A plan for Lent. February 26, 2023. The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

 

Genesis 2:15-17,25; 3:1-7, Matthew 4:1-11

What is it about Lent that makes me want to consume a whole gallon of ice cream? I’m like Pavlov’s dog when I hear the word Lent. I start to drool and am tempted by things that don’t seem very Lent-ish. Cookies, ice cream, chocolate all call my name even more persistently around this time of year. Plus, on this first Sunday in Lent, I experience an impish desire to shout out the one word that is forbidden in church between now and Easter. You know the word…it starts with an “A.” I get the reason why we don’t say it. Tucking that word away and doing other things like taking the flowers off the altar and removing the hangings help us to mark this season as a particularly reflective and penitential time. Yet the temptation persists. If I say “Alleluia” in a sermon can I get away with it? Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia…no lightning yet. Hopefully I’m safe.

There are, however, much greater temptations out there that aren’t so tongue in cheek. The temptation to lash out in anger, to overindulge, to control others, to lie, cheat or steal especially when we think no one will ever know, the temptation to abuse various substances…the list is long and varied because the temptation to do things that are not the most loving or Christ-like abounds. And it’s not just about what we do or don’t do. Our inner life matters too. Judgmental thoughts, bitterness, envy, selfish desires and more all come under scrutiny. Resisting temptation is hard - plain and simple.

 Because that is so, for Lent this year my plan is to get curious. To get curious and to practice asking myself one particular question, “What am I afraid of?” Because, more often than not, I think it is fear that drives us into temptation. Fear of financial insecurity. Fear of abandonment. Fear of aging. Fear of being alone. Fear of pain or illness. Fear of death. Fear of not being good enough. Sometimes the fear is free-floating - one that will not settle on just one fear but stirs up the dust in all the trash bins of life. It seems to me that Lent provides a perfect time to admit that we are full of various kinds of fears and confess our inability to do anything about it on our own.

 No surprise that fear has been with us from the very start. We see it take root in the story of Adam and Eve. Here are two people who had everything they could ever want. Lots of food, no need for closets or storage units. A partner hand-picked by God. Plenty of pets but no litter boxes or leashes to deal with. They got their steps in every day by strolling with the Almighty. It was paradise! But even paradise turned out not to be enough. Crafty was the serpent in floating the idea that maybe, just maybe, there was more to be had. Perhaps God didn’t really have Adam and Eve’s best interests at heart. That, ultimately, God couldn’t be trusted - and so was planted the seed of fear in the garden of Eden. And boy did it flourish.

 Dig deep enough and I think you will find that at the root of all of our fears is a lack of trust in God. When we don’t think that we can trust God it is then we are tempted to grasp at just about anything else in a desperate hope of feeling secure. And it’s not just God that is hard to trust. Distrust is also common in our experiences with one another. We trust people with our love, our future, our well-being, our secrets, our children, our parents, our money. But even those with the best of intentions let us down - or worse, outright betray us. Once burned or maybe twice or three times, we are tempted to never trust again. And we are tempted to believe that God is like the people we know. So the question that the serpent stirred up in the garden becomes ours as well. Is God trustworthy?

 That question also comes up in our reading from the gospel of Matthew. Jesus is straight out of his baptism where he has just heard God proclaim,“This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” But now in the wilderness that is called into question. Part of the temptation that the devil stirs up is to cast doubts about that. “Really?” he asks over and over again as he says, “IF you are the Son of God” do this or that… It’s an attempt to, once again, plant that seed of distrust. God says you are the Beloved Son but how can you really be sure? Jesus’ response? He doesn’t take the bait. Instead he responds with the assurance of scripture. Jesus trusts God. He knows whose Beloved Son he is and rejects the temptation to distrust God even when life isn’t smooth - even when that trust will eventually lead him to the cross.

 Oftentimes the takeaway message from this story goes something along the lines of, “Be like Jesus and don't give in to temptation.” Which isn't a bad message but it's an adequate one. The “Just say No!” approach to any temptation produces mixed results, at best. That's because - news flash - we're not Jesus. We don't have his ability to say, “No,” over and over and over again to temptation. Fear has disordered us this way. We may believe there is a God. We may want to trust God. But when we are insecure and filled with fear? That’s a tall order.

 So we’ve already established that I’m not Jesus and neither are you. But Christ through the power of the Holy Spirit does dwell within each and every one of us. Which means we can turn to God - and to each other - for help in all the fearful temptations of life. And as we do, as we turn towards God who is love, fear subsides. Because - and I’m going to follow Jesus’ lead here and quote scripture by saying - “It is written.” There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. (1 John 4:18)

 This Lent I invite you to join me in getting curious. Consider taking up the practice of regularly asking yourself, “What am I afraid of?” and then listen. Pay attention to what the answer may be. Bring it before God and listen again. Let God speak to you of your belovedness, for you too are a child of God in whom God is well pleased. Let the power of that love do its holy work - casting out fear and making room for more trust. For it is written, The Lord is trustworthy in all he promises and faithful in all he does (Psalm 145:13b, NIV). May we never be tempted to believe otherwise.

 

What ultimately lasts. Ash Wednesday 2/22/23. The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

 

February 22 2023
Ash Wednesday

Begin with the end in mind. Perhaps you've heard that phrase before. It comes from the very popular book, 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, by Stephen Covey. Begin with the end in mind is habit number two. And when this idea is introduced in the book, Covey lays out a particular scenario for the reader to consider. Imagine yourself, he writes, going to the funeral of a loved one. Picture yourself dressing up for it, driving to the funeral in your car, and getting out. You walk into a crowded room, approach the casket, look down at the body, and discover that it’s you! This is your funeral five years from now. You pick up a bulletin and read there that  there will be four speakers: a family member, a dear friend, a work colleague, and a member of your church or some other group you were a part of. Now think deeply, the book counsels. Think deeply as you ask yourself some questions.What would each speaker say about you? What kind of person were you to each one of them? What type of character do you hope they saw in you? What difference do you hope you made in their lives and in the life of this world? The answers that come up are important because they can help you get in touch with what really matters and provide a way to live going forward. Begin with the end in mind.

 Not bad advice. But way before Covey made millions off this piece of advice in his book there was another, Benedict of Nursia, who basically had the same idea that he wrote down in his book, The Rule of St. Benedict, roughly 1,500 years earlier. Who knows, maybe Covey read it, because countless people have. The Rule of St. Benedict has shaped lives, particularly Christian lives, throughout the globe and down through the centuries. Among many perils of wisdom found within is one where the reader is given this counsel, Day by day remind yourself that you are going to die.

 This isn’t written with the intent to depress the reader. We are not to revel in the idea of our deaths. However there is a paradox here, a holy mystery really. As we remind ourselves, day by day, that we are going to die instead of weighing us down, it can actually bring a lightness to our lives. A lightness because it enables us to release so many burdens that we so often carry when we live in denial of this truth. Remembering every day that we will eventually die has the power to teach us how to really live. For then we know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the day to love God, the day to repair relationships, the day to help someone in need, the day to work for justice, the day to bless the world is this day - today. Tomorrow does not come with a guarantee. Psalm 118 puts it this way, “This is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.” (v.24)

 Unlike Stephen Covey’s exercise that imagines our funeral as our final end, that is not our story. As Christians, when we contemplate our mortal life and remind ourselves of our death our lives and our deaths are enfolded in a much bigger story, a much bigger life that goes way beyond our own. The lives we live here on earth ever so briefly - days filled with joys and sorrows, yes, but mostly filled with a lot of ordinariness - those days find their meaning and purpose in God’s eternal life and God’s eternal love. A life and love that is revealed to us in Jesus the Christ. The one who became human. The one who experienced what it was like to wake up in the morning, go to sleep in the evening, to fill one’s day with work and chores, friends and family, laughter and tears, and all the rest. The one who knew suffering and death and ultimately resurrected life so that we too might experience that fullness of life in this world and the next.

 Remembering and accepting our mortality enables us to learn, day by day, how to truly live in Christ, through Christ, and with Christ. We are empowered to let go of the things that don’t really matter - our wealth, our strength, our accomplishments, all of them fleeting. And instead to turn more and more intentionally towards what really matters and what ultimately lasts - grace, mercy, generosity, goodness, love.

 Because when you imagined your own funeral moments ago, aren’t those things along the lines of what you hoped that some generous people would remember about you? The ways that you touched other lives for good? The positive impact you made on this world? In essence, how your life was able to reflect God’s goodness and love in this world?

 If so, Begin with the end in mind. Day by day remind yourself that you are going to die. And that it’s ok. Take to heart the ancient words that will be spoken over you as the sign of the cross, the sign of God’s unending life and never-failing love is made upon your forehead, Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return. Remember and live.

 

God's light shines through us. February 19, 2023. The Rev. David M. Stoddart

 Exodus 24:12-18; Matthew 17:1-9

Our reading from Exodus today begins to tell an amazing story, with Moses going up the mountain, where the glory of the LORD blazes like a devouring fire. At the top of the mountain, Moses enters the cloud of that glory and . . . that’s where the reading ends. Our lectionary leaves out the best part, or at least the part I think is so crucial for today, which is when Moses comes down from the mountain. So here’s how the story goes: Moses came down from Mount Sinai. As he came down from the mountain with the two tablets of the covenant, Moses did not know that the skin of his face shone because he had been talking with God. When Aaron and all the Israelites saw Moses, the skin of his face was shining, and they were afraid to come near him (Exod. 34:29-20). That shining, that radiance, is apparently the natural result of intimacy with God: it just happens. Moses didn’t control it or make it happen: he didn’t even know it was happening. People had to tell him! But it was real: the Israelites go on to insist that he actually wear a veil over his face when he talks to them because it is so bright. 

So this leads me to a question, which I will pose to you. You just heard the Gospel. Do you think that Jesus knew his face was shining? Do you think he did it on purpose to impress his disciples? Was this some kind of show or demonstration of divine power? Did he just turn it on like a lightbulb?  I don’t think so. I don’t think Jesus did anything other than be himself. We say that he was transfigured in the sight of Peter, James, and John, but that is purely subjective: from their perspective, his appearance changes. But I don’t think Jesus himself changed at all: I think for a moment the veil was lifted, and for some fleeting period of time – seconds, minutes, hours, we don’t know – those disciples saw Jesus as he really is, God’s beloved, filled with the brilliant light of the Holy One. They reacted in fear, like the Israelites did with Moses, because what they were seeing was utterly Real. And as the poet T. S. Eliot once wrote, “humankind cannot bear very much reality.”

And indeed we cannot, which is no doubt why God in her mercy only allows us glimpses of Ultimate Reality in this world. I feel certain that I could not bear to see the full light of God’s pure holiness and unconditional love, but I have, like most people, seen glimpses of it. I’ve had moments when the veil was lifted just enough for me to catch a hint of that glory. Those include moments when I was talking with people who were luminous to me, people through whom God was shining. They had no idea that was happening, but it was happening nonetheless. Such moments are gifts. And occasionally they can be intense. I have shared with you before the epiphany Thomas Merton once had on the streets of Louisville when he was overcome with love for the people around him, when he realized that he was one with them in God. When writing about it later, he said: “Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, the depths of their hearts where neither sin nor desire nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, the person that each one is in God’s eyes. If only they could see themselves as they really are. If only we could see each other that way all the time. There would be no more war, no more hatred, no more cruelty, no more greed.” He famously summed up that experience by writing,  “There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun.”

That epiphany faded, of course, just like the face of Moses eventually stopped shining, just like the transfiguration of Jesus came to an end. But the Reality those events point to remains. God is light. We are all God’s children, we are all made in the image of God. Which is to say, God’s light fills our souls. Jesus is the perfect conduit of that light, of course, but even so we share in that. We are part of the Body of Christ, after all, his Spirit lives in us, God’s light shines through us. Jesus shows us this, shows us who we really are. And yes, we frequently forget that or we disregard that, which is the essence of sin and the source of all our bad behavior, from the petty to the horrific. And yes, we are about to enter into the season of Lent, which will afford us opportunities to acknowledge how often we forget who we truly are and how much damage that causes. But today we remember what Paul tells the Thessalonians, that we are, all of us, children of light (1 Thes. 5:5).

I realize that we cannot make ourselves shine, nor can we control the light: it’s God’s light after all, not ours. And I know that much of the time we don’t see it. But we can still turn to the light. We can remind ourselves of who we truly are, which is one reason why coming to worship is so important. It contributes to our spiritual wholeness and our emotional well-being because it helps save us from dark thoughts and hateful feelings. We worship God and in God’s light we see light. The divine light of God’s love really does shine at the center of our being. Seeing that in ourselves is awesome, and it also opens us up to seeing it in others. The only reason I am standing up here talking to you today, the only reason I am a person of faith, is that when I was a teenager, a couple of people saw God’s light in me and helped me to see it. I was very adept at seeing how bad I was, and there was plenty of toxic religion around me telling me how bad I was. But I thank God for those light-filled people who opened my eyes and literally helped me to see the light. I can’t imagine a greater gift than helping people see that the light of God shines in them, which is the gift that Jesus Christ gives to all of us. And like all of the gifts of Christ, I urge you to take it and pass it on. 

Within the context of relationship. February 12, 2023. The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

Deuteronomy 30:15-20, Matthew 5:21-37

Have you wept at anything during the past year?

Has your heart beat faster at the sight of young beauty?

Have you thought seriously about the fact that someday you are going to die?

More often than not, do you really listen when other people are speaking to you instead of just waiting for your turn to speak?

Is there anybody you know in whose place, if one of you had to suffer great pain, you would volunteer yourself?

If your answer to all or most of these questions is NO, the chances are that you’re dead.

 So writes theologian Fredrick Buechner in his book, Wishful Thinking. The point being is that life is about so much more than just physically breathing and walking around - there are choices to be made.

 Moses lays out those choices in our reading from Deuteronomy. “See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity…Choose life so that you and your descendants may live.”

Easy choice, right? Given the option of life or death, unless we find ourselves in dire circumstances, wouldn’t we all choose life? The instinct to live, to survive, is quite strong. Creatures large and small go to great lengths to remain alive.

 But the choice given here is speaking of a life that is larger than one of just mere existence. It’s not simply a decision to subsist. To be or not to be is not really the question. The real question is how do we choose life in the fullest sense of the word? Life that is rich and abundant. Life that is not lived just for indulging the self, but rather a life that is connected and meaningful.

 No surprise that choosing life starts at the source of all life which is God. Choosing life begins with loving God. Remember the great commandment - the one that everything else hangs upon? Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. (Matthew 22:37) This type of love is more than just a passing emotion. It is a whole person experience of digging into a relationship, of connecting on all levels with the divine. It is a full body openness to the presence of God in all of creation and beyond. And as we come to know God's loving presence more and more we naturally love more and more. Loving God is choosing life.

 But there’s more - the more that naturally flows from loving God which brings us to the second part of the great commandment. Love your neighbor as yourself. (Matthew 22:38) The life we have in loving God prompts us to walk in the ways of God - ways of which Jesus speaks of today in our reading from the gospel of Matthew as he takes the commandments of old and makes them new and, seemingly, much harder to follow.

 Gone are the days when you were doing just fine if you didn’t murder someone. Now, Jesus says, even if you’re angry you’re going to be in trouble. Adultery is not just about physical relationships anymore but the thoughts and desires within. Divorce may sometimes be legal but there will always be lasting consequences. Honesty and truth-telling are not to be governed by an oath but by every word we speak. Yikes! If this is God’s checklist for us in order to avoid judgment then we are surely doomed. Doomed, that is, if we separate Jesus’ words from Jesus himself. Instead, though, these directives are to be linked to our understanding of who Jesus is as Son of God, Son of Love. For Jesus is not merely giving us a new way of living that is beyond our reach. Rather he is casting a vision of what it means to choose life not just for ourselves alone but for the whole community. Because, notice, everything Jesus is talking about here - anger, lust, deception - all of that happens within the context of relationship. What he’s describing is God’s vision of what healthy, whole, loving relationships look like as we choose the life that allows God’s love to flow in us and then through us to each other.

 Which all sounds wonderful and lovely until we feel threatened or provoked, insecure or impatient, giving way to a whole host of dark thoughts and feelings that well up in us unbidden. Even when we ask for God’s help to choose what is good, what is right, what is life itself, it still can seem almost impossible to do. And if that is where you find yourself, bravo! For that is exactly the right response. Jesus’ words are meant to take away any confidence we have in our own individual goodness. As Paul in the letter to the Romans puts it we “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (3:23). Once we really know that we are set free to turn from ourselves to God in ways that open us up even more fully to both receive and then give love.

 And I know this because of all of you. More often than not, whenever someone tells me about what speaks to them the most in our Sunday worship service it is the Celtic invitation that either Fr. David or I say on occasion before people come to the altar for communion. I’ve yet to hear anyone say the exact words but that really doesn’t matter because it’s not about the words, per se, but the message of life and invitation that touches hearts. It goes, “This is the table of the Lord. It is made ready for those who love him and those who want to love him more. So come you who have much faith and you have little. You who have been here often and you have not been here very long. You who have tried to follow and you have failed. Come, for it is the Lord that invites you. (And it is his will that those who want him shall me him here.)” Whenever I say those words or hear them my impulse is always to raise my hand and say, “Yep, that’s me.” And I know I’m not the only one. These words resonate deeply within so many of us because it names the truth that we all fall short - not just once in a while, but often. And here, in this context of church and faith it’s safe for us to say so. Because what’s so truly amazing is that we are not condemned. God knows it all and still says come. Come to the table. Come to my love. Come to me - and choose life.

 

  

Jesus calls us the light of the world. February 5, 2023. The Rev. David M. Stoddart

 

Isaiah 59:1-9a; Matthew 5:13-20

 A few years ago, a woman named Linda Tirado published a blog piece called, “This is Why Poor People’s Bad Decisions Make Perfect Sense.” When she wrote it, she was working two jobs, going to school, and raising children. It’s a quietly devastating piece of writing. It describes long hours, low pay, and how impossible it can be for poor people to somehow pull themselves out of a pit that only seems to get deeper. It recounts a lot of material deprivation, but it’s the hopelessness that is most painful to read about. For example, she writes:

 

I smoke. It’s expensive. It’s also the best option. You see, I am always, always exhausted. It’s a stimulant. When I am too tired to walk one more step, I can smoke and go for another hour. When I am enraged and beaten down and incapable of accomplishing one more thing, I can smoke and feel a little better, just for a minute. It’s the only relaxation I’m allowed. It’s not a good decision, but it is the only one I have access to. It is the only thing I have found that keeps me from collapsing or exploding.

 

About finances, she says,

 

I make a lot of poor financial decisions. None of them matter, in the long term. I will never not be poor, so what does it matter if I don’t pay a thing and a half this week instead of just one thing? It’s not like the sacrifice will result in improved circumstances: the thing holding me back isn’t that I blow five bucks at Wendy’s. It’s that now that I have proven that I am a Poor Person that is all that I am or ever will be.

 

Towards the end she writes,

 

Poverty is bleak and cuts off your long-term brain. It’s why you see people with four different babydaddies instead of one. You grab a bit of connection wherever you can to survive. You have no idea how strong the pull to feel worthwhile is. It’s more basic than food. You go to these people who make you feel lovely for an hour that one time, and that’s all you get. You’re probably not compatible with them for anything long-term, but right this minute they can make you feel powerful and valuable. It does not matter what will happen in a month. Whatever happens in a month is probably going to be just about as indifferent as whatever happened today or last week. None of it matters. We don’t plan long-term because if we do we’ll just get our hearts broken. It’s best not to hope. You just take what you can get as you spot it.

This woman doesn’t speak for everyone, of course, but what she says resonates with so much that I have heard over the years from people coming to me looking for help. Poverty doesn’t just deprive people of shelter, food, and medicine: all too often it deprives them of any sense of self-worth and any reason to hope. And at its worst, it just crushes the human spirit.

 Jesus says today, Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have not come to abolish but to fulfill. The prophets, those challenging and discomforting people, addressed many different situations over the course of many different centuries, but there is one theme they returned to consistently, time and time again. Along with faithfulness to God, it is the core of all prophetic teaching and it is at the heart of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, who comes to fulfill that prophetic teaching. We hear it loud and clear in the words of Isaiah today: Is not the fast that I choose to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?

 I understand that poverty is a huge and complicated problem. I know people have different ideas about how best to address it. I get that we have different politics. But all of us here, I believe, are people of good will. In the Gospel today, Jesus calls us the light of the world, and so all of us can find ways to let the light of Christ shine through us to lessen the suffering of the poor. That could include volunteer efforts here at church (Food Pantry, Grab A Bag, Salvation Army meals, and others) or similar efforts out in the community; it may shape the way we donate our money or the way we invest our money; we can advocate for public policies we believe will make a difference for good. At the very least we can raise our awareness. I am thankful for the work of our racial reconciliation ministry, for example, as it deepens our consciousness of how racism contributes to poverty and oppression in our country. There are many ways to follow Jesus here, and I urge all of us to find ways to do so that work for us.

 But if we do so just out of obligation, we are missing something crucial. Poverty is not just a social problem or a political issue: it’s a human concern, with a human face. I shared some excerpts from Linda Tirado’s piece to remind all of us that the poor are not just statistics: they’re people. And God calls us to love them and to care about them. In fact, I am uncomfortable even using that pronoun “them” because for all of us in Christ it can never be about “them” – it’s about us, all of us together. Isaiah says today that to ignore the poor is to hide from our own kin. I pray all the time about growing in love and faith, I pray it for myself and for the parish, and I know that doing so inevitably means growing to see with ever-greater clarity that we all belong to God and we all belong to each other — in God, we are one. And at least for me, that kind of growth is a difficult process, one that involves real conversion and requires the Holy Spirit to soften and enlarge my heart. I’m sure we are all works in progress, when it comes to that. But we can all say yes to that ongoing work of the Spirit, and we can all at least desire to love better and to love more. And any step we take to show love to the impoverished among us is a step forward, and a step closer to the heart of Christ, which is where the Holy Spirit is ultimately leading all of us.