Sunday, September 27, 2020

God is in you. September 27, 2020 The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges


17 Pentecost/Proper 21

Last month my daughter, Anna, and I spent three days in the wilderness. Well, it was a pretty tame wilderness. The two of us went backpacking along the Appalachian and Moormans River Trail. It was a fun adventure, but it did have its stresses.

 Along with not being 100% sure that we were up to the task, the stress of the first day revolved around water, as in, the first 9 miles of the hike didn’t provide any access to it. Now because we knew this we prepared appropriately and packed enough to water to see us through. Still I found it unnerving, which makes me very sympathetic to the plight of the Israelites in our reading from Exodus when they make camp in the wilderness only to discover there is no water to be found.

 “Give us water to drink,” they demand of Moses - venting all of their anxiety and fear towards him as they threaten his life. Now thankfully, Moses isn’t hurt and to make a long story short, God ends up providing water from a rock and all is well. All is well, that is, until the next crisis comes along.

 Because it’s always something, isn’t it? For the Israelites, first it was slavery, the people despair, and God delivers them. Then it was facing the Red Sea, the people are scared, and God makes a way. Next was a crisis over food, the people complain, and God provides manna. Today the problem is water, panic ensues, and God brings it forth from a rock. 

 Are you noticing a pattern here? An obstacle presents itself, the people freak out, God comes through, and then for a while things are good. The people remember God’s faithfulness, they feel connected and cared for until, OMG!, the next problem rears its ugly head and the cycle starts all over again: obstacle, freak out, God comes through. But this isn’t just the story of the Israelites. It’s sometimes my story and maybe your story too.  

 Because don’t we all have times when it feels like we’re taking two steps forward in our faith journey and then one step back? Maybe that’s what it means when Exodus tells us that the Israelites “journeyed by stages.” Because none of us go through this life on a straight path from here to glory. All of us journey by stages as we wander through what often feels like the wilderness. Figuring things out as we go - one day at a time, sometimes one step at a time - and even then making a lot of missteps on the way.

 So why does God let us do that? Why doesn’t the one whom we call Almighty just take over, claim control, and fix us and everything in this world in one fell swoop? Because, as you may have already guessed, that is not the way our God exercises power and authority as Paul explains in our reading from Philippians that,

 Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death-- even death on a cross. (2:5b-8)

 With God there is no forcing, no dominating, no controlling. No making someone do something even if it’s for their own good. Rather God’s power and authority is love itself. A love that is relentless. A love that is never-failing. A love that will go to any lengths to hang in there with us until we turn, on our own accord, toward that love. Even if we are only able to do it in stages, two steps forward, one step back, God will always come through. Eventually, like the Israelites, we will get to where we need to go. But that “where” is really not a physical place but an inner space. A space deep inside where we know in the deepest parts of our being what always has been true throughout the entire journey, that God is with us and God is in us.

 The panic the Israelites’ experienced over water came not from the lack of water, per se, but from the fear that maybe God wasn’t with them after all.  Is the Lord among us or not? they questioned. When Moses struck the rock and the waters gushed forth - the answer became crystal clear. Yes! The Lord is among you. And in our reading from Philippians, we are reminded that God is not only with us but actually inside of us, Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus...For it is God who is at work in you.

 God is with you. God is in you. Now, granted, that doesn’t make all the problems of the wilderness disappear. But it does provide us with the solid ground on which we can journey even by stages, trusting that in the fullness of time we too will reach the promised land.

 

 

COOS Sunday Worship September 27, 2020

 


COOS Sunday Worship

September 27, 2020

Order of Worship

(can be printed)

Tuesday, September 22, 2020

A realm of abundance. September 20, 2020 The Rev. David M. Stoddart

Philippians 1:21-30; Matthew 20:1-16

So in our second reading today, the Apostle Paul finds himself in a win-win situation. It may not seem like it a first glance: he’s in prison when he writes this letter to the Philippians, and his life is in serious jeopardy. He has already suffered a lot, and will suffer even more. But for him, it’s all good: Christ will be exalted now as always in my body, whether by life or death. For me, living is Christ and dying is gain. If I am alive in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me, and I do not know which I prefer. I am hard pressed between the two: my desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better; but to remain in the flesh is more necessary for you. In other words, “If they kill me, I will be with Christ. If I live, Christ will be with me.” Either way, Paul wins . . . because the love of Christ wins. 


Now, we might think that is extraordinary faith, but I am sure Paul would say that's just  the way all of us should feel. This is one of the striking features of the kingdom which Jesus proclaims: we all win, no matter what. Before I elaborate on that, though, let me acknowledge how much we resist this very basic truth. And we can gauge that resistance by our own reaction to the Gospel today, the parable of the workers in the vineyard. If we were together in church, I can guarantee you that any number of people would tell me at the end of the service that they don’t understand this Gospel and they don’t like it because it’s not fair. Not everyone works the same hours, but everyone gets paid the same wage. But Jesus says, "The kingdom  of heaven is like that.” In his kingdom, everyone wins. But we do resist that. In our jaded and sinful outlook, some people win and other people lose. And often we are super focused on making sure that the losers know they are losers. Such a mindset keeps score and worries about who deserves what. 


But such a mindset has no place in the kingdom of heaven, which is a realm of abundance. In the kingdom, there is food enough for all, resources enough for all, grace enough for all, love enough for all. An essential part of our own conversion is accepting that truth. And only then can we fully grasp what Paul is saying in this passage and realize how he speaks directly to us.


For Paul doesn’t agonize over whether he deserves to suffer or not. He doesn’t insist that he’s getting a raw deal. He wants justice to be done, but as far as his own circumstances go, he doesn't worry about fairness. He has a kingdom mindset, and he knows that love will always prevail, even in death. There is really no greater witness to the love of Christ than to see that love everywhere and to choose that love always. If we are truly here to love and be loved, if that’s the central meaning of our life, if that’s what God made us for, then we can always win because we can always love. 


That is a crucial message right now. Many, if not all of us, are pandemic weary. We're stressed and exhausted. Daily life is difficult. It’s easy to look at what’s going on in our country and feel discouraged. And it’s tempting to grumble because, of course, none of this is fair. But Jesus can save us from all that. He is always with us, his Spirit is alive in us, and so no matter what, we can always choose love. And when we do, we win. I have moments and whole days when I feel like I am just surviving, but even on my worst days, I can always love. I can always listen, I can always be kind, I can always pray. And when I fail, as I do, I can always seek forgiveness. I can always love. You can always love. And when we choose love, whether we are helping the powerless or lying powerless on our deathbed, we win because it is the love of God Almighty flowing  through us. And the awesome thing is that you can win just as much as I can win. There are no losers in the kingdom of heaven, only lovers. We will be happier and closer to Jesus when we finally and fully accept that truth.


Tuesday, September 8, 2020

Being present and listening. September 6, 2020 The Rev. David M. Stoddart


Matthew 18:15-20

So I just read the Gospel to you, but did you listen to it? If you did, then you heard the verb which ties it all together: If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone. If the member listens to you, you have regained that one. But if you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you, so that every word may be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses. If the member refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile or a tax collector.

 Listen. We understandably focus on what Jesus says but it’s remarkable how much Jesus listens in the Gospel stories. He hears the father pleading for his epileptic son, he hears the mother begging him to heal her possessed daughter, he hears the cries of Bartimaeus the blind beggar. Jesus listens. He will even ask, “What do you want me to do for you?” when the answer seems painfully obvious because he wants to hear people. And people want to be heard.

 Listen. There are few things more important to a healthy relationship and a wholesome community than the capacity to listen. And there are few things that are harder to do well. We all know what it’s like to try to talk to someone as they scroll through their phone or look past us to something or someone else. They’re letting us speak, but they’re not listening. And all of us have done that to others as well. But the problem is magnified when there is a conflict of any sort. Then our failure to listen can be especially destructive. I remember the first time — the first of many — that someone didn’t like my sermon, I was a seminary intern at St. John’s in the Village in New York City. One Sunday after I had preached, a man came up to me and with great civility said that he had a bone to pick with me about that sermon. Well, I instantly tensed up and got super defensive. I didn’t listen to him at all: I fussed and argued, and behaved like a real ass. Later that day, after I had lowered my defenses and stopped fuming, I called him and apologized. I can’t even tell you exactly what it was all about, because I didn’t really listen: I was too busy fortifying my fragile ego. Apart from apologizing, it’s safe to say I did nothing to build up the church that day.

I don’t need to point out that in our polarized society, we are not very good at listening. And when people are not listened to, the results are always bad. They turn away in resentment and hatred, or they yell louder, hold demonstrations, stage rallies, light fires, burn buildings. When people are suffering, they will do what it takes to be heard. We so easily shout at each other and shout past each other. This Gospel passage is ancient wisdom that is oh so contemporary: the key to conflict resolution — in a friendship, a marriage, a church, a society — is good communication. People need to listen.

And that begins with us. Parishioners still sometimes get unhappy with me or my sermons, but I remember that seminary fiasco and I always try to listen and hear them. It’s crucial that each of us practices listening to other people, especially when we disagree with them or when their experience is different than ours. To do so, to devote time and energy being present to someone that way, is a genuine act of love: not sentimental love, but real, Christ-like agape. And if it’s true that not listening can hurt, it’s also true that listening well can heal. Early in my ordained ministry, I had a difficult encounter with a parishioner. Right before worship began one Sunday, he came up to me, furious. I had not visited his wife in the hospital; there had been a miscommunication, but he didn't know that. He just knew I had not been there when he needed me. And that morning he was loaded for bear and ripped into me. But by sheer grace, I didn’t get defensive and fight with him. Instead I listened and heard his pain: his wife of over 50 years was dying and in distress; his life was imploding. And rather than trying to justify myself or make myself look good, I just said, “I hear you and I am so sorry that happened. I will visit her today.” And I could see his whole body just relax. And our relationship, which had always been a bit strained, got better from that moment.

 Jesus says that what we loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. Listening won’t automatically solve all our problems, and we won’t always come to agreement, but loving other people that way is powerful because it sets loose so much positive energy, just as the coming together of atomic nuclei in nuclear fusion releases tremendous power and shines out as the light of the sun. When we come together with others by being present to them and listening to them, divine light shines and we get a glimpse of heaven. And just as importantly, we give those others a glimpse of heaven as well.