Infinite and unconditional. Christmas 2022. The Rev. David M. Stoddart

 

Luke 2:1-20

In 2006, a young Englishman named David Ditchfield died. It was a freak accident: while saying good-bye to a friend on a railway platform when his coat got caught in a closing door and he was pulled under a moving train. First responders were actually able to get him to the hospital alive, but they lost him in the ER. Surprisingly, however, even miraculously, a team of doctors and nurses managed after some time to revive him. The thing is, the person they restored to life was not the same person who had died. In those long minutes of death or near death or whatever we want to call it, David Ditchfield had an amazing experience which forever changed him. Let me read just a brief passage from the account he later wrote about it. He says:

Now I see it, and in all my life, I never dreamt I would see such a beautiful sight with my own eyes. A swirling, three-dimensional tunnel of radiant light, with a glowing luminosity and intensity that is blindingly brilliant, and yet I can look straight into it. . . . Towards the center, flames of yellow become flames of cream, then transform themselves into white light. And at the very center of this radiant tunnel is the purity of white light itself.

 Perfection.

 In the presence of this luminous and wondrous Light, I become aware of every single cell of my body as they begin to vibrate with its love. And I feel more alive than I have ever done so before, because this is the Light of all Light. The Light of pure, unconditional Love.

 “I become aware of every single cell of my body as they begin to vibrate with its love.” I don’t know what kind of body he is inhabiting when he has this experience, but I am moved by the sheer physicality of what happens. His body trembles in the presence of complete and unconditional love. And, you know, I imagine many of us here have felt something like that. When we fall in love, for example, our faces can blush and our bodies can tingle when we are with our beloved. And it’s not just a sexual or romantic phenomenon. Parents can physically ache to hold their children; friends can yearn to hug those they feel closest to. There are moments when our whole being really can vibrate with love.

 And yes, that can happen when we feel close to God. Many saints and mystics, and many ordinary people down through the centuries have experienced this, have experienced moments of ecstasy and delight when their souls and bodies thrilled in the presence of the divine. But stories of such moments can seem one-sided: they describe how the human person feels. But what does that look like from God’s perspective? Is God indifferent or somehow above it all? Does God feel anything? We can only resort to metaphor when speaking of God, of course, but prophets like Isaiah and Hosea describe a God who passionately longs for us. We get a glimpse of that in our Christmas Gospel, when the angels praise God and proclaim peace among those whom he favors — and he favors all of us. That language of favoring, however, doesn’t go far enough for John’s Gospel, which says For God so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten son. Years ago, as a young man, I subscribed to the idea of the Incarnation as a kind of “Plan B,” a necessary rescue effort God undertakes after God’s original plan fails and humans fall into sin. God would do whatever is necessary, even to the point of becoming human, to save us. But I have long since stopped thinking that way. Instead I agree with all those in our tradition who have believed that the Incarnation was bound to happen no matter what, that God would join us in the flesh even if we had never sinned. Why? Because that’s what lovers do: they get as close as they possibly can to the beloved. The Incarnation of God in Jesus Christ is not just a tale of God fixing a problem, not merely an account of heroic self-sacrifice on God’s part. It’s a love story. In the Old Testament, the Song of Solomon begins with that great verse: Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth. Dear people, tonight, in the birth of Jesus, God kisses us on the mouth.

 Our bodies may not be vibrating with love for God right now, but that’s okay. The crucial thing is that God’s being is radiating with love for each one of us. And Jesus shows us the nature of that love. Christ doesn’t hold his nose and reluctantly associate with us as he tries to avert his eyes from our many sins and failings. No, he embraces us fully as we are. As David Ditchfield and countless others have discovered, God’s love is infinite and it is unconditional. God loves us with all our petty thoughts and hurtful actions, with all our vanity, selfishness, and greed, with all failures and addictions. God sees everything about us — and adores us: we are precious to her. I can stand up here and say that with full assurance because the Bible teaches it, because so many human beings have experienced it, and because I have felt it in my own life in ways that have made my body tingle and my spirit sing.

 But of course we can’t make ourselves feel any certain way, nor should we try. What we can do is consent to God’s love, to deliberately open ourselves up to that reality. And that can be as simple as saying, “God, I choose to trust that you love me as I am. Help me to experience your love.” The life of faith inevitably leads us to change and grow, and calls us to become ever more like Christ. But everything, everything, depends on that crucial first step, which is accepting the fact that God happily meets us where we are and loves us completely as we are. The beauty of this liturgy, the music, the decorations, the story of the Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, the angels, and the Christ child, all of it, is there to help us let down our guard and lower our defenses and allow ourselves to be vulnerable enough to see the truth revealed in the birth of Jesus: like any lover, God desires to be as close as possible to the beloved, and we — you and I, in all our messy, embodied humanity — are God’s beloved. And, more than anything, God longs for us to know that.

 

 

 

 

The Messiah is among us. December 18, 2022. The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

 Matthew 1:18-25

We are just a week away from celebrating Christmas so it’s fitting that on this 4th Sunday in Advent we hear the account of Jesus’s birth from the perspective of Matthew’s gospel. And so our reading begins, “Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way.” However I always laugh because what follows is such a stereotypical male perspective on birth - as in there’s really nothing about the actual birth and the woman who did all the work laboring. Rather Matthew’s focus is on the man in the story and how the circumstances surrounding Jesus’ birth impacted him. Which, don’t get me wrong, is a very important story to tell, it’s just the lead in to the story that I find rather funny.

So as Matthew explains, Joseph is engaged to a woman named Mary, but before the marriage is consummated he discovers that Mary is pregnant. That's a big problem because he knows that the child is not his. And this puts Joseph in quite a bind because he’s a righteous man - someone who follows the rules - and in this situation the rules tell him that Mary should be exposed as being unfaithful and that she, along with her unborn child, should be stoned to death.

Interestingly, though, Joseph opts to not follow the letter of the Jewish law, but the spirit of God’s law - in the sense that he privileges compassion over rules. He is a righteous man in the best sense of the word. So he hatches a plan in hopes of sparing Mary as much grief as possible while extricating himself from this messy situation. He will quietly dismiss her and break all ties. But, thankfully, before he follows through with his plan he does a very wise thing and he sleeps on it. And that is when an angel of the Lord comes to him in a dream and gives him a new plan. A plan that begins with, “Do not be afraid…” and then follows with directions to take Mary as his wife, accept the child as his own, and give him the name of Jesus. Then we hear that upon waking, Joseph does exactly that.

It sounds so easy, but I doubt that that was the case because in order for Joseph to live into this new plan, this new, unexpected dream he had received from God it required of him to let go of his own. And that is never easy. Whatever dreams Joseph had for his own life, which was probably along the lines of marrying a nice Jewish girl, having children with her, and living a quiet life together, he had to abandon all that in order to live into God’s dream for him, and really, for the world. Which is not just Joseph’s story, but our own. Because life rarely goes as planned. Things are always bound to happen that are beyond our control. And although we may not be visited by an angel in our dreams telling us exactly what to do when the unexpected occurs those unplanned, uncharted paths in life that sometimes we are forced to take have the power to open us up in new ways to the dream that God has for each one of us - the dream that we might know God’s love more fully in our lives and let that love generously flow into the world. For no matter the circumstances, the struggles, or just the plain ordinariness of life, God is with us in all of it.

Ultimately, that’s the message that Matthew’s gospel wants to communicate. Which explains why the writer doesn’t care so much about the actual details of Jesus’ birth, but rather what that birth means and how it can transform our lives. For in addition to giving Joseph a new plan, the angel explains that this child will fulfill the long awaited prophecy of Emmanuel, God is with us. Meaning that whether or not our life follows a certain plan or fulfills a particular dream we are never lost, never abandoned, never without hope. We hear this good news proclaimed at the very beginning of Jesus’ life here in chapter one in the gospel of Matthew and then if turn to the final verse of the last chapter you will also find it there. The resurrected Jesus’ last words to us are, “And remember, I am with you always to the end of the age.” This promise, that God is with us, is a truth that not only frames Matthew’s gospel, but Joseph’s life and ours as well.

Perhaps you’ve heard the story about a wise abbot of a monastery who was the friend of an equally wise rabbi. This was in the old country, long ago, when times were always hard, but just then they were even worse. The abbot’s community was dwindling, and the faith life of his monks was fearful, weak and anxious. So one day he went to his friend and wept. His friend, the Rabbi, comforted him, and said “there is something you need to know, my brother. We have long known in the Jewish community that the Messiah is among you.”

"What,” exclaimed the abbot, “the Messiah is among us? How can this be?” But the Rabbi insisted that it was so, and the abbot went back home wondering and praying, comforted and excited. Upon returning to the monastery, the abbot started to wonder about his fellow monks as he passed them by in the halls. Then sitting in the chapel he would hear a voice and look intently at a face and quietly ask himself, “Is he the One?” The abbot had always been kind, but now he began to treat all of his brothers with profound kindness and awe, ever deeper respect, even reverence. Soon everyone noticed. And one of the other brothers came to him and asked him what had happened.

After some coaxing, the abbot told him what the rabbi had said and news spread: The Messiah is among us. Soon all the monks were looking at his brothers differently, with deeper respect and wondering. The monastery began to flourish in love, devotion, and grace. And they still say that if you stumble across this place where there is life and hope and kindness and graciousness, that the secret is the same: The Messiah is among us.

As you celebrate Christmas this year, take care to remember that the Messiah is among you. If you are waiting for perfection, Christmas is going to be a lonely and frustrating time. If you are looking for some future time, the wonders of this moment will pass you by. If you are expecting salvation outside yourself, you might just miss God’s Holy Spirit that dwells within. And if you hold your loved ones to impossible standards you likely will not recognize the Messiah who is sitting right there next to you. For the Messiah is among you and this is how the birth of Jesus takes place just like Matthew tells us - not just one time long ago or even once a year but God is with us every single day of our lives.

What do we expect of Jesus? December 11, 2022. The Rev. David M. Stoddart

Matthew 11:2-11

Reality does not always meet our expectations. We all know that, of course, but it can still be difficult when what we expect is not what we get. My wife, Lori Ann, for example, expected that after being fully vaccinated and boosted and having had COVID just three months ago that she would not be hit by it again any time soon. But despite all that, lo and behold, she has COVID again. I do not: I am testing negative and feeling fine, but I’m wearing a mask today and abstaining from up-close and personal greetings out of an abundance of caution. And I’m thinking a lot about that tension between expectation and reality.

 It’s the central tension in our Gospel today. Referring to John the Baptist, Jesus asks the crowds: What did you expect when you went out into the wilderness to see John? Some weak and timid person, dressed in fine robes? If that’s what they were looking for, they were disappointed. Did they expect to see a prophet? If so, they got more than they bargained for. They found not just a prophet but the forerunner of the Messiah, a fiery and formidable presence who pronounced judgment on the rulers of his day and confronted the powers-that-be so strongly that they had to lock him up in prison.

 But it’s not the expectation of the crowd that moves me today: it’s the expectation that John himself has of Jesus. Today’s reading comes from Matthew, and in Matthew’s account, John knows about Jesus even before he baptizes him. Somehow John knows that Jesus is the Messiah, the Christ, and acknowledges that before submerging him into the waters of the Jordan River: In fact, at first he refuses to baptize Jesus, saying I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me? (Matt. 3:14) And after baptizing him because Jesus insisted, John is there when the heavens are opened and the Spirit of God descends upon Jesus like a dove and a voice from heaven declares, This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased (Matt. 3:17).

 So John gets who Jesus is and is fully on board, right? Well, maybe not. In this reading, he is in prison and will soon be executed. He’s devoted his life to serving God and preparing the way for God’s Messiah. He believed Jesus is the One when he baptized him. But John, too, struggles with the tension between expectation and reality. He expected Jesus to be the kind of Messiah John spoke about in our Gospel reading last week, a fierce figure with a winnowing fork in his hand, separating the wheat from the chaff and burning the chaff with unquenchable fire. John may have expected someone more like himself, someone who would condemn the corrupt powers of this world and usher in a new age with force and with fire. And if so, he was not alone. Certainly many Jews were hoping for a mighty Messiah who would, at the very least, drive out the Romans and restore the kingdom of Israel and reign on the throne of David. Expectations were high.

 But Jesus did not meet those expectations. Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. Instead of a hero, he’s a healer. Instead of a soldier, he’s a savior. So different is Jesus from what people expected that even John the Baptist questions him: Are you really the one? Or should we wait for someone else?

 Many people felt disappointed in Jesus back then, and Jesus knew it, which is why he says today, Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me. But I’m not concerned about people back then: I’m concerned about us right now. What do we expect of Jesus? And how will we react if Jesus does not meet our expectations? Do we, for example, expect that if we believe that Jesus is God’s Son and go to church that God will bless us with wealth and success? Certainly there are plenty of people preaching the so-called “prosperity Gospel” who believe that. And, I suspect, there are plenty of people who did believe that and now feel disappointed and disillusioned. Do we expect that if we believe in Christ that our lives will be easy and free from illness, struggle, or heartache? Well, if you believe that, let me know how it’s working for you. I imagine it’s not.

 On this third Sunday in Advent, the season of expectation, Jesus reminds us of what we can expect if we trust in him. Based on what he says today, and what he proclaims throughout the Gospels, I think that we can expect this: if we put our faith in Christ, then through Christ God will touch the hurting and broken parts of our lives and our world with love and mercy, a love and mercy that will make us whole, even beyond death and forever.

 Having the right expectation is critical, because we will look for Christ where we expect to find him. Jesus, for example, forgives sins and sets us free from the power of guilt. If we expect that, then we will confess our sins and look for that forgiveness and all the renewed life and hope that comes with it. I don’t know about you, but I count on that forgiveness. So, too, Christ gives us strength in our weakness. If we expect that, then we will honestly acknowledge our weaknesses and limitations and look for him to help us. I for one could not get through my days if that were not the case. Throughout the Gospels, those who are humble in heart and poor in spirit are the ones who trust in Jesus and find God. If we  expect that to be true, then we will practice being humble in heart and poor in spirit. In other words, we will practice being open to God because we know how much we need God. I often fail to do that, but when I get back on track and renew that practice, Christ is always there. And I have found this to be true as well: the more we experience God’s love and mercy, the more we expect that God will not only pour out that love and mercy on us but use us to pour out that love and mercy on others, a wondrous and joyful gift. If we expect these things, if in short, we expect Jesus to be our Savior, then we may be challenged at times, we may frequently be surprised, but we won’t be disappointed. We know who we’re looking for, and we know what he’s about.

Through love alone. December 4, 2022. The Rev. David M. Stoddart

 Isaiah 11:1-10

The wolf shall live with the lamb,

the leopard shall lie down with the kid,

the calf and the lion and the fatling together,

and a little child shall lead them. . . .

They will not hurt or destroy 

On all my holy mountain.

Those words have captured the imagination of people for almost 3,000 years. They emerged from the religious experience of ancient Israel, and they were expressed by one of the greatest pf all Jewish prophets, Isaiah. And hundreds of years after they were first spoken, those words found renewed meaning and energy in the life and witness of Jesus of Nazareth, another Jewish man. And I say that deliberately: Jesus was born as a Jew; he lived as a Jew; he died as a Jew. I feel the need to emphasize that this morning because, as we all know, disturbingly, anti-semitism in this country is on the rise. Recently a number of public figures have made vile statements disparaging the Jewish people, and hate crimes against Jews across the nation are increasing. That is an awful trend, and the church needs to offer clear testimony here: that kind of thinking and behavior is repugnant. Any bigotry directed at people because of their religion, their race, their ethnicity, their gender identity, or their sexual orientation is deplorable and morally wrong. And it’s always wrong:  it’s wrong when it’s done by  conservatives and it’s wrong when it’s done by liberals. And it is especially abhorrent when it’s done by people who claim to be Christians, because Christians should know better. That kind of prejudice goes completely against the person Jesus is and the Gospel Jesus proclaims. 

Sadly, Christian anti-semitism is not new. Too many times over the centuries Christians have been guilty of hateful speech, unjust acts, and outright atrocities against the Jewish people. It would take many hours to relate that dismal history, but ultimately it’s not just terrible, it’s nonsensical. As our readings today indicate, as our worship invariably demonstrates, we are the fruit of ancient Israel. Our roots as a church are deeply Jewish. We worship a Jewish Savior . . . which makes it all the more compelling and necessary that we denounce anti-semitic bigotry and ignorance. 

I have to say that, but that is not actually what I want to focus on today. As followers of Jesus Christ, we need to stand against evil certainly, but our primary calling is not negative but positive: not just to stand against what’s wrong, but to stand for what’s right, to stand for the vision of God and humanity that Jesus proclaims. And to do that, let’s look again at that reading from Isaiah. Two things about it really leap out at me. The first is how inclusive it is. This offspring of Jesse the prophet talks about, whom the church understands to be Jesus, will care for all persons, including the meek, the poor, and the powerless. And just as Isaiah envisions all sorts of different creatures living in harmony on God’s holy mountain, so too he looks to the time when all sorts of different nations and peoples will also live in harmony. The root of Jesse will stand as a signal to all the peoples of the earth, he says. Isaiah elaborates on this later on in chapter 25 when he says, On this mountain the LORD of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines. There is no sense at all here that there will just be one people, one nation, or one religion; no sense that everyone will either become Jewish or perish. The earth will be full not only of circumcised Jews or only of baptized Christians. N0, the earth will be full of the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the seas. If anything, Isaiah prophesies a time when religious differences will not matter, a time when humans will encounter the truth and reality of God directly. And that fully accords with the teachings of Jesus, who celebrates faith wherever he finds it, including among the gentiles, and who loves and welcomes everyone. The biblical ideal we stand for is not uniformity, but unity, a unity in diversity that is grounded in love. And in that vision, there is just no place for denigrating or excluding anyone.

The second thing that really strikes me is that this unity can never be imposed or established through force. Isaiah’s vision does not look to a great king or a mighty warrior for its fulfillment. Rather he says a little child shall lead them. It’s a vision that leaves no room for violence or coercion: they will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain. And Jesus himself lives this: he comes to us as a child, and when he grows up he never forces faith on anyone. He would literally rather die than resort to violence or oppression. The only power he exercises is the power of love. This idea that some of our fellow believers have that we should somehow establish an exclusively “Christian state” or forcefully impose Christianity on others against their will is unbiblical and directly opposes the teaching and the example of Christ. The truth we stand for is that God’s kingdom will ultimately be ushered in through love and through love alone.

Advent is the season where we remind ourselves that we are waiting for the coming of that kingdom. Only God can finally bring it to pass, but until God does, we do not wait passively. We hope for it, we pray for it, and to the degree that we can, we work for it. And certainly we are called to be signs of that kingdom, to be yeast in the loaf, salt of the earth, and light for the world, to use Jesus’ words. And when it comes to confronting anti-semitism, racism, and other forms of hatred, it really matters that our lives reflect the values of Christ and point to God’s kingdom. That includes acknowledging and confessing any prejudices we might have, and asking for forgiveness and grace to change. It means refusing to participate in hateful speech of any kind. And it demands that we practice being loving and inclusive. At the very least, we can look at people in our own lives who are different than we are and make a point of treating them with kindness and respect. There are some terrible currents moving in our society and no one of us can control that. But each one of us can do our part, in our thoughts, our words, and our actions, to illustrate, to manifest to the world, what we are looking for when we pray, “your kingdom come” — and in doing so, bring that wondrous vision of Isaiah at least a little closer to fulfillment. 

In all circumstances. Thanksgiving Eve 11/23/22. The Rev. David M. Stoddart

This past Sunday, one week after my mother died, I stood at the altar up in the main church and prayed words which I have prayed thousands of times over the past three decades. In a few minutes, Mo. Kathleen will pray them again: “It is right, and a good and joyful thing, always and everywhere to give thanks to you, Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth.” It is right, always and everywhere, to give thanks. Mom raised me well and taught me that I should always say thank you when someone does something nice for me. Every year after Christmas, we wrote thank you notes: “Dear Aunt Margaret, thank you for the socks” – it was always socks with Aunt Margaret. It’s a wholesome thing to do. And, in that spirit, I’m thinking that all of us here enjoy an abundance of good things: people to love, homes to live in, food to eat, games to play. There is much we can and should give thanks for. But somehow, there’s got to be more to thanksgiving than that. “Always and everywhere” implies we give thanks even when we don’t have an abundance of good things, even when disease and disaster strike us, even when we come face to face with death.

 That Eucharistic prayer pushes us, or at least it pushes me, to a deeper understanding of thanksgiving. And it’s not just the Prayer Book that does that, of course. Those words in our liturgy just hearken back to the New Testament, which talks a lot about thanksgiving; we heard an example of that in our reading from Philippians. In fact, Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians, which is by scholarly consensus the earliest of his letters we have and therefore the oldest piece of Christian literature in existence, says at the end: Give thanks in all circumstances. All circumstances. This from a man who suffered extreme deprivation, vicious attacks, beatings, multiple imprisonments, and a shipwreck. Clearly for Paul, thanksgiving is not just transactional – you did something nice to me, so I’ll say thanks – nor is it just situational – things are really good for me now, so I’ll say thanks. For Paul, giving thanks is existential, it is at the core of what it means to be a human being in relationship with God.

 We can give thanks in all circumstances because in all circumstances – please do not tune me out here – we are God’s beloved. God is love and God’s love is the greatest power at work in our lives and in our world. And I say that without any trace of sentimentality. It was Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, the great scientist and mystic, who pointed out that when we say love is the greatest force in the universe, that is not a metaphorical statement: it is literal truth. Teilhard de Chardin was a geologist, and for him love is rock solid: it is what physically draws all things together. One of the greatest mysteries of the universe, indeed the primal mystery, is that after the Big Bang, countless trillions of trillions of particles did not fly off into an infinite and eternal solitude. They clumped together. Matter is drawn to matter. Quarks are drawn to quarks, atoms are drawn to atoms, molecules are drawn to molecules. Love is the binding force that holds everything together, the very energy at the heart of reality. That is true from the subatomic world all the way up to highest levels of agape and self-giving adoration. It is no wonder that we are drawn into friendship, marriage, and community. It is no wonder that our dog head butts us in the middle of the night or that we are gathered together right now. God’s love is the ultimate reality. God’s love is. It is at work in bedrooms and in hospital rooms; it is there when a child is born and it is there when a mother dies. As Paul says so eloquently in Romans, nothing, nothing, nothing in all of creation, not even the worst evil, not even death, can separate us from that love. And the only response is to give thanks.

 nd I say “give thanks” deliberately: at any given moment, we may or may not feel thankful. Our feelings are notoriously fickle: they come and go. If we waited to feel thankful in 0rder to give thanks, then thanksgiving would be a sporadic, even rare event. But this is what I have found to be true, and I don’t think I’m alone in this: the very act of giving thanks touches something in me that goes deeper than feelings. Giving thanks puts us in touch with our Christ self, that place where our spirits are one with the Holy Spirit, that place where we know that we are God’s beloved. Touching that truth can unlock tremendous feelings of joy and often does, but doing so always leads me to a deep sense of peace and wholeness. In God’s love we are rock solid. And when I know that, when I acknowledge that through thanksgiving, it is so much easier, indeed it’s just natural, to keep on giving thanks, always and everywhere.

 On the night before he was crucified, Jesus took bread and gave thanks. He took the cup of wine and gave thanks. Even his death would be an expression of gratitude for God’s love. Whatever our circumstances may be tonight, however we may be feeling, we join with Christ and give thanks. Yes, we give thanks for this night, for the beauty of the stars, for the loveliness of this place, for the abundance of food we will enjoy, for all who are gathered here right now, for all whom we love and all whom we have ever loved. But first and foremost, we give thanks for the unquenchable love of God, the very center of creation, the power which holds all of us and all that is together and always will.

 

 

 

 

Advent describes our life. November 27, 2022. The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

Matthew 24:36-44

 It was a week ago early Friday morning. Our church’s lay delegate, Ellen Osborne, and I were driving up 29 North on our way to our diocese’s annual convention in Northern Virginia. We hadn't been on the road very long, 20 minutes or so, and everything was going as expected until out of the relative darkness three deer appeared in front of my car. A car which was going roughly 60 miles an hour. I had about a second to respond. And in that second my foot hit the break and mouth spoke a word that, I confess, isn’t appropriate for church. (I did ask God and Ellen to forgive me.) In the following second my car slammed head on into one of the deer and knocked it dead, which was unfortunate, but I know I have so many things for which to be thankful. First and foremost, no one was hurt and although my car is damaged I can still drive it until it gets repaired.

Likely you have a story similar to mine whether or not you too have hit a deer on the road because we’ve all experienced times where the unexpected occurs. When we’ve been going about our life as planned and then out of the blue something happens. It’s like “that day and hour no one knows” that Jesus speaks of in our reading from the gospel of Matthew. The day and the hour which we do not know can come to us in a thousand different ways: an unexpected gift, an unwanted loss, an unimagined future, a dream come true. We have no way of knowing when, how, or if they will come but despite our best efforts to plan and prepare for the future, truth is, we live in the midst of uncertainty and unknowing. 

 The day and hour of uncertainty and not knowing is part of what Advent is about. For Advent isn't just a season of the new church year that we begin today, Advent describes our life. You may have noticed that every year the gospel reading for the first Sunday in Advent takes on an ominous and threatening tone. These readings are often referred to as apocalyptic or end of the world texts. But it's important to notice that that's not what Jesus says here. He never says the world is ending. Although it can certainly feel that way when the unexpected happens. Instead Jesus begins with “the day and the hour” about which we do not know and ends with “an unexpected hour.” Everything in between is about not knowing. The only thing we do know is that it - whatever “it” is - happens in the midst of ordinary life like eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, working in the field and grinding meal. What Jesus is talking about here is not the end of all things, but how we live in a world that is impermanent and always changing, unpredictable and in many ways uncontrollable.

 The challenge of Advent, of that day and hour about which we do not know, is the challenge to live not in fear of the unknown but in faith. To find an ease and peace with the unpredictability of life. I believe that this is what Jesus is getting at when he says we are to “keep awake” and “be ready.” He’s offering us a way forward by calling us to pay attention. To pay special attention not to all the things that make us anxious and keep us up at night. But to focus on and be on the lookout for the presence of God in our lives - because God is very present and near. Yet for many of us, and I include myself in this, that presence often goes unnoticed.

 The Rev. Tish Harrison Warren reflects on this in her book, Prayer in the Night, where she writes that when it comes to attentiveness the superheroes in that category are…bird watchers. For they are the masters of noticing. They take note not just of the birds they see but also the ones they hear. They have attuned their senses to pay attention and delight in a world that surrounds us, but is barely noticed by most. And this type of paying attention isn’t limited to bird watchers alone. The other day I was talking with someone who looks for fossils and is able to find them in the most common of places. She has an eye for them - or more accurately, she has developed an eye with time and practice. And that’s true for much of what we see. Artists pick up on so much more than the casual observer. Sports fans spot plays that are invisible to me. Almost anything that we are good at seeing in this world is the result of some degree of practice and intention.

 And so it is with seeing God. Our world is infused with the holy. We bump into the divine all the time. But do we see and recognize it as such? As we enter into the season of Advent and live our lives in the midst of uncertainty and unknowing, Jesus calls us, for our own good and peace of mind, to keep awake, to be ready, to pay attention.

 How so? Well, it’s different for everyone but let me offer a few ideas to get you thinking. Of course breathing is always a good place to start. The next time you’re in traffic, which given the time of year will be relatively soon, take a moment to breathe in deeply and intentionally. That breath alone can be a prayer in and of itself or it can provide you with the opportunity to turn your attention to the Holy Spirit that dwells within you and in all the people around you. Let your breath remind you that God is present.

 Another way to stay awake to God’s life is to pick  a “go-to” mantra, a short phrase that resonates with your soul like, “Come, Holy Spirit” or “Jesus, my peace” or “God is near.” And then intentionally lace that mantra prayer into your day. Or write a phrase or prayer on a sticky note and put it on your bathroom mirror so that you can start and end your day with it. There’s also the practice of gratitude journals, reading a daily devotion, and so on. Really there are countless ways to hone our ability to see God in daily life. Without it feeling like one more burdensome task to add to your growing t0-do list, consider what simple, do-able practice might resonate with your spirit and help you have eyes to see more of God in your life.

 For just as sure as there have been days and hours of uncertainty and unknowing in the past there will be more in the future. That’s the nature, and maybe even one of the gifts, of life if we have eyes to see. For in those unexpected days and hours God is present and offering us the love, joy, peace, and abundant life that goes with that presence. So stay awake to the divine. Be ready for the holy. For no matter what the day and the hour ends up bringing, God is in the midst of it - and we certainly don’t want to miss that!

This radical view of power. November 20, 2022. The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

Luke 23:33-43, Colossians 1:11-20

It was 1925. Less than ten years had passed since the end of World War I and most of the world was still reeling from the devastation and loss. It was an incredibly unsettled time. Fascism was on the rise. Stalin, Mussolini, and Hitler were all coming into power. So, why the  history lesson? Because it was also in 1925 that a new feast day was created in the Roman Catholic Church, the Feast of Christ the King. Pope Pius XI was concerned by all the ways power was being abused in the world of his day and he sought to highlight to the faithful that above all earthly powers it was Christ who deserved the highest devotion and loyalty. And that ultimately at the end of time, Christ would reign over all.

It took a while, but eventually the Episcopal Church incorporated the feast of Christ the King into its own liturgical tradition. So here we are today on this last Sunday in our Church year joining with Christians across the globe in celebrating Christ the King. Which may, quite honestly, make us cringe because the idea of a king and being subject to one doesn’t sound very appealing. Throughout the ages kings have been tyrants wielding their power in self-serving ways using the tools of fear, manipulation, and violence to dominate their subjects. Who wants that? Let alone celebrate it?

In the face of the grim reality of earthly kings and all the ways that earthly power is often destructively expressed - by king and commoner alike - we have Jesus. As our reading from Colossians puts it, he is the image of the invisible God. A God who truly is all powerful. Powerful enough to create all things in heaven and on earth. Powerful enough to hold all of it together. More powerful than anyone or anything we can imagine. And yet the power of God revealed in Jesus the Christ stands in stark contrast from the powers of this world. We certainly see that in our reading from the gospel of Luke. For on this Christ the King Sunday we do not have a reading of Jesus coming into his glorious Kingdom, at least not in any traditional way. We don’t hear about the times where Jesus is large and in charge, calming the sea, healing the sick, or sticking it to the Pharisees in some way. Instead Christ our King is hanging on the cross. He is being mocked and ridiculed. Suffering at the hands of those whom he loves, those whom he came to save. Yet does he strike back? No. He uses his power to forgive them - he forgives them without them even asking. Then finally, when one criminal asks simple to be remembered, Jesus goes beyond that and offers him Paradise.

God’s way of exercising power is so fundamentally different from ours. That’s clear from the very beginning of Jesus’ story. For as we enter into our new church year next Sunday, we will begin by anticipating the coming of God with us in the birth of a baby. One who reveals to us an all-powerful God who is willing to be vulnerable, weak, and dependent upon others. Then, as Jesus grows into adulthood, his life continues to show us the wonders of our God who demonstrates that ultimate power is found not in domination, but rather in self-giving love. For in God’s kingdom there is no place for coercion, only and always love. Not the mushy, sentimental kind, but the fierce and powerful kind of love that voluntarily gives oneself over for the sake of the other. That is why on this Christ the King Sunday we see Jesus on the cross because it is there that the ultimate power of God is most fully on display. 

If we seek to be faithful to Christ then we must embrace this radical view of power - not just by recognizing it and seeing it on the cross, but by exercising it, this type of power, in our own lives. For no matter who we are, we all have access to this power. We all have the ability, with God’s help, to give of ourselves for the good of others - our families, our neighbors, our communities, our workplaces, our world. That is the hope. That is God’s dream.

And then there is reality - the world in which we live. A world that is all too often marred by various forms of power gone amuck. Power that abuses and hurts and inflicts harm on so many. Just last week our community was rocked by the terrible misuse of power by one individual wielding a gun. The results, as we know, were tragic. Three innocent lives lost, two wounded, and countless others left to live in the wake of severe trauma and unimaginable grief. Yet in the aftermath of such tragedy people, both near and far, have responded with love. And although such love cannot turn back time nor bring back those who were lost, it is not powerless. Such love does have the power to comfort, to support, and to begin the long process of healing.

And in addition to all of that, love also bears the power of a promise - God’s promise in Christ - that it won’t always be this way. That there will come a time when the ultimate power of love, God’s self-giving love, will prevail. God’s kingdom will come on earth as it is in heaven. And each time we use our power for love a little we bring a little more of that kingdom here to earth. But when the fullness of God’s kingdom comes it will not be by force but by the willing surrender of all hearts and minds and souls to the sheer wonder and glorious goodness of Christ the King. For in the end, love wins. 

The good news of that end is what we glimpse today and celebrate in the power of Christ our King.

 

 

The gift of reversals. November 6, 2022. The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

Luke 6:2-31

All Saints’ Sunday

We’ve probably all experienced it to some degree. A time where life was turned upside down. Sometimes it’s a positive thing like the birth of a child or a new job opportunity or a windfall of some kind. But other times, it’s not: a diagnosis is made, an accident occurs, a relationship ends. Whether or not we deem such life events as good or bad, these reversals of fortune have the power to change us, to open our hearts to something new, and to turn our life in a different direction. 

That’s why Jesus is always about reversing business as usual: preaching good news to the poor, proclaiming release to the captives, offering sight to the blind, and so on. In fact, much of the Christian life is based on reversals. And certainly reversals are at the heart of the four beatitudes and four woes in our reading from the gospel of Luke where Jesus declares that the poor, the hungry, the weeping, and those who are hated, excluded, and slandered can expect better things. Their situations will be reversed. They will be blessed. They will be given the opposite of what they have now. But those who are rich, Jesus says, those who are full, who laugh, who are popular and respected, well, they can expect to lose what they have now. Their situation will also be reversed. Woe to them.

So what are we to make of all this? Is it simply a redistribution of wealth and resources? Is Jesus making poor people rich and rich people poor? Then what happens? Everything is pretty much the same just the roles are reversed. Does Jesus really love malnourished people more than those who have enough to eat? Does he prefer our lives to be burdened and broken by loss and sorrow? Is there no place for joy or laughter? Or a good meal? When you think about it, it doesn't make sense. So if that's not what Jesus is saying here, what is he saying? How are we to hear his words?

Well, we are not to hear Jesus's words only on a materialistic level because this world and our lives are more than just the things that we can touch and see. But, just as importantly, we are not to soften his words to the point that they no longer challenge and empower us to see and live differently. Jesus is not distinguishing between spiritual and material lack or spiritual and material abundance. It’s both. And really how could it not be? Jesus is human just like you and me. He's got needs just as we do. Some of those needs are physical, but some are emotional and spiritual. He is both body and soul, just like we are. He is both material and spiritual, just like us. That means that our lives are a mixture of needs too, some met, some unmet. Within each of us there are parts that are rich and full and abundant. And there are parts that are empty, broken, grieving. It's not one or the other. It's both, at the same time.

That's why the blessings and woes that Jesus talks about are not to be understood as some kind of final judgment or system of reward and punishment - because they're not. They're not even at odds with one another. Rather the blessings and woes are God's way of saying yes or no to where and how we find meaning in our lives. Because isn't that what we ultimately want? Isn't that why we come to church? At the core of our being don’t we all long for meaning?

Every blessing and every woe, every yes and every no, is Jesus's response to our search for meaning - a life that matters. And as good parents know, sometimes we tell our children yes and sometimes we tell them no. But both responses are grounded in love and both are for the well-being of our children. And so it is with God. When we are too comfortable, too satisfied, or too secure - whether that be spiritually, emotionally, or materially - Jesus says, “No, that's not the way.” Because we can all too easily become self-satisfied. Thinking that we've got it all. That we've arrived. And then our lives become small and closed off. There is no openness. No need to see beyond ourselves, to love the person next door, or to work for change that makes a difference in the lives of others. Woe to us when we are convinced that we have no needs beyond the things of this world. Woe to us when we believe that we have no need to grow and change.

On the other hand Jesus promises blessings when we are empty, weak, or grieving – again, whether that be spiritually, emotionally, or materially. But that’s not because there is any inherent value or goodness in poverty or misery but because when we are in that state our hearts are softened. Our eyes are open. We desire something more. Those are the times we know there has to be something other than just the things of this world. And we’re right for in those moments Jesus says, “Yes, blessed are you.”

It’s like the old story where a student comes to her teacher looking for wisdom. But first off she tells the teacher what books she’s read, what courses she’s taken, what practices she’s done. And as the student talks and talks and talks, the teacher pours a cup of tea until the cup is totally overflowing. When, finally, the student interrupts herself and says, “Stop, the cup is full!” To which the teacher responds, “Yes, it is and so are you. Until you empty yourself there is no room for anything else.”

The gift in the reversals of blessings and woes, yeses and nos, is that they are a means by which space is made in our lives so that God can guide us into the life we really want. A life that is authentic and meaningful and good. So, I wonder, where are you full today? What place in your life is abundant? How is God calling you to surrender in some way so that there might be room for growth and change? And what parts of you feel empty, weak, or in need? No doubt that's where God desires to pour blessing and presence, peace and love into your life. Be open and trust. For it is in these reversals that we discover life in the midst of death, light in the darkness, and the wonder that even in our own imperfect humanness God’s very life and love dwells. That is the reversal of fortune that we celebrate today and all our days.  

 

Something more profound. October 23. 2022. The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

 

Luke 18:9-14

“I am the most giving person I know.” Now those aren’t my words, but someone I knew years ago. Let’s call her Susan. And when she said this about herself, “I am the most giving person I know,” I was shocked because you don’t usually hear someone trumpeting about themselves so openly. Susan said this in front of a small group at her retirement party. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a well-attended party - probably because Susan was hard to be around. True, she did give a lot of herself. She was always organizing, always serving, always doing things for others, however, in the midst of all her good works she was also always letting people know about it. It was rather sad because, my guess is, that her need to serve others and be recognized for it came from a deep place of pain and insecurity. She seemed desperate to justify herself.

Like the Pharisee in the story that Jesus tells in the gospel of Luke where two men go to the temple to pray. The first is a Pharisee, a truly religious person who does so many things right. but in the guise of a heartfelt thank you to God, he offers a personal progress report of his own awesomeness. “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers.” Then he continues to humble brag about his pious lifestyle, how he regularly fast and generously gives. I think it’s safe to say that he ends up leaving the temple feeling exactly the same way he felt when he walked in, just fine. No growth, no healing, no change.

The second man who goes to the temple to pray is a tax collector, a Jew who works with the occupying Roman Empire. He is a traitor to his own people. And upon arriving at the temple we are told that he stands far off, keeps his head down, beats his chest, and prays just one line, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” Darn right he's a sinner! No truer words have been spoken. But it turns out that those true words reveal the tax collector’s willingness to lay aside any attempt of self justification, of explaining why he does what he does, of propping up his own ego - he let’s go of all of that which opens up his heart to receive mercy and justification from God.

It’s not lost on me the irony that in response to the story of these two men I am tempted to pray something along the lines of, “God, I thank you that I am nothing like the obnoxious Pharisee. I thank you that I'm at a point in my faith journey where I much more like the tax collector in the sense of being self-aware, and teachable, and, of course, oh so humble...." Ah, how easy it is to slide down the slippery slope of self justification.

Because, you know, we do it all the time. Sometimes it’s obvious, like in Susan’s case, other times we can be a bit more subtle. Nonetheless, we'll invoke almost anything - whether it’s out loud to others or silently in our heads - in order to justify ourselves. Where we went to school or our secure financial status or the success of our kids or our wonderful job are just a few of a host of ways we seek to prove that we are ok. And, if we let it, it can be never ending because the world is relentless in demanding proofs and justifications of our worthiness. But it doesn't work. And, thank God, it isn't even necessary. For in the words of the famous hymn, God accepts me "just as I am." God accepts you, just as you are.

Now to live without self-justifications can make me feel vulnerable and exposed. What are people going to think of us if we don’t put it out there that we are worthy? But when you think about it, living without self-justifications is absolutely liberating. As we really get the message - not just in our heads, but in our hearts and souls - that we are truly accepted and loved by God, then we never, for any reason, need to prove ourselves again.

To get to that place, Jesus says that we need only seven words — those mumbled by the tax collector as he stood at a distance and stared at the ground: "God, have mercy on me, a sinner." Honestly, though, I don’t know many people who like the word, “sinner.” It’s so wrapped up in shame, self-punishment, and creepy sermons that involve hellfire and brimstone. Too often, “sinner” is a word that frightens us away from God rather than drawing us closer. Yet Jesus doesn’t shy away from using that word. On the contrary, he insists on it. He insists that we continually acknowledge and name our core sinfulness because, as the tax collector demonstrates, there is healing power in such a confession. It is healing because it tells the truth - the truth that as sinners each one of us is a beautiful mess. Each one of us is made in God’s divine image AND, at the same time, riddled with human brokenness. When we are willing to use the word “sinner” in our prayer life leads us to something more profound and more clarifying than, “I’ve made mistakes,” or “I’ve got issues.” To use the word sinner is to reject the self justifying posture of drawing lines between us and them, like the Pharisee, and instead embrace the fact that all of us are utterly lost but for the amazing grace of God.

It’s worth noting that Jesus doesn’t end his story with something like, “And the tax collector went forth and sinned no more.” Instead, we have no idea what the tax collector does once he leaves the temple justified. Does he give up his dishonest profession? Does he give back the money he has unfairly taken from his neighbors? Does he continue with business as usual while coming back over and over again to the temple praying the same prayer? In other words, we can’t say if he does anything to deserve God’s generous mercy towards him. But that’s the point. The point of all this is that lavish and relentless mercy of God is always flowing in our direction. It cannot be earned with haughty justifications because, in fact, those justifications actually get in the way and block God’s mercy from reaching us. That only way that we can receive the gift of grace is with the humble recognition that we are always in need of God. A God who can be depended upon to welcome sinners - and even some self-righteous saints. For as we open up our hearts, our minds, our souls to God’s mercy and justification we will be changed. We will be healed. We will grow and thrive.

God, be merciful to me, a sinner!

 

With the end in mind. October 16, 2022. The Rev. David M. Stoddart

Luke 18:1-8

The late Nobel laureate and holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel once recounted an incident that happened when he was 15 years old and a prisoner at Auschwitz. One day a group of his fellow prisoners who were also Jewish scholars put God on trial, accusing him of being indifferent to the suffering of his people and failing to save them. After much discussion, they reached a unanimous verdict: chayav, guilty. After pronouncing it, Wiesel said, there was a minute or so of silence – and then they all said evening prayers together. What a striking, even shocking juxtaposition: God doesn’t care . . . Let us pray.

 Consider with me for a moment: why do we pray? Maybe we just go to church on Sundays and say grace before meals because it’s a habit, something we think we are supposed to do. Or maybe we pray every day that God will bless the people we love. Maybe we ask God for particular things, like getting a new job or being healed of some disease. Maybe we just pray when we feel desperate and don’t know what else to do. But if we have prayed at all, then we will probably be able to sympathize with those Jewish scholars putting God on trial. We are not, thankfully, in a concentration camp — hopefully none of us here has ever experienced something so horrific — but many of us here have no doubt prayed for things that we did not get: healings that did not take place, blessings that never materialized. And perhaps we also felt that God was indifferent to our prayers, or at least nonresponsive. S0 we might well ask ourselves: why do we pray?

 Jesus tackles that question in the Gospel today, but I don’t think his message is as simple and straightforward as it might at first appear. He tells this parable about a widow who relentlessly hounds an indifferent judge until he finally gives in and grants her request. If a sinful judge like that will respond to such pleas, Jesus says, how much more will a good and loving God respond to us: And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. The problem is that we know God does not always respond quickly to us. In many cases, God never seems to respond at all. And Jesus knows this. He tells this parable while the Roman Empire is oppressing the Jewish people in an occupation that has already lasted decades and will go on for many years to come, even though they are praying for deliverance. Jesus knows that when the Israelites called out from their captivity in Egypt, they remained slaves for some four hundred years. In John’s Gospel, he encounters a man who has been ill for 38 years. Will he delay long in helping them? Well, yeah, he will. People have faced long delays in the past; they continue to experience long delays in the present.

 And since Jesus clearly knows this, the problem must be with our interpretation. A simplistic, transactional understanding of prayer – “tell God what you want, and God will give it to you fast” – just won’t suffice, even if we add the caveat, “you gotta tell God a lot.” It just doesn’t work that way. I think the only way we can understand this teaching, and the way I think Jesus meant us to understand it, with the end in mind, the final consummation of all things. It’s only then that God’s justice will be fully established, only then that God’s love will fully prevail. And while that may seem a long ways off to us, in the light of eternity it will come quickly. We know Jesus is thinking along these lines because he says:  And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth? He’s referring to his coming again at the end of time. Will people persevere in prayer until that time, even when they receive no immediate reply? Will you and I persevere?

 We might say, “What’s the point? Why pray when we don’t get instant gratification?” But prayer is not about instant gratification. Prayer is not transactional at all. A few moments ago I asked, why do we pray? But that was a trick question: Jesus actually tells us why at the very beginning of the passage: Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. People, we pray so that we don’t lose heart. What matters in prayer is not the outcome: what matters is the connection. When we pray, we stay connected to God’s presence and grounded in God’s love. That is the beginning and end of all true prayer, and the source of tremendous strength and endless hope.

 But here’s the amazing thing about God’s economy of salvation. If we adopt a tit-for-tat idea of prayer – God, I’ll say these words if you’ll give me what I want – our prayer will probably not be productive at all. But when we love God, love others, and love ourselves in prayer and through prayer, then the Spirit moves and our prayer often does produce visible results. When our focus is on loving and not losing heart, then God’s power is unleashed and good things happen, things that lead to greater justice, greater healing, greater peace. We can’t control how that happens, nor should we try: we don’t have the wisdom for that. But consciously staying connected to God’s presence and staying grounded in God’s love changes the world and gives us all we need until God’s kingdom comes in all its fullness.

 Let me end with a story. Years ago, when I was serving a parish in Rhode Island, one of my parishioners had liver cancer. The prognosis was bad from the beginning. Praying for the cancer to go away did not work: the cancer continued to spread. Feeling powerless, all I could do was to pray for God’s love to enfold him and all who were close to him. One day, towards the end, I visited him and prayed with him. But right as I was about to leave, he did something he had never done before. He took my hands and said, “Now I want to pray.” And he thanked God for his wife and his children, for his church and for me, and told God how much he loved God and all of these people. It was a holy moment. He died not long afterwards. Did our prayer work? He lost his battle with cancer, but he did not lose heart. Nor did I. I know that I will see him fully alive and healed in the world to come, along with everyone else I’ve ever cared for. And until then, I keep on praying, with or without visible results. I have experienced the reality of God’s love – and that is reason enough to pray and never to lose heart.

Pause to recognize. October 9, 2022. The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

 

Luke 17:11-19

Ten lepers cry out to Jesus to have mercy on them and Jesus heals all ten. But only one returns to give thanks. Hopefully it's a familiar story to many. It certainly is to me. And yet I'm struck at how different it sits with me in the year 2022 versus three years ago when we last read it in church together - and I last preached on it. Because back in 2019 what caught my attention and what I ended up talking about was gratitude. How it does us well on so many levels to regularly practice being thankful to God. And that’s still true. But the last three years of life has added several layers to experiencing this story. Because we all now know firsthand what it's like to be afraid of an unknown illness. Some kind of virus that we aren't exactly sure how it is transmitted. We now know what it's like to look at other people, strangers and friends alike, and wonder if they are dangerous in some unforeseen way - that they might infect us or those we love or even be carrying something that could impact an entire community. And because we know all that, we also know what it’s like to live in isolation. The toll it takes on our lives and wellbeing. Life especially during the worst of Covid-19 was hard on everyone.

 It was in May of this year when I tested positive for Covid. Thankfully my symptoms were very mild, but it meant that for ten days I completely isolated myself from others. Now for some that may sound like a vacation, but for me, an extrovert, it was torture. And during those long ten days I thought about lepers of Jesus’ time. Forced by law to live away from their community and to call out, “Unclean! Unclean!” to anyone who came near - not just for ten days, but sometimes for their entire lives. Their loneliness, their isolation, the flatness of their lives must have been excruciating. Likely worse than anything that actually ailed them because back then leprosy was a catch-all term for a host of skin issues -  psoriasis, eczema, athlete's foot, or any other minor skin disease, all the way up to and including actual leprosy. So when we hear that there were ten lepers, we don’t really know what they actually had or how contagious they really were - and neither did the people of their time. But because of that unknowing and the fear around it, what we do know is that all who were deemed leprous were cast out of their homes and considered unclean.

 Now the priests were the keepers of cleanliness in all realms of Jewish life which included but was not limited to physical health. We could think of them as the ancient equivalent to the Centers for Disease Control. If someone back then was lucky enough to recover from some sort of leprosy, the priests were the ones to certify that recovery, and only then with that certification could a person reenter their community. It was a system intended not to victimize, but simply to prevent the spread of disease. However, it came at great cost to the sick.

 So here in our reading from Luke’s gospel we have ten lepers. Likely they banded together in order to create their own mini community. And as Jesus comes near one day they stand at a dutiful distance crying out of the pain of their disease and the depths of their isolation, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” And Jesus does. He tells them to go and show themselves to the priests. And as they go they are made clean. In that moment of healing what they receive is really two gifts. They are physically cured, but likely even more wonderful than that is that they are given back their lives. What overwhelming joy they all must have felt. They could go home. They could hug their family and friends and be hugged. They could be a part of all the normal, everyday things again. All the everyday things that likely they had taken for granted - just as we took for granted what was normal and every day before the pandemic.

 Ten were cured but only one paused in the midst of their joy to return to Jesus with thanks. And in doing so, Jesus says, your faith has made you well - well in the fullest sense of the word. And likewise we become more well, more whole, more complete when we pause to recognize all the ways that God has blessed us with life, with love, with each other. It is a gift that we can gather here again in this sacred space. That we can touch and hug each other, if we so choose. That we can be fed with bread and wine, the body and blood of Christ. There is so much to rejoice in. Living a life of faith with gratitude to God in community with God’s people does make us well. 

 But that is not the only message contained in this story. Because what might feel like the kicker actually doesn’t come until the end. And that is that this band of ten lepers are not all equal. One, we eventually learn, is a Samaritan. An outcast of outcasts. Despised and shunned by Jews - leper or not. Yet Jesus makes no distinction between those in need. Everyone in the group who asks for help receives assistance. Only after the cure is granted are more details revealed.

 In addition to the Samaritan - status of one, another detail is where Jesus encounters these ten lepers. The gospel specifically tells us that they are existing in a region between Samaria and Galilee. It’s a border place - which makes me think about our own borders where countless people exist crying out for mercy and help. It seems to me that they are a type of modern-day lepers and outcasts. For various reasons we want to keep our distance from them or for them to keep theirs from us so that we might feel more safe and secure. Yet as we seek to follow Jesus and love our neighbors, surely I’m not the only one who struggles with how we are to respond to such people - God’s beloved people - who are flowing to our borders desperately seeking some form of relief. Now some would say that they ought to be turned away and forced to return to their homelands. However, in looking at Jesus's response to those who are in need when he was at the border perhaps we should follow his example: help first, deal with the details second.

 As faithful followers of Christ we must ask ourselves how we can show compassion to the outcast foreigners and offer relief from the disease of tyranny. As the hands and feet of Jesus in this land there must be a response that includes the same manner of kindness extended to the lepers. While the decision of what ultimately happens to asylum-seekers and others is made by public officials, God implores his followers to, at the very least, care for our neighbor while they are here. For the love of Jesus makes no distinction of nationality or clan as he seeks to provide comfort and mercy to a hurting world. As Jesus cares for all his people – the lepers, the outcasts, and the foreigners – so should we. And as we do, it is then that our faith will make not just some of us, or most of us, but all of us truly well.