My Best Day Ever

Sermon for Thanksgiving Day
Nov. 28, 2024

As we gather in gratitude this morning, I want to tell you three quick stories.  Later, as you say grace at your Thanksgiving table, you can add your gratitude for the gift of a short holiday sermon.

The first story is a scene from a movie that came out 36 years ago, The Milagro Beanfield War.  It’s a great film, equal parts comedy and drama, about a village of Hispanic Americans in New Mexico who stand up to a huge corporation diverting the community’s water supply for a golf course in the desert.  One particular moment captures the film’s heart.  One of the village elders, a wisdom character, lives in an adobe shack.  He’s scraping by, and his body is rebelling against him with the pains and indignities of aging.  Yet, as he struggles to get out of bed in the morning, his first words are these:  “Thank you, God, for letting me have another day.”  Now, his situation makes you think maybe not waking up in the morning would be the easier option.  But the old man has grown wise enough to know that being grateful for each day is what makes each day worth living.

Here’s the second story.  It’s one I’m sure several of you have experienced as you serve people in need.  Years ago now, when I first started at St. Andrew’s, I joined the team volunteering at the Kansas City Community Kitchen, now known as Nourish KC.  In those days, we stood along a serving line, each of the volunteers offering a scoop of casserole or a serving of salad or a piece of cake.  So, the volunteers had the chance to talk very briefly with everyone who came through the line that day.  There were people of all ages and colors.  Some were clearly in pain; some were silent; some wanted to engage.  We would talk with the guests as they passed by.  It was usually a simple, “Hey, how you doing?” – you know, that greeting we all give over and over, a question that doesn’t expect a real answer.  And the guests’ answers were equally predictable: “Fine” or “all right” or “OK, how ‘bout you?”  But when I said, “Hey, how you doing?” to one man, he stopped to answer.  He looked at me, and smiled, and he said, “I’m blessed.”  Now, since then, I’ve heard people give that answer many times – usually folks in situations far tougher than mine.  But I can still see the man from whom I hear it first – someone wise enough to know that being grateful for each day is what makes each day worth living.

Here’s the third story.  It happened just last week at St. James Church, as volunteers from St. Andrew’s and volunteers from St. James were serving an early Thanksgiving meal to people from the neighborhood.  We’d never tried this before, so of course we didn’t know what to expect or exactly what to do.  The food was fabulous, expertly prepared and abundant.  I’d signed up to bus tables, living into gifts from my high-school days.  And, as so often happens in situations like this, we had more volunteers than we needed; so I found myself walking around a lot, making small talk.  Some of that happened with guests as they came to the buffet; I’d say “Hi” and thank them for coming.  Some of that happened with St. Andrew’s folks; I’d say “Hi” and thank them for coming.  Then I met up very briefly with a fellow volunteer from St. James.  He was about my age, and he’d signed up to bus tables, too.  He was diligent, watching closely for empty plates.  You could tell the work mattered to him and he wanted to do it well.  At one point, our paths crossed, and I offered the standard, “Hey, how you doing?” not expecting anything more than a nod.  But as he passed by, he became much more than a man bussing tables.  He became an angel.  You know, in Scripture, angels are God’s messengers, sent to share an unexpected holy word.  And so, when I said, “Hey, how you doing?” this middle-aged angel slowed down in his work just enough to look back to me and say, “It’s my best day ever.”  Then he smiled and walked on.  But he’d been a messenger of heavenly wisdom: that being grateful for this day, this very day, is what makes this day worth living.  It’s the best day ever because it’s the one I’m living right now.

It’s relatively easy to take that point of view as you’re dining on a feast of “rich food” and “well-aged wines,” as the prophet Isaiah described the heavenly banquet (25:6).  Most of us will get a preview of that heavenly banquet today as we gather to share great bounty with the people we love most – the people many of us have in mind as we write our gratitude on the leaves that we’ll read from the altar later.  Today, it’s relatively easy to say, “It’s my best day ever.”

And that sense of gratitude can rise in us regularly in our foretaste of the heavenly banquet here, this feast we receive at God’s altar every Sunday.  Every blessed time we come and offer ourselves, Jesus comes though, providing not just the “bread of angels” (Psalm 78:25) but his own Body and Blood, his gift of himself to share resurrected life with even such as us.  We come here each week to make Eucharist, which in Greek means “thanksgiving.”  And as we stretch our hands across the rail and into heaven for a bite of this thanksgiving meal, we get a glimpse of what “my best day ever” will someday be.

            For now, for me, the call from the angel at St. James was to decide that “my best day ever” is true.  Not just at the altar rail, not just at a Thanksgiving feast – no matter what, it’s true.  And, the angel said, I need to choose to live each day that way – even in the long, slow, slogging seasons when one hard day just runs into the next.  Ever since I saw that movie The Milagro Beanfield War more than 30 years ago, I’ve been pretty good about saying to God each morning, “Thank you for letting me have another day.”  But I think the angel at St. James is asking me to take it up a notch: “Thank you, God, for my best day ever.” 

Turn and Bind Up the Nation's Wounds

Sermon for Nov. 10, 2024
Mark 13:1-8

Note: With the bishop’s permission, we switched the readings appointed for Nov. 10 and Nov. 17 because the parishioner scheduled to be interviewed on Nov. 10 had to reschedule for Nov. 17 … and her interview is tied to the readings appointed for Nov. 10

First, I need to let you know this homily will sound a bit strange.  That’s because I wrote it the morning of Election Day, before we knew any outcomes.  So, I’ll read it (rather than preach it) more than I usually would.  Think of it as a letter from me to you, written Tuesday morning.

* * *

The polls opened a few hours ago, and a steady stream of people are coming to HJ’s to cast their ballots.  It’s good to see, regardless of the outcomes of the races and ballot issues.

Also, since 8 a.m. today, the church has been open for individual reflection and prayer, as it will be the day after the election.  We put out three resources: a “Season of Prayer for an Election” handout, with prayers from the BCP; a set of Prayers of the People for an Election; and Abraham Lincoln’s Second Inagural Address.  In fact, I’m wearing my Lincoln socks as I write this.

Here in the Diocese of West Missouri, this isn’t the only important Election Day we’ll have this week.  On Saturday, our Diocesan Convention delegates –  lay people and clergy – will elect the ninth bishop of West Missouri, someone who likely will serve longer than whomever is elected president today.  Having been on the Bishop Search Committee, I can tell you that any of the four candidates will be a good and faithful chief pastor for us.  That said, among the candidates is one of my best friends, the Rev. Amy Dafler Meaux.  So, I can’t exactly say I’m objective about the outcome.

By Sunday, we’ll know who our next bishop will be.  I may be more or less happy about that personally, depending on the outcome.  Also by Sunday, God willing, we’ll know who our next president will be.  If so, I’d bet my next paycheck that 50 percent of you are happy and relieved, while 50 percent of you are dismayed, maybe depressed, maybe angry.  

What do we do in the days after these elections?  If my friend wasn’t elected bishop, how will I work with the winner?  If your candidate wasn’t elected president, how will you walk alongside those who are happy with the outcome?  If we know nothing else about our nation after these months of campaigning, we know it will be tough to move forward together toward the common good.

So, where can we look for hope?

It turns out, our Love in Action series this week is taking up the spiritual practice of turning: pausing, listening, and choosing to follow Jesus.  We actually didn’t do that on purpose, scheduling “turn” as the spiritual practice to follow Election Day – but the Holy Spirit helped us out.  I say that because I believe our only way forward together is to turn together – not toward a “good” winner or away from a “bad” winner but toward the only One who will lead us toward the common good.

Our Gospel reading is another Holy Spirit moment – again, given to us regardless of the elections’ outcome.  This story may be a little hard to hear as “good news” on a first reading, and it certainly wasn’t comforting for the disciples or the early Christians.  Jesus is talking about the end of the world as we know it, and nobody feels fine.

The writer of Mark’s Gospel is looking back 40 years or so from just after the Jewish Revolt of the years 66 to 70.  The end of that conflict looked a lot like what Jesus is describing in today’s reading:  As his followers marvel at the Temple’s grandeur, Jesus says, “Do you see these great buildings?  Not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.” (Mark 13:2)  For the early Christians, when the Roman army crushed the Jewish revolutionaries, slaughtered thousands, and destroyed Judaism’s holiest site – when the worst thing they could imagine happened – they saw it as the “beginning of the birth pangs,” God bringing fiery judgment on the people who hadn’t accepted Jesus as the Messiah (13:8).  And they were sure God’s judgment would be completed soon, with Jesus returning in the “clouds with great power and glory” (13:26) to reign on earth the way he was reigning in heaven.

And as the early Christians remembered Jesus promising to return in power and glory, they also remembered him saying, Be careful who you follow in the meantime.  “Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray.”  When everything around you seems to crumble, Jesus says, “do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come.” (Mark 13:7)

“Beware that no one leads you astray.”  Why does Jesus say that?  Because he knows how susceptible people are to following gods of their own making – then and now.  The fact we’re so divided about which candidate is our savior might be a hint that neither candidate is our savior.

But our temptations toward idolatry go further than that.  We may be tempted to see our system of government as our savior.  Or our economy.  Or maybe our nation itself.  My hero Abraham Lincoln called this nation “the last, best hope of earth.”¹  But Lincoln also saw that earth’s last, best hope was itself deeply in need of repentance.  In his Second Inagural Address, he named slavery as our original sin, the cause of the war that had cost the lives of more than 600,000 mostly White men.  Lincoln saw the war as nothing less than God’s judgment:  He wrote, “If God wills that [the war] continue, until all the wealth piled by the bond-man’s two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said, ‘The judgments of the Lord, are true and righteous altogether.’”²  This last, best hope of earth needed to make a serious turn toward righteousness.

And it still does. God calls us always to turn around, to change our minds toward God’s purposes. That’s why turning is a spiritual practice and not a one-time dramatic moment.  What we need to turn from may not be sexy, like most people’s images of sin – and that’s why idolatry is so pernicious.  Putting our hope on that which is not God – power or money or candidates or parties or nations – it’s just what people do, right?  But it doesn’t help us.  Instead, when things don’t go our way, our idolatry just makes us anxious and fearful, and we respond as humans do – with anger.

“Beware that no one leads you astray,” Jesus says.  Instead, as your post-election resolution, take up the spiritual practice of turning – of pausing, listening, and choosing to follow Jesus instead of the many other forces that come and say, “I am he!”  And how do we do that?  Go back to our foundation, the covenant we renewed last Sunday as we welcomed new followers of Jesus through the waters of baptism.  Just as the Baptismal Covenant was there during the campaign to serve as our voting guide, so it’s there to navigate us through the uncertainty of the coming weeks and months.  We’ll find our way forward when we turn toward God to discern, “What can I do to foster the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, the breaking of bread, and the prayers?  What can I do to resist evil and turn to the Lord?  What can I do to proclaim by word and example the good news of Jesus’ reign and rule among us?  What can I do to seek and serve Christ in all people, loving my neighbor as myself?  What can I do to strive for justice and peace, and respect the dignity of every human being?”

So, what might look like if we lived out the answers to those questions?  I think we might find ourselves following the call to turn that Abraham Lincoln gave us, as individuals and as a nation:  “With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation’s wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan – to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and a lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations.”²

1.       https://www.abrahamlincolnonline.org/lincoln/speeches/congress.htm

2.       https://teachingamericanhistory.org/document/second-inaugural-address-1865-2

Worship: Your Memory Aid

Sermon for Oct. 27, 2024
Mark 10:46-52

That may seem like an odd Gospel reading for a Sunday when we’re highlighting the spiritual practice of worship.  After all, in today’s reading, blind Bartimaeus isn’t even in a house of worship.  He isn’t praying in a synagogue or offering sacrifice in the temple.  Those are the kinds of places where worship happens, right?  But here’s Bartimaeus, on the side of the road yelling at Jesus, naming him as “Son of David” and crying for mercy.  What does that have to do with worship?

Well, maybe we should clarify what we mean when we talk about worship.  That word is often used as a noun – a thing churches do, the main product we offer.  And that can lead us to think about worship as a commodity:  How good is it?  How compelling is it?  How well does it meet my needs?  But worship isn’t about us, actually.  There’s an audience of One for this offering we make each week.  The object of worship is God, for whom we gather to give thanks and praise.  When we come here, we’re the ones providing a service, not the ones receiving it.

I think the reason why this Gospel reading makes sense for today is less about Bartimaeus’ actions and more about the object of his actions.  Bartimaeus may be blind, but he can clearly see Jesus’ identity.  He knows this is God’s anointed ruler passing by – the “Son of David” (Mark 10:47), the Messiah.  And that doesn’t mean simply a king; this is God’s viceroy on earth.  That’s how the ancient Israelites understood kingship:  They saw their king as God’s own son, God’s deputy; and it was through the king’s rule that God exercised divine sovereignty on earth.  So, when Bartimaeus calls Jesus “son of David,” Bartimaeus isn’t just naming him as Israel’s king.  Identifying Jesus as God’s Messiah, Bartimaeus is ascribing to him worth, dignity, honor, renown, and glory.  He’s worshiping.

And what happens as a result?  Two important responses, one of which may be easy to miss.  First, because the blind man sees God in the presence of Jesus the Messiah and trusts in God’s power that flows through him, Bartimaeus receives the healing he asks for when he says,  “Let me see again” (10:51).  But just as important, Bartimaeus’ life changes on an even deeper level in what happens next, when he follows Jesus “on the way” (10:52).  It’s not enough for Bartimaeus simply to give God honor, renown, and glory – to recognize God’s ultimate worth above all else.  Bartimaeus sees he has to take the next step, too, and make his life an act of worship by following Jesus on the way.

 In Bartimaeus’ day, there were many people and powers competing to be seen as the true object of worship.  You could see that in the conflict between Judaism and Rome, certainly, with the Romans worshiping their own gods and seeing their emperor as the divine Lord.  But the conflict over which god to worship went back centuries before that.

Traditionally in the ancient Near East, every people and nation had its own deity, the god who was understood to exercise power and authority over just that place.  That would have been how non-Israelites saw Yahweh – as the god of the Israelites, presumed to be roughly equivalent to the gods of the Egyptians and the Canaanites and every other nation.  But the people of Israel started making this crazy claim about Yahweh – that this wasn’t just their god but the God, overruling all the others.  Yahweh defeated the gods of the Egyptians by freeing the Israelites from bondage and delivering them through the Red Sea.  Yahweh defeated the gods of the Canaanites by empowering the Israelites to take that land from the people who lived there. 

And all through the history of the people of Israel, their huge challenge was to remember it was Yahweh and Yahweh alone who was the sovereign.  Monotheism was a deeply radical idea.  And to keep that radical idea burning in people’s hearts and minds, the people worshiped.  They offered appointed sacrifices in the Temple in Jerusalem.  They made several annual pilgrimages to the holy city.  They studied their scriptures and offered their prayers in synagogues in their hometowns.  Worship reminded them that they were different because their god was different.  Their god was the One God – and when they forgot, and worshiped the gods of the nations around them, they found life went badly.  They found their nation divided into competing kingdoms.  They found their power crumbling on the regional stage.  As they forgot which god deserved their honor, renown, and glory, they found themselves driven into exile, losing their nationhood completely.

I think one way of understanding Jesus’ mission is that he came to remind Yahweh’s people – who are all people – just who the object of worship must be.  That was true 2,000 years ago, and it’s true now.  Monotheism is just as radical a notion today as it was in the ancient world.  Now, today, Yahweh’s competitors are always before us.  They’re on your social media feed, and in the stock-market report, and in entertainment, and in what passes for public discourse.  And in this election season, rivals for your worship make a particularly blatant appeal.  The candidates say, “Only my way can save you, and if you’re not with me, you’re evil.”  In fact, for some candidates, the message becomes even more coarse:  “If you’re not with me, you’re not really human.”

In this moment, when the gods of power and self-interest make their strongest pitch, we need worship to help us remember two truths that will save us.  The first truth is this:  There is but one God – the One who made us, and who brought us back when we turned away, and who heals us, and who calls us to follow.  And the second truth is this:  We are the children of that God, made in Yahweh’s image; and our purpose is to grow into the fullness of that divine stature.  We are made by love, for love.  And following any power other than love warps us into lesser creatures than we’re made to be.

Worship is the most powerful way we remember who God is and who we are.  Even when we find ourselves blind beggars, sitting at the side of the road, shushed by the powers that surround us, worship helps us remember we have a voice.  And worship helps us remember that when we call out to the one God – ascribing honor, renown, and glory to the only One who deserves it – then God heals us and empowers us to help heal our world, too.

That’s a tall order, that kind of powerful, deep remembering.  How do we begin?  I think it starts by saying, “Thank you.”  It’s our most fundamental prayer, the heart of all true worship.  And it’s no accident that what we offer here each week is called Eucharist, which in Greek means “thanksgiving.”  We come here to worship not because God needs our thanks but because we need to offer it, over and over again, to remember who and whose we are.