverance went.  Now, Jesus says, there’s a new promise, a new covenant of relationship between God and humanity.  “I am the living bread that came down from heaven,” Jesus says.  “Whoever eats of this bread will live forever.” (John 6:51) 

You can almost hear what the crowd is thinking:  “OK, this rabbi’s teaching will give us spiritual nourishment.”  Great.  The symbolism with the bread begins to makes sense. 

But then, Jesus takes the intensity up a notch and confuses the crowd again.  “Whoever eats of this bread will live forever, and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh” (6:51).  Wait – what was that?  Did he really say that?  Eat his flesh?  Yes, and not just that:  “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. …  Whoever eats me will live because of me.”  (6:53,57).  No wonder this movement didn’t catch on so well in Jesus’ day.  There’s a pretty significant “yuck factor” to what Jesus has to say.

The people listening to him don’t get it because they can’t fathom the terms of God’s proposal.  This “bread of life” won’t just keep us alive as we wander from one day to the next.  This bread is literally God in the flesh; and through Jesus’ body and blood, God is offering us God’s own life, eternal life – right here, right now, and forever.  “Just as I live because of the Father,” Jesus explains, “so whoever eats me will live because of me” (6:57).  It’s so straightforward we think it must be more confusing than that.  He can’t really mean what he’s saying, right?  Well, yes.  Eat my flesh and drink my blood – take my life into your own life – and I’ll empower you with eternal life. 

OK.  There’s God’s part of this covenant.  What’s our part?  What are the vows we’re asked to make in this incredibly intimate relationship?  As the crowd asks Jesus earlier, “What must we do to perform the works of God?” (John 6:28).

The response God asks of us is both much simpler, and much more demanding, than we’d expect.  Again, it’s less like a business contract and more like a marriage covenant.  Our part of the commitment is to match Jesus’ commitment to us.  “[B]elieve in him whom [God] has sent” (6:29).  That’s it.  There’s no to-do list, no contract to check for compliance.  Instead, Jesus says, pay attention to what you see the Father doing through me, and commit yourself to it.  Remember, and believe. 

That’s easier said than done, in the midst of life that distracts us with constant input and overwhelms us with impossible expectations.  When all I can see is everything I have to do, how can I remember my covenant with God and actively believe in Jesus?  We humans need concrete reminders.  We need signs to help us remember where we are.  It’s why the crowd asks Jesus, “What sign are you going to give us then, that we may see it and believe you?” (John 6:30).  Now, 24 hours earlier, the same crowd had watched him feed 5,000 people with five loaves and two fish.  What more of a sign do you need?  But that was then; this is now.  Then they were full, but now they’re hungry again.  With the needs and obligations of life crashing in, how can we remember and believe?

That’s why we’re here today.  That’s why we’re here every Sunday.  That’s why we do basically the same thing here every week.  It’s what Eucharist is all about:  Remember, and believe.

Go back to what you learned in Confirmation class or Episcopal 101.  What happens in Eucharist is called anamnesis in Greek, and it means living memory.  It means remembering, but with flesh and bones on it.  It means bringing a past reality into the present reality as a foretaste of a future reality.  It means making Jesus present in your hands and on your lips, bringing you the power of divine life in the here and now.  It means making eternal life real.  When we remember, we believe.

And from our remembrance and our belief will come the “works of God,” in the sense we’d typically understand that.  Filled with the bread of life, we become the conduits through which eternal life flows.  As Jesus gives himself to bring life to us, so we give ourselves to bring life to each other and to the world.  Nourished with the body of Christ, we become the Body of Christ – bread for a hungry world. 

Every Sunday, we gather to celebrate the anniversary of a marriage – the marriage of heaven and earth, the marriage of Christ and his Church, the marriage of God with each one of us.  So consider every celebration of Eucharist an opportunity to renew your vows.  Remember, and believe.  And in the power of that memory, recommit yourself as a partner with God in the project of loving the world into submission.