Quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger. August 29, 2021. The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

 

James 1:17-27

Sometimes I wrestle with Scripture. Like when I come upon places in the Bible where it says, “Do not fear” or  “Do not worry” and I think, “Yeah, if it was only that easy.” Just saying it doesn’t make it so. You can tell me all day long not to be afraid or not to worry, but given certain circumstances - a health crisis, a crumbling relationship, a global pandemic, things like that - I am very capable of feeling fear or waking up at night with worry. Simply telling me not to fear or not to worry is about as effective as telling me to turn purple and grow a tail. It’s just not going to happen.

 Take our reading today from the book of James. If you’ve ever heard the saying, “faith without works is dead,” you can thank James for that. This book is all about putting your faith into action, as we heard in the exhortation, “Be doers of the word, and not merely hearers.” All well and good. And something I imagine we can all get on board with. But when we get down to the nitty gritty, like the part where we are specifically instructed to, “be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger.” That may prove more of a challenge. Now it’s one thing to be told to be quick to listen. I imagine a lot of us could do better on that front. It’s fine to tell me to be slow to speak. I certainly have some room to grow in that area. But even though I’m not a particularly angry person, I tend to bristle when scripture tells me how I am supposed to feel. This is where the wrestling comes in. The Bible doesn’t get to decide how I feel. I don’t even always get to decide how I feel. How I feel is how I feel. That’s what feelings are, right?

 And when it comes to feeling anger we all have our stories which are often shaped by our childhood experiences. Maybe yours was the family that expressed anger too much and it was continually present in your home. Or maybe your family was afraid of anger and you never learned how to express it properly. Many of us struggle with anger in one way or another, but I don’t think avoiding anger altogether is the right move. Jesus got angry, you know, so angry at one point in the Gospels that he turned over the money changers' tables. And besides, James doesn’t say you should never get anger. It says you should be slow to anger.

 So what is anger anyway? Now I’m sure there are as many definitions out there. But in my own life, anger comes up most often when what is doesn’t line up with what ought to be. When someone cuts me off in traffic instead of following the rules of the road. I can get a little angry. Because what is does not line up with what ought to be. When I kindly ask a family member multiple times to empty the dishwasher and it doesn’t get done, I vent frustration because, again, what is does not line up with what ought to be. Perhaps you can think of something that riles you up? Could it be that it’s because what is does not line up with what ought to be?

Now these are rather silly, small things. But there are other things that are much bigger. Like when people work 40+ hours a week and can’t make ends meet, let alone support a family. Or when churches exclude people, as if it were the church’s job to be God’s bouncer, people get angry. And as we take in all the news about Afghanistan, after twenty years of tremendous sacrifice and investment and still chaos and death reign for the people there, anger is an understandable response. I think things like that, where we recognize injustice, where innocent suffer, that this is supposed to make us angry. It makes us angry because what is definitely does not line up with what ought to be.

 We are told to be slow to anger because, I believe, God wants us to be angry about the right things. Being inconvenienced is not the same thing as being marginalized. One of the overall messages of the Bible is that we are to look out for one another. To do as Jesus commanded. Love God and love others. And a big part of loving others is finding the places where what is does not line up with what ought to be - and when we do find those places anger is a tool and a fuel that God can use to get us to do something about so that, to use the words of James, we can “produce God’s righteousness.”

 But how do we really know? Anger so easily becomes self-righteous rather than God righteous. The practical book of James offers us a check. Ask yourself: have you been quick to listen? Slow to speak? Has your anger come about slowly, deliberately, and upon reflection? Does your anger have a direction? Does it face outward, towards the needs of others rather than your own comfort? Does your anger cause you to act in ways of love rather than in self-defense? 

 It is this type of anger, or really energy, is the type that God can work with in order to bring about God’s will in this world - justice, peace, mercy, forgiveness, love - the kind of world where what is actually lines up with what ought to be. Practicing the discipline of being quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger is one practical way of how we can be a part of making God’s Kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven. But this is no easy task. Just saying it doesn’t make it so. Context is key. And the context here is love. As James says, You must understand this, my beloved. Being God’s beloved is the context for all of our lives. And the love that dwells in us through the Holy Spirit is always seeking to fill us with life and life and desiring to flow out with life and love so that others might know they are beloved as well. As we surrender to God’s love we grow in our ability to be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger - our faith becomes more and more alive. We become doers of the word and not merely hearers. And we will be blessed in our doing.

Jesus is absolutely right. August 22, 2021. The Rev. David M. Stoddart

 John 6:59-69

This is a difficult teaching: who can accept it? You know, I think that line could probably be inserted into the Gospels 30 or 40 times, maybe in every chapter. This particular passage deals with eating Jesus’ flesh and drinking his blood, which is still a difficult teaching. A few weeks ago in my sermon I talked about eating Jesus, and at 9:00 one of the children sitting up front said “Ewww!” Which is probably the closest I will ever get to hearing an “Amen” while preaching in an Episcopal church. But there are many features of Jesus’ teaching which push us beyond our comfort zone. Sometimes  that’s because he is asking us to believe something that seems unimaginable, like this bread is my flesh. And sometimes it’s because he’s asking us to do something that  seems impossible, like sell all you have and follow me. But always what makes Jesus’ teaching so difficult is that it demands a surrender of ourselves, a letting go of our egos and our need for control. It’s hard to trust that we will actually be better off if we embrace his teaching and follow him.

Let me offer just one example, from Luke’s Gospel, But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat, do not withhold even your shirt . . . Do to others as you would have them do to you. If you do not find those words difficult, if you don’t wonder who can really accept them, then you are a better person than I am. I don’t know if there is anything in Jesus’ teaching more challenging than this — but I am certain there is no teaching more important for our world right now: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.

I don’t need to tell you how much rage fills our society these days. There is so much anger and so much hatred all around us. It doesn’t matter where we look or who we listen to: conservatives are angry, liberals are angry Anti-vaccine protesters? Furious. Pro-vaccine advocates? Equally furious. People are getting into shouting matches and fistfights over whether or not to wear masks. And then there are issues of racial justice, gender equality, climate change, voting rights, and the list goes on. Like many of you I’m sure, I read and I listen and I hear so many people who are enraged. And it’s not just people in the media: we all know individuals personally who infuriate us. And I confess to you my own temptation to give into anger and to despise the people I most disagree with. 

But then there’s Jesus, the one I hold as my Lord and Savior, telling me to love my enemies, to do good to them, to pray for them, to bless them. I can empathize with those followers muttering, “This is a difficult teaching. Who the hell can accept it?” But it's precisely the hellishness of hate that convinces me that Jesus is absolutely right. When he says in the Sermon on the Mount that anyone who is angry is liable to the hell of fire, he’s not referring to some future punishment after death. He means what’s happening inside that person right now. When we stew in anger, when we hate and despise anyone, we are in hell, cutting ourselves off from the love, joy, and peace of God. And Jesus came to save us from hell, so that we could live lives filled with love, joy, and peace.

And indeed the only way out of hell is love. Jesus teaches this and he lives it. He doesn’t say we shouldn’t have strong convictions or that we shouldn’t stand up for what we believe is right, he just insists that we always do so in a spirit of love and mercy. Otherwise, what’s the point? We’ll just lose far more than we gain. Paul conveys this very message to the Corinthians when he writes, If I speak in the tongues of mortals and angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. Our world has way too much noise. As best we can, we need to speak the truth in love.

So I want to invite you yet again to join with me in following Jesus, and to practice surrendering your ego and to give up the sweet but toxic pleasure of despising the people you most disagree with. Jesus doesn’t ask us to agree with them, just not to hate them. And if you are like me, that will demand awareness, discipline, practice, and prayer. So when you catch yourself railing in your mind against some pundit or neighbor, acknowledge it. Don’t beat yourself up about it, just see it for what it is. Remember that God doesn't want to judge you for it: God wants to help you out of it. So pray for help, ask for the grace to let go of the anger and spite, and pray for the person who is enraging you. It doesn’t matter how you feel: pray anyway. In a similar vein, when you are around people you disagree strongly with, go out of your way to be kind to them, even and especially if they treat you badly. Be the blessing of Jesus to the people you encounter. Put good energy and not bad energy into this hurting world. Choose love, over and over again. And when you fail and fall down — as we all will — get right back up and keep on loving, asking always for the Holy Spirit to flow through you, as indeed she always will.

And if you’re thinking that sounds really hard, I can honestly say that it's easier than we think, if we are just willing to try it. After all, we do worship a mighty God. And the alternative — a life of continuous frustration and anger — is harder on us in the long run and much worse. Far, far better to love, even when it hurts. Love truly is the only way to full life. That’s why, even though I can empathize with those people grumbling about how hard Jesus’s teaching is, I empathize even more with the disciples closest to Jesus. When he asks them if they, too, want to leave him, they respond, Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and to know that you are the Holy One of God.

May the Holy One who is Love  have mercy on us and on our world. Amen.

Real Presence. August 15, 2021. The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

 

John 6:51-58

Two cannibals are eating a clown. One turns to the other and says, “Does this taste funny to you?”  Given what Jesus is saying in our gospel reading this morning, I just couldn’t resist. Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood...Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood...whoever eats me... It’s pretty graphic language. No wonder the Jews found it hard to swallow! But it wasn’t just the Jews. In the early years of the Church, one of the common charges levied against Christians was cannibalism. And it’s easy to understand why with all of Jesus’ talk.

 But of course Jesus wasn’t speaking literally. Although he was speaking truthfully. The bread and the wine which he later identifies as his body and blood (Jn. 13:1–17:26, see also Mt. 26:17–30, Mk. 14:12–26, Lk. 22:7–39) is a significant way, but certainly not the only way, that we experience union with God in Christ. That is why the early Church and the Episcopal Church believe that having communion, celebrating the Eucharist is the primary and highest act of Christian worship. And also why we do it not just once a quarter or once a month, but every single Sunday. Except when we don’t...like during a pandemic.

 So what was that like for you? Did you miss the Eucharist? Was it any big deal when you finally received the body of Christ after over a year? In the first few months of the pandemic, a priest posted a similar question on Facebook, “How does it feel to go without the Eucharist?” The comments poured in. Some people said that they missed the Eucharist deeply, longing for it, as one man said, quoting a psalm, “more than the watchman for the morning.” Another said that going without the Eucharist was making this “one of the hardest times in my life.” Many expressed a longing for the physical feel and comfort of the sacrament, as one put it: “to be reminded in a physical way of the presence of God in taste, texture, and smell.”

 However, Episcopalians are a diverse bunch so naturally there were plenty of others who expressed the opposite sentiment. There was a group that said that they didn’t miss the Eucharist much at all. Many confessed that what they really missed was being physically present in the midst of a worshipping community. And some clergy said that even more than receiving the Eucharist what they missed most was saying the familiar words of the prayer and placing the bread into the hands of their people.

 For some of us it may be difficult to put into words what it is exactly that we missed about the Eucharist because the whole experience is so wrapped up in mystery. As we gather and pray we give thanks for all God has done and is doing (hence the word Eucharist which comes from the Greek word meaning “Thanksgiving.”) And in the midst of giving thanks we ask the Holy Spirit to sanctify the bread and wine and make it for us the body and blood of Christ. Now the Episcopal Church doesn’t drill down on how exactly the bread and wine are transformed, but the Church does proclaim that once the elements are prayed over and the people say the Great “Amen,” they are changed. We call it the 'Real Presence'  - that, somehow through the mystery and the power of the Holy Spirit, Jesus is really present in the bread and the wine.

 So when we consume the consecrated elements we truly are doing what Jesus said - we are eating his flesh and drinking his blood (although, for now, for everyone’s safety we are just receiving the bread alone). The invitation to eat Christ’s body and blood is an invitation not just to follow his way, but to actually take him into our very selves, our souls, our bodies so that he may abide in us and we in him. It is one of the most intimate acts of communion. And through that communion, that eating of Christ, our souls are fed and we are transformed.

 Behold what you are: become what you receive. On occasion, those are the words we use to invite you to come forward to receive the bread and wine. The words are ancient. Christians have heard them throughout the centuries all the way back to St. Augustine in the 5th century who proclaimed that as we receive the Eucharist we are mystically transformed into the very Body of Christ, given for the world. For in the broken bread and the wine outpoured we glimpse Christ’s body on the cross and see the lengths to which God is willing to go for each and everyone of us - a deep, fierce, passionate love beyond measure.

 Every time we receive the Eucharist, we are transformed a little more fully into the Body of Christ. In a tactile way we become a little more in touch with who we really are. Beyond any titles or labels, our successes, our failures, or even how we self identify, the deepest truth of who we really are at our core is Beloved - God’s Beloved. Over and over and over through the Holy Eucharist we get to abide in that divine love. Divine love that fills us and flows through us so that we might become what we receive, bread for the world. Lives that feed, nourish, and bless others. Behold what you are: become what you receive. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me and I in them.

Life that is here and now. August 8, 2021. The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

 

John 6:35, 41-51

“She never complained.” That comment always gets my attention. Over the years of my ministry I have sat with countless families in the aftermath of death. And it is during this tender time that families reflect on the wonderful qualities of their loved ones.  “She never knew a stranger.” “He was devoted to his family.” “She was selfless.” “He was giving.” “She never complained.” “Really?!?!?” I wonder, “She never complained?” Of course I don’t say any of this out loud. I know better than that. And I also know that my internal questioning has little to do with the recently deceased. Whether they did or did not complain is really not the issue. The issue is that I know that that would never be said about me. So if I predecease you and you are kind enough to come to my funeral, heads up, if someone says, “That Kathleen, she never complained.” They’re flat out lying!

 That’s why I feel such a kinship with the Jews in our gospel reading...because they are complaining. Jesus has just told them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” Lovely words, but they can be hard to swallow. It’s not that the Jews don’t believe that God provides or that God feeds. Their beef is that they KNOW Jesus. They know his mom, his dad. They know where he’s from - Nazareth, not heaven. And the two just don’t mix. Jesus can’t be both from Nazareth and from heaven. It’s a complete violation of their expectations. And when expectations are violated the complaining begins.

 Isn’t it nice that we know better? I mean we know that Jesus came from Nazareth but that he also is the Son of God who came down from heaven. We can hold that tension - that both/and quality of who Jesus is, the mystery of being both human and divine.

 So we might not have a problem about Jesus being the bread of life. But what about the part where he’s talking about eternal life? Because oftentimes when we hear that phrase, “eternal life,” our minds automatically jump to “eternity.” As in a far-off fantasy future where the promises of resurrection, and seeing God’s glory in heaven, and having every tear wiped away are all perfectly fulfilled. As I heard one parishioner put it, she hopes that it’s like Disneyworld for adults. Which sounds pretty appealing.

 But guess what? When Jesus talks about eternal life he’s not talking about some future fantasy Disneyworld. He’s actually talking about the present, real world - life that is now. Which then gets harder to grasp and may violate our own expectations of how things should be. Because the eternal life that Jesus is offering to us is a life that is always in the present - which is made clear by the present tense that he uses whenever speaking of eternal life. Like in our reading today, “Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has [present tense] eternal life.” Life the believer is living in the present, right here, right now.

 Just as the Jews found it difficult to accept that Jesus of Nazareth and Jesus of heaven could be one and the same. Maybe you are like me and may struggle at times with the idea that this imperfect earthly life and eternal life go together. Now it’s not that this life is all bad, but it’s far from perfect. The good and the bad are so mixed together. Grace and goodness and love are real, but at the same time brokenness and pain and suffering abound. This mix is not what eternal life is supposed to be, is it? Because if it is, it’s a violation of my expectations: cue the complaining.

 But complaining really gets you nowhere. The Rev. Barbara Brown Taylor reflects on this in a sermon on the story of manna in the wilderness - the manna which Jesus speaks of in our reading. You may recall that when the Israelites were wandering in the wilderness they started complaining about being hungry (a testimony to the fact that God has been putting up with our complaining for a very long time!). Now in response to the people’s cries God provides food, manna. But it’s not the kind of food that everyone expected. It is a pale, flaky substance that melts in the heat of day and attracts worms if stored overnight. Many modern scholars believe that this ancient manna is most likely a substance that comes from plant lice, plant lice who feast on the sap of certain trees and then excrete a ball of juice or flake that is rich in carbohydrates and sugar. Meaning that manna - the heavenly food that God provided in the wilderness - was probably bug excrement!

 Which presents a challenge for us all. Can we let go of our expectations, our preconceived notions about how we think things should be, so that we can embrace what actually is - God’s grace, God’s life, God’s provisions that may be ordinary or unexpected, but all around? The Rev. Taylor puts it this way, “If your manna has to drop straight out of heaven looking like a perfect loaf of butter-crust bread, then chances are you are going to go hungry a lot. When you do not get the miracle you are praying for, you are going to think that God is ignoring you or punishing you or - worse yet- that God is not there...Meanwhile, you are going to miss a lot of other things God is doing for you because they are too ordinary - like bug juice.” ^[1]

 Jesus does not want any one of us to miss out. He doesn’t want us to get stuck complaining because the life that God offers might somehow violate our expectations. Jesus is the bread of life, our bread of life. The One who is both from Nazareth and from heaven at the same time. The One whose very self is the nourishment that offers us eternal life as we live our lives right here, right now. It’s a tension for sure. But a mystery of both/and that we are invited to experience. For as we feed on the bread of life we are assured that grace and goodness and love are ultimately more real, more powerful, more lasting than any brokenness or pain or suffering. That is no fantasy. That is eternal truth that lasts forever. And that is nothing to complain about.

 

 

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^[1] Bread of Angels, p. 10.

You and I are the Body of Christ. August 1, 2021. The Rev. David M. Stoddart

Ephesians 4:1-16

The youth met for lunch, the men met for breakfast, and the women met for Refresh. We had two engaging Bible studies, and a faithful cohort gathered for the weekly session of Conversations in Faith. There were meetings to discuss everything from Sunday bulletins to live-streaming our worship services. Scores of emails and phone calls flew back and forth. Our Food Pantry gave out food to people who need it. Yesterday we buried Caroline Planting, and loved her husband Mark through it. Today we are baptizing an entire family. We’re about to give each other the Peace of Christ, and then in a few minutes we will all eat Jesus. A week in the life of the church. We won’t find any of those activities referred to in this passage from Paul’s letter to the church in Ephesus. And I can’t imagine what Paul would think about things like broadcasting the Eucharist on YouTube. But if he doesn’t mention any one of these activities, he beautifully articulates why we do all of them. The gifts he gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ. You and I are the body of Christ, and in all that we do, we are here to build each other up. 

This was a revelation for me as a young adult. I loved the liturgy of the church. I relished the ancient traditions and the mystery that surrounds the Holy Eucharist. But the church as community? Not so much. I wanted to have my own personal experience of God that wasn't complicated by or dependent upon other people. So a key part of my own conversion process was not coming to believe in the reality of God (which I never really doubted) but coming to believe in the necessity of church. In a dawning realization that was both painful and life-giving, I came to see that I needed other people to fully experience God. I needed help learning to pray. I needed mentors to guide me. More than that, I needed people to love me and show me the face of Christ. And I desperately needed people to do that with kindness, without judging me or in any way putting me down. And I still do. So I hear these words of Paul today with a tender heart:  I therefore, the prisoner of the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.

Of course I share that with you because I know I’m not unique. Whether we care to admit it or not, whether we like it or not, we all need each other to know God. Jesus did not just give people mystical and moral instruction: he formed a community, a community that would literally embody his love and his presence so that people could see it, hear it, feel it, taste it. You and I are the body of Christ, and we are here to build each other up. Gently, patiently, lovingly build each other up. Obviously I hope everyone here has experienced that. I hope we have all felt uplifted by this parish in one way or another. But here is my second revelation regarding this. While it is wonderful and needful to be on the receiving end of such caring, grace abounds all the more when we are doing the building up ourselves.

Let me be very clear about the point I am about to make. I am not saying that we should love and care for each other because other people need us and it’s the right thing to do. That’s true, but it doesn’t go far enough and doesn’t adequately convey Paul’s message in this passage. So here’s my point: When we build others up, we ourselves are built up because it is only in giving ourselves away that we can fully become who we are called to be. Paul emphasizes that we are all given gifts of the Holy Spirit, we all have ways in which God moves through us, but those gifts are only given to us so that we can give them away. They only become gifts when we use them to love other people. And only in loving others like that do we come to maturity, to the full stature of Christ, who reflects God so perfectly only because he gives himself away so completely. It is the great paradox Jesus reveals in the Gospels: those who lose their lives will save them, those who give themselves away will find themselves. 

We can experience that paradox in our families, our workplaces, and elsewhere, but it’s here in church, in Christian community, that we are reminded how true this is: the more we build others up, the more we are built up. Parish life is complicated and not always easy, but I know I am most myself when I try to convey to you the love of God, when I teach and preach, when I celebrate and put the Sacrament into your hands. And all of us are called to a similar experience. Think about how you are building others up here at church. Even being here today and not sleeping in or visiting the golf course  is a way of building others up: the more people who come to worship, the more energy there is, the more ways there are for the Holy Spirit to move. Consider the groups you are part of or the ministries you participate in. Just think about how you interact with people when you are here. All of us should have that experience of building up and being built up. For the ways you see that happening in your own life, give thanks. And if it’s not happening, please hear this homily as an invitation to get more involved perhaps or at least to see your involvement differently. You and I are the Body of Christ. We are here, in all that we do, to build each other up and in doing so to become our truest and best selves.