Connected with Jesus. August 26, 2018/The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

John 6:56-69

How are you?  It’s a common question we ask one another multiple times a day as a social nicety.  And we all know the proper answer regardless of whether or not it’s really true, “Fine, thank you,” which prompts the reciprocal question, “How are you?”  Now once that introductory exchange is over you can get down to the true purpose of the interaction which may be to ask about car insurance rates or to inquire about how your child is doing in school or to ask to be seated at a table.  But sometimes that question comes from someone who really wants to know how you are doing and when that happens you might share something about the status of your family or the condition of your health or what you’ve been up to lately.  More often than not our answer focuses on the circumstances of life for that’s often how we judge how, indeed, we are doing.  If everything is as we think it should be then we are doing fine, thank you.  If, though, circumstances are not so good then typically neither are we.  All of which puts our lives and our sense of wellbeing in a very vulnerable position, always at the mercy of outside forces that will inevitably change.   This is not the life that Jesus has in mind for us. 

Rather, the life that Jesus wants us to know is an abundant life that is not tied to changing circumstances.  It is a life that is found within us - a life that is always true, always good, always present no matter what’s going on outside of us.  We hear about this life in our gospel reading today.   And not just today, but it’s such an important message that we’ve been hearing about it for the last four Sundays as we have read through the entire 6th chapter of the Gospel of John.  First Jesus fed 5,000 hungry people and as wonderful as it was for Jesus to fill everyone’s stomach that day, the enduring message that he sought to get across was about life and from whom true life comes.  Then Jesus challenged all of us to consider the kind of bread we eat.  Do we want the kind that passes away or the kind that last always?  Next Jesus proclaimed that he was the bread of life, the living bread that came down from heaven.  And today we hear Jesus say, “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.  Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me.”

The life that Jesus is talking about here is more than just physical life - breathing in, breathing out, existing in a biological kind of way.  He’s talking about having a life that is beyond words, one that is indescribable, but yet we know it when we taste it.  And we get a taste of it when we encounter love that is so profound that everything else seems to fade away.  When we experience being more alive, more present, more peaceful than ever before.  When there’s a sense that all is well in the world not because we’ve gotten what we’ve wanted or that circumstances are as we wish them to be, but because there is a knowing deep down that we are part of something or really someone who is greater than us - who beauty, who is holy, who is love.  In those moments we are tasting life.  We are eating and drinking Jesus.  We are abiding in Christ, he in us and we in him.  We are in the flow and the wonder of it all.  And boy does it tastes good!

“Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me and I in them...whoever eats me will live because of me.”  “But this teaching is difficult,” so said some of the disciples and because of it many turned away.  I’m sure they all had their reasons.  Perhaps some were appalled by the graphic language of eating flesh and drinking blood.  Others may have been put off by the idea of being so connected with Jesus, he in us and we in him, that it just seemed like too much.  Still others were probably frustrated that this life that Jesus offered didn’t necessarily change what was wrong in the world.  We aren’t the only ones who want quick fixes.  The crowds of the day liked it very much that Jesus could feed 5,000 on the fly, along with his ability to healing the sick and raising the dead with just a word.  Why couldn’t he use that power to bring down the oppressive Roman government?  Indeed it is a difficult teaching to hear and accept that true life is not about changing one’s circumstances.   Rather the life that we ultimately hunger for is satisfied in Jesus. 

So after all this talk about life we come to the end of the chapter and Jesus’ teaching, and there’s a choice to be made.  Many have already left when Jesus turns to his disciples and asks, “Do you also wish to go away?”  Peter’s response, “Lord, to whom can we go?  You have the words of eternal life,” is not a word of despair or a statement about settling on Jesus because there’s no better option.  Peter and the others stay because they “have come to believe and know that [Jesus is] the Holy One of God" and that in him and with him is life not just for Peter and but for all of us. 

We, too, are invited this day and every day to choose - to choose to open our hearts and lives to the Holy One of God, to Jesus’ love and life, that feeds and fills our lives to the full no matter the circumstances.  So that when we are asked the question, “How are you?”  the answer we give may be somewhat of an understatement, but nonetheless true.  Because we are tasting life in Christ we are genuinely fine, thank you.  And thanks be to God.

Participants of the divine nature. August 19, 2018 The Rev. David M. Stoddart

John 6:51-58

I love giving Communion to young children because they love getting it. Sometimes they run up to the altar rail; many of them give me big smiles when they put their hands out; I remember one of them not long ago bouncing up and down and clapping her hands as it got to be her turn. Occasionally a parent will tell me that they don’t want their children to receive Communion until they “understand” it. But that’s the beauty of it: they don’t have it figured out and they don’t need to have it figured out: they’re just experiencing it. They come forward; they’re welcomed; they’re fed; they’re brought close to Something.

And we have a lot to learn from them. The truth is that we adults don’t have it figured out, either, but often we think we should. So we spin our theories: transubstantiation, consubstantiation. We try to explain to ourselves how it can be both a wafer of bread and the Body of Christ. We become spiritual mechanics: what exactly happens to the bread and wine, and when and how does it happen? Or we decide that it is just a symbol and nothing is happening. All such analyses are attempts to put the mystery into a box, so that we can have a feeling of mastery and control — which is why all analyses fail. It would be like you telling someone, “I love you with all my heart,” and that person responding, “Well, you know, the heart is a muscle that pumps blood, and it doesn’t actually feel any emotions.” True — and it misses the whole point!

The people described in John’s Gospel today are missing the whole point. How can this man give us his flesh to eat? They are being crudely literalistic, and trying to understand something rationally that cannot be understood rationally. And Jesus points us beyond any such attempts to rationalize. He uses language and imagery that is obviously disturbing and mind-blowing. Like a Zen koan, his talk of eating flesh and drinking blood cannot be understood in a straightforward, logical way. And he clearly does not want it to be. He pushes us beyond the limitations of our minds. When Jesus declares his flesh to be food, he doesn’t then say “Analyze this,” or “Argue about this,” or “Write theological dissertations about this.” He says, “Eat this.” He doesn’t want us to understand it: he wants us to experience it.

The Psalmist says in Psalm 34, Taste and see that the Lord is good.  Living faith is never just about following the rules or coming up with the correct doctrines. The Holy Eucharist is not an intellectual exercise or an academic test. We’re not supposed to comprehend or master Holy Communion; we’re supposed to eat it and drink it. This Gospel today, like our worship in general, is meant to lead us into a profound experience of the Reality we name God, whose essence is Love.

And before I say anything else, let me affirm that it is certainly important and worthwhile to intellectually reflect on our experience of God. We want and need good theology. But that is always secondary to the experience itself — it never replaces it. We don’t want to know about God: we want to know God.

That God is so very close to us, closer than we can actually imagine. He becomes flesh and blood in Jesus, and then we eat that flesh and drink that blood. Eating is an intimate activity: taking something into our bodies that becomes part of us. And, according to Jesus, that is the way we fully experience God: by realizing God lives in us, deeply and inseparably entwined with us: Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. This is the heart of the Gospel. There are moral ramifications to it: loving God and loving our neighbor as ourselves. There are practical ramifications to it: the need to forgive, to let go of anger and resentment, to show compassion to those in need. Following Jesus is a way of life, but it begins by eating him, and experiencing the very life of God within us. Jesus teaches it in the Gospel, and the rest of the New Testament says “Amen” to it. Paul writes in Galatians that it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me (3:20). That is the source of his love, his power, and his joy. And that is true for everyone. He writes to the Corinthians, Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you? (1 Cor. 3:16).  Our reading from Ephesians today exhorts us to be filled with the Spirit, continually filled with the Spirit of Christ. The Second Letter of Peter says that we have become participants of the divine nature (2 Pet. 1:4). We don’t make that happen: the life of God within us is a gift. Every time we receive the Body and Blood of Christ we are reminded of that gift in the most concrete way possible, by eating and drinking it. If our knowledge of God is restricted  to some sense of divinity “out there,” then we are missing a key and vital experience, that which gives us life today and forever: Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me.

But having said that, there is really no spiritual homework I can give you. There is nothing for you to go out and do, nothing to accomplish, nothing to make happen. This is why Jesus can say, Seek, and you will find, because what you most need, what you most desire, you already have. The great Sufi poet Rumi has a wonderful poem that goes:

            The minute I heard my first love story,

            I started looking for you, not knowing

            How blind that was.

            Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere.

            They’re in each other all along.

God is love. In love, God has poured God’s very life into the humanity of Christ, who pours that very life into us through the Spirit. That’s what loves does: it becomes one with the Beloved. Each one of us is God’s beloved: God is one with us, intimately part of us, an endless wellspring of love, power, and joy. We eat and drink the sacramental sign of that on Sundays, but it’s true every moment of every day. We don’t have to do anything other than accept it and experience it and live it.

Building up community. August 12, 2018 The Rev. David M. Stoddart

Ephesians 4:25-5:2

Mark Twain famously remarked that it’s not the parts of the Bible he doesn’t understand that bother him: it’s the parts he does understand. So no doubt the letter to the Ephesians would have been upsetting to him. It is pretty straightforward, and pretty shocking. Take that verse in our passage today about stealing, for example: Thieves must give up stealing. Well, duh, that seems obvious, but then listen again to the rest of the verse: let them labor and work honestly with their hands, so as to have something to share with the needy. Whoa! It doesn’t say, “Thieves, stop stealing because you’re breaking the Eighth Commandment.” It doesn’t say, “Thieves, stop stealing because it’s wrong and you’ll be punished if you do it.” No, it says “Thieves, stop stealing and get a job so that you can earn more money so that you can give more money away to those in need.” This is not the way we normally think about deterring crime. But it fits in perfectly with the central message of Ephesians, which is all about building up community. The main thrust of the letter is easy to understand and easily offended many people when it was written: Jews and Gentiles now belong to the same community. Despite centuries of hatred, bigotry, and violence, they are to embrace each other as sisters and brothers in Christ. They are to be a new humanity. Anything that builds up that new community, that new humanity, is good. Anything that tears it down or destroys it is bad. And since the Holy Spirit is the very life of that new community, anything that violates community grieves the Spirit.

A year ago, our community was violated and our common humanity attacked. People carried swastikas on the downtown mall; they chanted anti-Semitic slogans and threats in front of the synagogue; they shouted racial slurs; they openly called for a society that denigrates or excludes people of color, immigrants, and others deemed undesirable; they espoused hatred and violence; one of them deliberately drove a car into a crowd of people to hurt and to kill. It could have happened anywhere perhaps, but it happened here, in Charlottesville. The sentiment may be everywhere, but we saw it up close and personal. So we need to own it and to name it for what it is: a pernicious evil that grieves the Spirit of God. And that means more than just pointing our fingers at other people. In our worship today we are using a special litany with confession authorized by the Standing Commission on Liturgy and Music of the Episcopal Church that admits the ways  all of us have been guilty of prejudice. Even if we disavow — and I hope we all do — the opinions expressed at that rally last year, we are still complicit. We are all part of a society where racism, bigotry, and injustice have been allowed to fester. Our spiritual health and basic honesty demand that we recognize that and acknowledge that.

But that’s the easy part. Last year when I was with the clergy downtown during the rally, I felt sad at what I saw, but I also felt angry. And I have had many conversations since then with people who are angry: angry at what happened, angry at racial injustice, angry at the hatred and the malice expressed in our community. And what we do with that is crucial, so I am going to point us to Ephesians again, which has this straightforward but uncomfortable admonition: Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger. Following Jesus Christ is not just about being “nice” and never getting mad. Anger is a normal and often healthy human emotion. What makes us Christians is not avoiding anger but processing it and expressing it in ways that are wholesome and life-giving. And, among other things, that means not deliberately holding on to anger. Unfortunately, we often do hold on to it. We like to hold on to it. We not only let the sun go down on it, we let whole months, seasons, and years pass by while we cling to feelings of rage and even nurture them. There is something perversely satisfying about stewing in anger: it appeals to some part of our ego and makes us feel superior and self-righteous. But it is spiritually toxic. Jesus says so in his Sermon on the Mount, Paul seconds it, and the rest of the New Testament affirms it. Whatever we do with our anger, holding on to it and relishing it is not the way of Christ and doesn’t lead to anything good. The Letter of James puts it bluntly: Your anger does not produce God’s righteousness (1:20).

So what do we do? The Franciscan writer Richard Rohr likes to say, “If we do not transform our pain, we will most assuredly transmit it.” There are too many people transmitting their anger and pain, lashing out in ways that are hurtful and destructive. And there are too few people walking the way of Jesus and letting him change our water into wine, letting the Holy Spirit transform our anger and pain into positive action that builds up community. Afer all, if we give into rage and hate the haters, then we just become haters ourselves — and we accomplish nothing. So again, Ephesians says it plainly: Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice, and be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another as God in Christ has forgiven you.  In that spirit, I rejoice in those members of our parish who have participated in discussion groups about racism or who have visited sites that are significant in the struggle for racial justice. I give thanks for all those who have been helping the Frotan family from Afghanistan as they begin a new life in this country. I am grateful for those who have joined me for Friday prayers at the masjid. I am touched by the way so many individuals have channeled their energy and often their anger into constructive action. The Holy Spirit is moving. What matters is that all of us, empowered by that Spirit, find concrete ways that we can help build up a vibrant community which embraces people of all races, all ethnic backgrounds, all nationalities, all religions, all genders, all sexual orientations, all political parties — that embraces everyone. When we do so, we are joining with Christ in his ongoing work of healing the world and establishing the Reign of God. And in that Reign, there is no place for hatred: love wins — always and forever.

So I will close on that note and let Ephesians have the final word: Live in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.

Shining light in dark places. August 5, 2018 The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

2 Samuel 11:26 - 12:13a

In the Hebrew language the name David means beloved.  And it certainly is a beloved name around here.  If you had to guess, how many Davids would you say are in our church community?  I wondered myself.  And I want to give props to Diane Hartling, our Administrative Assistant, for finding out the answer.  How many Davids are in our church?  Eighteen!  I think it is safe to say that David wins the prize for most popular name.

And there are various reasons why that is the case, why so many parents, myself included, have named a son David.  Family legacy is one reason.  Just the simple, solid way it sounds is another.  For some it’s because it’s a biblical name.  King David’s reknown as being the greatest king of Israel and a man after God’s own heart, seems like a pretty good person to name a son after.  But there’s more to King David’s story than just worldly success or committed faith.  Our Old Testament reading from the book of 2 Samuel picks up in the middle of the sordid saga of this David’s fall from grace.  

Previously in the story while the Israelite army was out in the country fighting King David’s battles, David himself stayed back in Jerusalem where one afternoon he spies a beautiful woman, Bathsheba, bathing.  Intrigued, David sends his men to go and get her in order to “have his way with her.”  Sometime later the message comes that Bathsheba is pregnant, which puts David in a bit of a quandary because Bathsheba is married to one of his faithful and fighting soldiers, Uriah.  Seeking to cover up what he has done, David calls Uriah back to Jerusalem and tries to get him to sleep with his wife.  But when that effort fails David opts to take more definitive action.   He sends Uriah back to the fight with secret orders to place him at the front of the worst fighting and then have his army pull back.  When Uriah is killed in battle the path is cleared for David to take Bathsheba as one of his wives.

Now our reading tells us that God was displeased with what David had done to Uriah.  But that’s an understatement and a poor translation of the original Hebrew which reads that what David did was evil in the sight of the Lord.  So God sends his prophet Nathan to tell David a story about two men, one rich and one poor.  To cut to the chase, the rich man, who has lots of sheep, takes the poor man’s only and beloved lamb and slaughters it for a feast.  Upon hearing this unjust story, King David is rightly enraged by the rich man’s flagrant abuse of power and privilege.  He declares that such a man should not only payback the poor man fourfold for his crime but also be put to death.   At which point Nathan cried, “You are the man!”  And with that pronouncement David sees what he previously had not and confesses, “I have sinned against the Lord.”

God sent his prophet Nathan to reveal to David one of his blind spots which, by their very nature, are parts of ourselves, our communities, and our culture that we are unable see.  And because that is the case, it often takes an outsider to expose them.  David, though, is not the only one who exhibits a blind spot.  The story itself, written in a particular time and culture, demonstrates a good amount of blindness when it comes to the first person to suffer at the hands of the king.   

In days past, the story of David and Bathsheba was often been portrayed as a tale of star crossed lovers.  However this romanticized version of the story is nowhere to be found in the Bible.  Rather Bathsheba, being a woman and a subject of the king, has no say in the matter - no voice, no power, and no ability to give consent.  Using his power and privilege David takes Bathsheba, which results in an undesired pregnancy, the murder of a husband, and a forced marriage.  When all is said and done, Bathsheba is powerless to call the king to account for the abuse and violence done unto her.  This is a blind spot. 

And we all have them - no matter who we are or when we live.  That’s why we need each other.   King David needed the prophet Nathan.   We need one another to show us what we can’t see on our own.  For me, it’s just been in the last year that I have discovered one of my blind spots.  It happened by listening to the stories of others, particularly others like Bathsheba who have had little voice or power, that I realized something that is very humbling and hard to admit - that is, I’m a racist.  Not that I’m a hate-filled bigot who dehumanizes the lives of others based on skin color.  But I’m a racist because I’ve been shaped by the culture I live in - a culture steeped in racial inequality.  I’m seeing for the first time that even my well-meaning ideas of trying not to see color and wanting to help brown and black skinned people comes from a place of privilege and power that can actually work against racial justice.  I’m still in the process of having my eyes opened to that blind spot and seeing it which is never easy.  But it’s necessary - necessary if we want the Holy Spirit to be at work in our lives and in the world.   

For God is always seeking to shine light in dark places, on our blind spots which are areas in our lives that if hidden keep us and others from living into the fullness of who we are created to be.  King David, with all his flaws, models for us an ability to hear hard news about oneself and to confess it.  Bathsheba is an icon of all those in the world who have no voice or power and are all too easily forgotten.  And Nathan the prophet is a sign to us that God continues to send messengers into our lives to tell hard truths in hopes of revealing to us our blind spots.  All this is in answer to our prayer that God’s kingdom might come on earth as it is in heaven so that everyone knows that even if your name isn’t David that you, too, are called Beloved.