"Who Do You Say I Am?" August 27, 2023. The Reverend David M. Stoddart.

 

Matthew 16:13-20 

Huston Smith, a renowned historian of religion, once wrote that in the history of the world there are only two individuals whose lives have been so extraordinary that they provoked people to ask not only “Who are you?” but “What are you? What order of being do you belong to?” One was Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha, and the other was Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ. And we can certainly see that dynamic in our Gospel today. People struggled to make sense of Jesus, to put him into some category. He was obviously more than just a rabbi or a teacher. Some thought he was a prophet, but even that didn’t seem to suffice. There just were not any pat or easy answers to those questions: Who are you? What are you? And, you know, there still aren’t. There’s a story about a Baptist, a Catholic, and an Episcopalian who died and appeared before the pearly gates of Heaven. Jesus greeted them there and said, “You have to pass an entrance exam, but there’s only one question: Who do you say that I am?” The Baptist immediately stepped forward and confidently asserted, “The Bible says . . .” but Jesus interrupted him: “I know what the Bible says. Who do you say that I am?” The Baptist replied, “Well, I don’t know.” So instantly a trap door opened beneath him and he disappeared. Next, the Catholic stepped forward and began, “The Pope says . . .” but Jesus stopped her: “I don’t care what the Pope says. Who do you say that I am?” And the Catholic stammered, “I don’t know,” and then she fell through the trap door. So then Jesus turned to the Episcopalian and asked, “Who do you say that I am?” And the Episcopalian, looking thoughtful, said, “You are the Christ, the Son of God.” Jesus smiled and was about to open the pearly gates when the Episcopalian continued “but on the other hand  . . .”

Peter, at least in this moment of the story, does not equivocate; he does not hedge his bets. Nor does he offer some rote answer to Jesus’ question. According to Matthew, he is the first person to speak from his heart and say, You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God. It is a turning point in the Gospel. Jesus praises him, names him Rocky, and proclaims that this is the kind of faith he will build his church on. And then he utters the most perplexing words in this passage: he orders his disciples not to tell anyone who he is. If the whole point of the Gospel is to make Jesus known, that seems to make no sense. It seems crazy. But if the whole point of the Gospel is to inspire the kind of faith Simon Peter has, then it makes perfect sense. In fact, it’s brilliant and shows there is a method to Jesus’ madness.

Thinking of how best to convey this, I remember a quotation that one of our church school teachers here used to refer to. It read, “A child is not a vessel to be filled, but a candle to be lit.” There are times, of course, when education does consist primarily of imparting information, filling the vessel, but when we are talking about spiritual formation, that is not the case. True faith is not taught, it is caught. What we try to do in church school is create an environment where children can know the presence of God and experience Jesus Christ, the Son of God. There is no substitute for that kind of encounter, which lights the candle and puts a child into direct contact with the Holy One.

But that’s not just true for children. All of us here could memorize the Nicene Creed and still not have faith. We could know the Prayer Book Catechism by heart, we could read volumes of systematic theology, and still not be able to answer the question Jesus puts to us today, Who do you say that I am? Like Peter, we have to experience that truth ourselves, or to put it better, God has to reveal it to us in a personal way. The Church can point us to it; our families and friends can encourage it; worship can open us up to receive it so that ultimately each one of us can know for ourselves that Jesus is the human face of God, and that in him all the fullness of God is pleased to dwell.

What the New Testament shows is a community, a Church, filled with people who know that, and as a result have been set free and set on fire. As Paul writes in Romans today, they have been transformed by the renewing of their minds. They are empowered by the Spirit of Christ to use their many different gifts in ways that reveal God to the world around them. The early Church did not grow in love, grace, and numbers because they memorized rote phrases about Jesus, the Son of God and made others do the same. The early Church grew in love, grace, and numbers because they experienced Jesus, the Son of God, and helped others do the same. Evangelism in the Church should never involve bullying people into belief, coercing them to accept certain propositions about Jesus or be damned; it should express itself in being a welcoming community where people can catch the faith, experience the Risen Christ, and be changed for the better. One of the most moving letters I ever received came from a parishioner who arrived at the parish wounded and uncertain. Some years later, when she was a strong and active participant in that community, she wrote to me and said, “When I first came to this church, I did not believe that Jesus is alive. Now I do.”

Such faith, like Peter’s faith, is a gift, something not revealed by flesh and blood, but by God. Whatever faith we have, whatever experience of Christ we have, is also a gift. It’s a gift that God wants to give to everyone. And as the Bible indicates, it is a gift that is conveyed, nurtured, and expressed in community. At times our faith may blaze brightly, and at other times it may barely be flickering. But by being here with each other, remaining faithful in prayer and worship, and serving others, we allow God to keep the flame burning and, when necessary, to relight the candle. That way each one of us can know Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God ― not in theory, not second-hand, but for ourselves.

On Learning and Growth. August 20, 2023. The Reverend Kathleen M. Sturges

 

Matthew 15: (10-20), 21-28

Can Jesus act like a jerk sometimes? And is it even ok to ask that question? I think so because our God can handle all of our questions. And, believe it or not, I mean no disrespect. It’s just that Jesus’ interaction with the Canaanite woman in our reading from Matthew’s gospel seems to beg the question.

“Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon!” shouts a desperate woman in the crowd. And how does Jesus respond? With silence. He ignores her. So she persists and continues to shout until the disciples find her cries so annoying that they ask Jesus to send her away. To which Jesus replies, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel”  Meaning, “I’m not here for foreigners like her, just the Jews.” (That doesn’t sound like Jesus, does it? But, wait, it gets worse!) Following that comment the woman pushes through the crowd, kneels before Jesus and directly pleads, “Lord, help me.” But again, Jesus responds uncharacteristically saying, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

At which point I want to cry, “Who is this Jesus and what has he done with my Lord and Savior?!?!” Where is the Jesus who regularly crosses boundaries to spend time with outsiders? Jesus who seems to always, except in this instance, be moved with compassion in the face of suffering and need. It seems almost inconceivable that Jesus could be so rude and callous -  ignoring, dismissing, and ultimately insulting the woman by likening her to a dog - which, make no mistake about it, in Jesus’ time was considered a slur. 

Many have tried to explain this dismaying behavior. Jesus is just using this interaction as a teachable moment for his disciples. He's giving voice to the prejudice in their hearts in order to teach them these prejudices are wrong. But that's not exactly how the story goes. He ignores the woman before the disciples express any negative reaction to her plea. And even if he were reading their minds, and setting up this conflict on purpose, how is that any better? That means he is just using this desperate woman as an object lesson - subjecting her to humiliation in order to teach his own friends in a sneaky, “gotcha” kind of way. That doesn't put Jesus in a much better light. Nor does the justification that he was simply testing the woman's faith, putting her through the wringer all the while  knowing that she would ultimately pass the test. Where is the compassion in that? That’s just some of the theological gymnastics that people use to try to explain Jesus's behavior because almost everyone agrees that this just doesn’t seem like him.

But what if we were willing to let the story stand on its own without such explanation or justification? What could be going on here? What could Jesus be teaching us? Yes, Jesus is fully God, but he’s also fully human. And one aspect of being human, at least being a healthy human, is to be open to change and growth. Jesus is always challenging his disciples to do just that. Maybe in this encounter it’s his turn to practice what he preaches. Because here we have Jesus doing something problematic. He fails to show compassion to someone in need and his words reveal why. He has a limited view of his own mission, assuming it is only for the people who share his heritage. Could it be that he’s letting his unthinking prejudice limit the ways that he offers grace? For he does, in fact, say something terribly demeaning to a person who comes to him for help. “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

Now I’m sure all of us have been in a situation where someone said something to us and we were so stunned that we couldn’t really respond in the moment. Only later do we come up with what we wish we had said or done, but the opportunity has passed. Given that, I’m always impressed by this woman’s brilliant and immediate retort. “Yes, Lord,” she says, “yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Not only does she not back down but her response uses the metaphor of the table – the place where Jesus himself has pushed boundaries in his ministry among the Jews – and calls him to push a little harder in order to make room for her and her daughter. This woman’s defiance and strength is inspiring. So much so that Jesus accepts her correction. He hears it, he learns from it, and he praises her.

Imagine that! A man of authority, one who is hailed as a teacher and leader, says something unkind and offensive. And when the woman he has just disparaged pushes back, he doesn’t get defensive or try to justify himself. Instead, he honors her. He holds her up as an example of faith - the highest praise he can give - and he gives her the help that she had been asking for.

The Canaanite woman is an example for us all. She models persistence and the courage to reject attitudes and behaviors of exclusion. She demands that her voice be heard. She is an example that we can all look to when we see something wrong - an example of how not to give up and how to call people to live up to the moral values they claim to hold.

And Jesus...in his humility he is willing to be an example of a different kind. An example of what to do when we receive a challenge like the challenge from the Canaanite woman. Even though Jesus starts out maybe a little too human for our comfort, what he offers in this encounter is a model on how to switch course. How to hear a challenge, take it in, and let it change us for the better.

Because the good news of Jesus Christ is not about perfection it is about growth. That means that when we are faced by our own mistakes - whether they be failures of compassion or unconscious pre-judgments or the million other ways that we fall short of God’s call to love - we do not have to get defensive. We don’t have to try to justify ourselves or deny the ways that we have caused harm. If Jesus can be open to correction then surely we can be too. If he can change course when confronted with a greater vision of God’s all-encompassing love then that is our path as well. “Follow me,” Jesus says. This is a path that we need not be embarrassed by but instead, with God’s help, embrace.

That's not the End of the Story. August 13, 2023. The Reverend Kathleen M. Sturges

 

Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28, Matthew 14:22-33

Oftentimes, before I go to sleep, I read. My goal is to settle my brain so I typically seek books that are mildly entertaining, low stress, and pretty much forgettable. Why then The Kite Runner ended up on my nightstand years ago I really can’t explain. It’s an excellent book, but it’s in no way a light read which I didn’t quite realize until one night I came upon a scene that caused me to slam the book shut in anger. I was mad - for two reasons. One, I had just read something that was very violent and disturbing. And, two, now I was stuck. It was clear to me that this book was not my typical bedtime reading, nonetheless, I couldn't stop reading it now. If I did, the horrific scene would linger. It would always be the end of the story, at least for me. But given that there were a couple hundred pages to go it was obvious that this was not the end of the story for the character. I resented the fact that the only hope I had of finding some sort of healing or redemption was to keep on reading and follow the tale wherever it might lead until I reached its true end.

The way Joseph’s story ends for us in our reading from Genesis reminded me of that experience. The passage begins innocently enough. We are told that this is a story about the family of Jacob who was the son of Issac, the grandson of Abraham. But guess what? This family of Jacob is off the charts when it comes to dysfunctional! Even before Joseph, who quickly becomes the main character here, is born, Jacob fathers ten sons between his first wife, Leah, and two of his enslaved women, Bilhah and Zilpah. Eventually, Jacob’s second and most beloved wife, Rachel, becomes pregnant and gives birth to Joseph whom Jacob has no qualm in letting everyone know is his absolute favorite child. Clearly, this is a recipe for disaster. A disaster which we hear about when one day spoiled, tattletale, full-of-himself, seventeen year old Joseph goes to check on his older brothers who are off taking care of the family flock. No surprise, the brothers hate Joseph - so much so that as they watch him approach from a distance they seriously discuss killing him until one brother intervenes by suggesting that throwing him into an empty pit might be a better option. And so that is what the brothers do, for a time, at least, until they encounter a caravan of traders to whom they sell their brother. Now granted, Joseph may not be dead, but for all intents and purposes his life is over as we see him captured, enslaved, and carted away to the foreign and hostile land of Egypt. The Word of the Lord.

Thanks be to God…? I have to put a question mark there because we’ve got to wonder what we are thanking God for? And we also may wonder, or at least I’ve been wondering, why it is that Joseph’s story ends for us here, when all seems lost? Well, the answer I’ve settled on is that I think the story is trying to show us something profound. That is that no matter who you are or how charmed your life may be there eventually comes a time when you find yourself in a pit, where all seems lost, and the story of your life feels as if it’s over. You lose a loved one, family relations get complicated, things change at work, financial problems develop, an unexpected loss occurs, something happens. And when it does it’s so easy, natural even, to feel like the pit, the struggle, the bad news is the end of the story.

That’s probably how Joseph was feeling as he was tied to the back of a camel and being led down to Egypt. And who could blame him? Because he, like us, can only experience life in a linear fashion. From his perspective he has no future. His life is essentially over. There’s no way for him to know that this is not the end of the story. He can’t see the twists and turns that his future life will take and how, in time, things will actually turn out alright. For those familiar with Joseph’s story, we know that he will eventually get in the good graces of Pharaoh, rise to become the #2 man in Egypt, use his skills to save countless lives, and even reconcile with his family. With that perspective, being able to look back on his life and see the fullness of his story, Joseph will amazingly declare to his brothers, “Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good.” (Genesis 50:20)

Now that is not to say that all of our stories end on such a high note. Some do, but others sadly don’t. Yet, one of our God’s specialties is the ability to redeem. And what I mean by that is that God can make meaning and good from actions that are rooted in sin and tragedy. That doesn’t mean that God swoops into our lives and fixes everything, but that God is present with us through it all and has the power to take any situation that we experience and bring forth from it meaning and good. So no life is ultimately lost. No story is ultimately tragic. No matter how bad things get, that is not the end of the story. I know this to be true because all of our lives, all of our stories are wrapped up in God’s greater story. The true story, that we are created in love, that our lives are held in love, and that one day we will return to the fullness of God’s love and everything will be redeemed. That is the true end to each one of our stories.

And speaking of stories, there’s one out there about an old mariner’s chart that is on display in the British Museum in London. Supposedly it is a map outlining the North American coastline and its adjacent waters. But because it was drawn from a Western European point of view around the year 1525 much of the region was unknown. So, to fill in the gaps, the map maker added some particularly interesting notations. In the empty spaces he wrote, “Here be giants,” “Here be fiery scorpions,” and “Here be dragons.” Roughly 300 years later, the map came into the possession of the British explorer, Sir John Franklin. After looking over the fearful inscriptions, Franklin decided to scratch them out and wrote these words across the map: “Here be God.’”

Like Joseph in the pit, we do not know what the future holds. But like Joseph, we do know the One who holds the future. We know that in whatever future we move into God is there. So no matter where you are or what you’re facing, the story is in no way over. You’re just in the middle of it - and it will get better. You may look into the unknown future and feel like, “there be giants,” “there be dragons,” or “there be pits,” but by trusting the One who holds that future, the One wraps your story up in the greater story of  Love, you can look straight into the unknown and with faith declare, “There be God.”