“Two Parables”
Fourth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 6C)
16 June 2013
Homily
Parish Church of Trinity, Ashland
The Rev. Dr. Anthony Hutchinson, Rector
2 Samuel 11:26-12:10, 13-15; Psalm 32; Galatians 2:15-21; Luke 7:36-8:3

God, take away our hearts of stone
and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.

One of my priest friends in Hong Kong tells the story of a former parishioner who was somewhat of an enigma to others in the parish. Over the years, little by little, details about the introverted man came out, his hobbies, his career, etc. But people didn’t even know whether he was partnered or single, and this on occasion made planning social events including him awkward. People suspected that perhaps his reluctance to volunteer any personal details came from the fact that he was in a relationship that might not meet up to the approval of some of the more judgmental members of the parish. When finally an appropriate private moment arose when the question seemed a reasonable request for information for social planning purposes rather than prying, my friend asked gently, “are you in some kind of relationship, do you have a partner?” The quick and embarrassed reply came swiftly, removing all doubt that here was a simple case of a desire for privacy by a painfully introspected person: “Oh no—I’m not in a relationship, I’m married.” As it turned out, the man’s wife was home bound due to a physical disability, and both were somewhat ashamed of sharing this with others.

“I’m not in a relationship, I’m married.” This doesn’t say much for the institution of marriage, does it? Marriage is, after all, a personal, intimate relationship. But we often reduce it in our minds to a mere social institution, and our participation in it as conforming to expected roles rather than nurturing a relationship with another person.

Today’s scripture lessons include two parables—Nathan’s parable of the precious lamb and Jesus’ parable of the two debtors. In their own ways, they reveal a great deal about the difference between relationships and roles, between evaluating and judging ourselves and others in terms of expectations rather than simply building relationships.

Today’s reading from 2 Samuel is only the climax of a longer story about King David: the sorry tale of his adultery with Bathsheba, the resulting pregnancy and her husband Uriah’s stubborn refusal to provide a cover story for it, David’s murder of Uriah by arranging his death in battle, and David taking Bathsheba into the Palace as one of his wives. Here, the Prophet Nathan comes to the King with a simple but chilling story of a greedy and over-grasping rich man with large flocks who murders a poor herdsman to steal his sole, dear lamb to be served as a meal to a houseguest. David is enraged at the “pitiless” rich man, says he deserves death, but orders a serious fine to punish him. “You are the man” is the reply of Nathan, who then prophecies civil war and horror for the Davidic House. David, horrified at Nathan’s unsparing view of what David has done, openly admits his fault and remorse. Nathan replies that because David has admitted his fault, he has been forgiven, but says nevertheless the crime will have consequences—the civil war predicted and the death of Bathsheba’s son.

I have to say, I hope you were disturbed by this story. First of all, Bathsheba is never mentioned by name after the first identification. She is always referred to as “the wife of Uriah.” Though she might be precious, she is mere chattel, property, like the lamb in Nathan’s parable. I wish Nathan had condemned David’s actions against Bathsheba—using the difference in social status and power between them as a means of forcing himself upon her. But he only condemns David’s actions as offenses against Uriah and against God, not so much violation of any relationship as of breaking roles and expectations: David’s role as King and the expectations set by the commandments, “You shall not commit adultery. You shall commit no murder.” Bathsheba is a mere prop in this stage piece, as is that poor baby.

This unspoken theme of roles vs. relationships is expressed in the odd fact that though Nathan says “the Lord has put away your sin” after David’s confession, punishment remains. This story is part of the Deuteronomistic History that runs from the Book of Deuteronomy all the way through the end of 2 Kings. In this work, obedience to the Law is rewarded with Blessing and disobedience is punished by Curses: conformity to role and expectations is blessed, nonconformity is punished. But since David is a “man after the Lord’s own heart,” despite his failings, and he freely admits his guilt to Nathan because of this, the Lord “puts away” David’s sin as part of the restored relationship between David and his God.

One really important point in this story is this—there is such a thing as sin, and readily admitting our fault when we fall into it is key in restoring our relationship with God and those we have hurt. That is the point of today’s Psalm—we feel alienated and shriveled up until we confess our guilt. We tend to hide our failings from ourselves, and sometimes we need a Nathan pointing to us and saying, “You are that Man!” “You are the pitiless bully in this story!” It is the need for such interactive self-correction that lies behind the practice of individual private confession and absolution.

I know it is somewhat faddish to say that our worship is too penitential, and complain that we have too many “confessions of sin” in our Sunday Liturgies. Some suggest that we replace these with more thanksgiving and praise for a happier, less morbid tone of worship. But I think that our Prayer Book tradition has this about right. Simply reminding ourselves each time we pray that we fall short of the mark is a useful spiritual practice, and if we keep it free from too much drama or tragedy that flatters our egos, such regular general confession helps us to take our sins to heart, but not ourselves too seriously.

The story of the sinful woman washing Jesus’ feet with her tears in today’s Gospel contrasts judgment of role and expectation with how healthy relationships are made and maintained. The Pharisee host sits back the whole time thinking, “Hmmph! If Jesus were a prophet, he would know what kind of woman this lady is, and he would not have her all over him like this!” Jesus replies to the unspoken judgment that he does not conform to the role of a prophet, just as the woman does not conform to the role of a decent person, with the parable of the two debtors. One is forgiven a debt 100 times larger than the other, and as a result loves the creditor who forgives the debt that much more. Just as Nathan tells David, “You are that bully,” Jesus implies that the Pharisee is the debtor who loves little because he has been forgiven little. He is a person who prefers to judge and sit on the sidelines analyzing and criticizing, where the weeping woman is a person in a full, warm, and life-giving relationship with Jesus, even with all its messiness.

And at the heart of the two debtors parable is the idea that it is relationship, not role, that matters. Note that Jesus does NOT sum the story up by saying, “because she loved me much I have forgiven her much.” He says, “she loves so deeply because she has been forgiven so much.”

Now that may seem at odds with the usual use we hear made of the Epistle today—salvation by faith in Christ alone, apart from any acts, or, put less exactly, Christ forgives you because you have faith in him. But this is backwards and not at all what Paul intends. “Having faith in Christ” here is not an act by which we conform to the role of a believing Christian, and thereby merit forgiveness and salvation. Rather, Paul is saying it is our relationship with Christ that saves us and that relationship is expressed in faith, trust, and, ultimately, in an amendment of life and loves. It is relationship, not role, that counts.

That doesn’t mean that role doesn’t matter. Attention to conformity to role and expectations is what allows someone like Nathan to be able to say, “You are that bully!”

Elsewhere, Paul writes to the saints in Corinth warning them that he is on his way to sort out troubling stories he has heard of how they have behaved badly since he last visited, how they have not maintained their role as good Christians. He says, “Examine yourselves to see whether you are living in the faith. Test yourselves!” Then he adds, bringing the question back to the ultimate question, the question of relationship, “ Do you not realize that Jesus Christ is in you, unless, of course, you fail to meet that test! I hope you will find out that we have not failed!” (2 Cor. 13: 5-7).

Brothers and sisters, it is important to check on occasion how we’re doing, and how we conform to roles and expectations. It is important to listen to prophetic voices in our lives telling us, “You are that bully!” And it is important to confess our failings. But when all is said and done, the only thing that matters in the end is how we live in relationship. The judgment implied in criticism and evaluation of performance, roles, and expectations generally tends to undermine relationship. It throws up resistance, alienation, and sometimes hurt. It is important to nurture shared feelings, values, and perspectives. That is probably why Nathan was well advised to first tell his parable of the little ewe lamb and get David’s buy-in before he pointed his finger and said “You are that bully.”

Relationship, not role, is what really matters here. It is the heart of how we learn to change.

Whether with each other, with Jesus, or with God the Father, nurturing and caring for the I and the Thou of interpersonal relationship is at the heart of finding joy and peace in this life and in the world to come.

In the name of Christ, Amen.

Fr. Tony’s Mid-week Message
June 13, 2013
Koinonia

Each week at the end of the Holy Communion service, we send forth Eucharistic Visitors to take the Sacrament to those in the Parish who are physically unable to join with us in worship at Trinity. The Deacon (who organizes this visiting ministry as part of the work of taking the Gospel to the larger community) gives the charge to take the Bread and the Wine; the congregation responds, “We who are many are one body, for we all share in one bread, one cup.”

This response is based on a passage from St. Paul:

“The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a communion (koinonia) in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a communion in the body of Christ? Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of that one bread.” (1 Corinthians 10:16-17)

Different English translations render the Greek word koinonia variously as participation, sharing, communion, or community. The word means all of these. Paul’s idea is that as we eat and drink the bread and the wine, we participate in Christ’s body and blood, we are formed as a community in him, we share with Christ and with each other. And this koinonia, or shared common life in one bread, one cup, makes us—despite all our differences, varieties, diverse backgrounds and status—one body in Christ, just as various members of a body are still parts of the same body.

The idea of koinonia goes against all our modern American ideas of rugged individualism, autonomy, radical freedom and independence. But it is essential to a life that is truly Christian. It lies behind our Episcopalian/Anglican focus on worship as Common Prayer and our baptismal covenant’s commitment to “continue in the teaching and fellowship of the apostles, and in the prayers.”

People of our age and community like at times to deride “Organized Religion” and think that perhaps we all individually should just “plug directly into God.” But our tradition of shared life and worship suggests that perhaps doing that might just get us electrocuted—we need community and sacraments to form our mysticism, to mediate the experience of the Divine Beauty and Glory to us at the various places where we might be in our faith journey. The loving guidance we give and receive from others, the transformation wrought in us as we love and serve and let ourselves be loved and served, and the gentle, quiet amendment of life and perception fostered by participating in and sharing the Sacraments and ongoing Common Prayer—all this is what makes us One Body in Christ. And that, I think, is what Trinity Church is all about.

Grace and Peace,

Fr. Tony+

Fr. Tony’s Midweek Message

May 15, 2013

The Holy Spirit in the Creed

This coming Sunday is Pentecost, the celebration commemorating the coming of the Holy Spirit upon the early Church.  Everyone in the parish is encouraged to wear red to help us remember the “tongues of fire” that came upon the early Christians as the Spirit was poured out upon them. 

In the last few months you may have noticed in our Sunday bulletins that the words of the Rite 2 Nicene Creed are slightly different from those found in the Prayer Book.  For instance, “and was made man” now reads “and became truly human” as a better and more gender-inclusive rendering of the Greek καὶ ἐνανθρωπήσαντα and Latin et homo factus est.  All these changes have been approved and recommended by the General Convention of the Episcopal Church and that is why we have adopted them in our order of service. 

The section about the Holy Spirit has the most of the authorized changes: 

“We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the Giver of Life, who proceeds from the Father [and the Son] [[brackets added]],  who [[instead of ‘he’ later in the phrase]] with the Father and Son is worshipped and glorified, who [[instead of ‘He’]] has spoken through the Prophets.” 

The shift from “he” to “who,” again, is more gender-inclusive and a better translation of the Greek and Latin.  The word for “Spirit” is masculine in Latin, but neuter in Greek and feminine in Hebrew.  The Creed in Greek and Latin does not repeat the pronoun. 

The addition of brackets around “and the Son” reflects a deep and divisive problem of long-standing in the Church. 

Our “Nicene” Creed comes from one affirmed by the Council of Nicaea in 325 C.E. and its revision by the Council of Constantinople in 381 C.E. The words for “and the Son” appear in neither of these Creeds.  The word Filioque (“and from the Son”) was added to the Latin Creed probably by a local council in the Western Church in 410 C.E., without any authorization from a Church-wide (“ecumenical”) Council.  The addition, however, was later approved by the Bishop of Rome.   The Eastern Church rejected the addition saying that only an ecumenical council could change a creed approved by two ecumenical councils.  The Filioque became one of the two causes of the split between the Eastern and Western Churches in 1054 C.E.  The other was papal authority and the claim by the See of Rome that it had the authority to change the form of the Creed without approval of an Ecumenical Council. 

The New Testament is somewhat ambiguous on the matter.  The words of the original Creed “who proceeds from the Father” are based on John 15:26, which says the comforter “comes forth from the Father.”  John 14:25 has Jesus saying “the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name.”  John 20:22  says Jesus “breathed on them and said: Receive the Holy Spirit.”)  Galatians 4:6, Romans 8:9, Philippians 1:19 calls the Holy Spirit “the Spirit of the Son”, “the Spirit of Christ”, “the Spirit of Jesus Christ.”  Perhaps the best way to summarize all these somewhat contradictory passages is to say that the Holy Ghost proceeds from the Father through the Son.  But such wording has never been proposed or approved in Council of the United Church.  

In 1978 the Anglican Communion’s Lambeth Conference suggested that all member churches of the Communion “consider omitting the Filioque from the Nicene Creed.”   In 1985 the General Convention of The Episcopal Church recommended that the Filioque clause should be removed from the Nicene Creed in the Episcopal Prayer Book and approved rites, if this were endorsed by the 1988 Lambeth Council.  In 1988 the Lambeth Conference recommended that national provinces in their future Prayer Books delete the Filioque.   This was reaffirmed by the 1993 joint meeting of the Anglican Primates and Anglican Consultative Council.  At its 1994 General Convention, the Episcopal Church reaffirmed its intention to remove the words “and the son” from the Nicene Creed in the next revision of its Book of Common Prayer.   In the meantime, use of the Creed without the clause, or with the clause in brackets is authorized.

In the Roman Church, when Pope Francis was inaugurated two months ago, for the first time in 1,000 years the Patriarch of Constantinople attended the service.  The Gospel was chanted in Greek.  When the Creed was said, the Filioque was omitted. 

In light of all this, and as a sign of Christian unity and solidarity, the Worship Committee of Trinity Parish agreed unanimously last month to drop the Filioque (the bracketed phrase) from the Creed altogether in our public worship.  So this coming Sunday, when we celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit, we will affirm simply “We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the Giver of Life, who proceeds from the Father, who with the Father and Son is worshipped and glorified…”

This step is aimed at greater Christian inclusiveness and less parochialism (and focus on the Western tradition alone).  It is done with full authorization from the National Church and the International Communion. 

So in addition to wearing red, please make sure you read carefully as you recite the Creed. 

Peace and Grace,

Fr. Tony+

6 Easter, Year C

The Rev. Deacon Carol Howser,

5/5/13, Trinity Episcopal Church

In the name of the living God: who is and was and is to come…. Amen.

Once, a few years back, my spiritual director threw up her hands in frustrations and let me know in no uncertain terms that I have a very strong ego. I didn’t like that because having a strong ego was pretty much at odds in my mind with being a humble person, letting God direct my life: with becoming a faithful disciple, which, of course, was what I was trying to become. But she was right. I do have a strong ego, much to my chagrin.

Ego is that part of us that develops from the time when, as babies, we can focus our eyes enough to make out a face peering down at us: probably a parent, hopefully smiling and cooing warmly, that tells us we are wanted and loved. We begin to develop our little baby egos from that moment, an idea of ourselves. We discover our own personal power as a two year old saying, “no” to every possible thing , and eventually we include our talents, tendencies, and idiosyncrasies so that we develop a pretty clear idea of who we think we are and how other people see us. This ego, underscores and interprets all we think and do and become in the world.

But we are spiritual beings too. There is  an ancient memory in us that pulls  us from inside and up toward God and beyond here and now. While we yearn to live in that place deep inside, the ego part of us that wants to be successful and safe in the world gets a little jumpy. That was the “me” the spiritual director was dealing with: my spiritual self at odds with the part of me that is so immersed in the world. And so she challenged me with “what happens if you let go of everything and just … go there? Just lean over into this spiritual place and go there.  Without thinking I blurted out, “I might lose myself.” It felt like standing on the edge of a precipice and hurling myself off into the unknown. It felt like chaos. It felt like giving myself up to the madness of poets, of mystics, of people like John of Patmos who wrote the book of Revelation. I thought, “if I let go of myself, my ego, what will I hang on to?  It’s so much more “real” this world I can touch and smell and see and taste. Can I trust what I cannot understand? Like Pilate:  What is truth?  Am I strong enough to hope, really hope, really believe: give myself and my heart. And most of all, “if I fall, who will catch me?”

The disciples had been in this place while Jesus was with them. Their very strong egos really guided them and in many ways interfered with them hearing what Jesus was saying. They were fishermen and tax collectors, men with families, just men.  Their understanding of what Jesus was talking about, he was and why there doing this and what the end would be was frightening. It didn’t make sense to them in the context of what they felt was truth, of what was safe, of what was good for them and the world they lived in.  

But everything is different now. Jesus had died and after the despair and horror of that,  something beyond their experience of the world has happened. Jesus, who they knew was dead,  has appeared to them. They have seen him, touched him, eaten with him. He is alive. Their baby eyes have  opened to something entirely new. The shock of it gets their attention and they begin to listen with their spirits.  The scales fall from their eyes and from their egos too.  Jesus tells them who he really is,  who they really are, and that the world, the kingdom of God is so much more than what their senses tell them it is. And this time they begin to allow themselves to believe it. 

Then just when they think they have him back he tells them he must leave again  “I have said these things to you while I am still with you,” he says. “But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.” “I am going away AND I am coming to you.” Strange.

Still as time went by they  found that they themselves had changed. They had strength they had not had before, they began to heal people, different things mattered now: not what they owned: they gave it all away. They did not build up bank accounts or fill their pantries. They had what they wore, the shoes on their feet and a cloak. They didn’t worry about what was going to happen tomorrow or the next day. Life now meant so much more and  whatever happened, even death would not separate them from God in Christ.   Because of their experience of the risen Christ, they were able now to focus, really focus on, count on what they believed, no……what they knew now to be true….. even unto death. 

What did they know? They knew what we must know before we can even begin to believe this. ( I owe the following thoughts to a sermon Rev. Anne preached many years ago. I kept it, feeling it was very important and should certainly be said again. The thoughts are hers though it is not a direct quote) . First of all, they knew  that Jesus did  really die, that he was not just  in a coma, laid in a tomb but then woke up. His friends, mostly the women had seen him die, anointed his dead body.  His death was real.

Next they knew that  Jesus was fully human,  he was not a god walking about in human flesh, imperishable. Death was not merely discarding the human costume. They experienced his sorrow, his anger, his weariness. He ate, he drank, he slept. He was fully human, born of a woman they knew, was crucified, died, and was buried. All of this was not some divine magic trick.

They also knew that his death was not just some resuscitation.  Jesus had raised people from the dead, Jairus’ daughter, Lazarus, his friend. They came back to life to live out the rest of their days…. then to die again.   Jesus… in his resurrected body was not constrained by the workings of the material world at all. He appeared at will and left as abruptly, sometimes he appeared in two places at the same time. He materialized through doors.  Sometimes he was recognized right off the bat and sometimes not until he spoke or performed some act and then. But he was not a ghost. They touched his wounds. He fixed breakfast for them on the beach. Everything was transformed in this resurrected life. He told them to not be afraid. I am myself, he told them. And now he was leaving… not dying again… leaving.  In Jesus, death was defeated and a whole new creation effected. Now they knew their message, Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.

So they set out to become part of the great creative force that is the Kingdom of God.  They set out to Samothrace, and Philippi, and eventually to Rome. And as promised, the Spirit went before them, hearts were opened, their numbers grew. They found people who needed their message of hope and love. We know there were setbacks and failures ahead, there was disagreement, persecution and eventually death,  but for some reason what they now knew was enough to give them courage and focus and determination. Even when they didn’t know all the answers. They had faith now that God truly was leading them. That everything would be brought to fruition in time.

Time: The Book of Revelation brings it all together: this reconciliation….in time.   We are used to time. But what we think of as time is Chronos: time measure by duration, by clocks and watches, years and centuries. St. John uses that word but he also uses the word Kairos which is time measured in opportunity. God’s time.  More than present, it’s presence.  It’s being.  Only in Kairos can we lose ourselves and also find ourselves:  in the quiet center past our own darkness, in a future that is not really a future but a past and present also.    Eugene Petersen says in his book Reversed Thunder …  “Only by the means of Kairos can we commprehend and participate in Christ’s coming… It is primarily a meeting, an arrival which is already in process of taking place.”  In Kairos God is and was and is to come all at the same instance.    What has always been with God will continue to be and still is. It’s confusing to us when we are so anchored to our egos, focused on Chronos. Clock time. But Kairos is  where the holy city is: this city of the Lord which  Revelation speaks of. Where Jesus establishes himself both at the beginning and at the end. As lamb and as Lord. Where there is no darkness, only clarity and light and life. Where the lines we have drawn between us disappear, when evil has been purged and cast away. Where there is no suffering, or tears. And it’s not just perpetual future, it’s perpetual presence too. We are both in the kingdom and participating in the new creation.

That, I think is what the disciples began to know. Perhaps in seeing the risen Christ they were given a glimpse of eternity. Perhaps seeing him transformed they knew they would be transformed as well. Perhaps they knew that the transformation was now about everyone and everything, and all of time from the beginning to the end of things:  from Alpha to Omega. Christ the bridge, the purifier, the Word, still speaking, the light that shines in the darkness to reconcile, to restore all of creation to what it was intended to be. 

It is a mystery.. one better understood in our imagining. There are many mysteries that surround the Incarnation and the Resurrection.  We doubt and yet, doubt is one of the great things about the Christian faith. Of course, we doubt. We can’t prove any of this except by faith. If we could prove it, then we would have no choice but to believe it. And as soon as we had no choice we would no longer be free. Our love of God would be forced upon us. Love must live in freedom or it is not love at all.  But we are limited in what we can understand now. Who knows what we will understand when that great moment arrives and we slip through to our own eternity, our own experience of God’s time when all things will be revealed. I have an idea it will be so  beautifully clear and simple that we will marvel at all the stress and worrying we’ve done trying to figure it out. 

  The  gifts of  Easter: of Christ’s resurrection are reconciliation, healing, love and finally peace. This gospel is Jesus’ love letter to his disciples and to us.

   He said and continues to say:  PEACE I LEAVE WITH YOU.  He would have used the word Shalom. Not just the absence of war, but completeness, quietness, wholeness.   When things come together for us in God’s good way.

Jesus says: MY SHALOM I GIVE TO YOU. I DO NOT GIVE TO YOU AS THE WORLD GIVES.   DO NOT LET YOUR HEARTS BE TROUBLED AND DO NOT LET THEM BE AFRAID. ” I am going away, AND I am coming to you.” Or, I am going away SO I may come to you.  We are not alone. It is God in Christ that will catch us whenever we stumble, whenever we fall, when we die. (And our ego? Well, if we allow it, God can use those too.)  The resurrected Christ is in our midst. Thanks be to God. Alleluia and Shalom. Amen

It would be a serious mistake to regard … nonviolence simply as a novel tactic which is at once efficacious and even edifying, and which enables the sensitive person to participate in the struggles of the world without being dirtied with blood. Nonviolence is not simply a way of proving one’s point and getting what one wants without being involved in behavior that one considers ugly and evil.…  Nonviolence is perhaps the most exacting of all forms of struggle, not only because it demands first of all that one be ready to suffer evil and even face the threat of death without violent retaliation, but because it excludes mere transient self-interest from its considerations. In a very real sense, those who practice nonviolent resistance must commit themselves not to the defense of their own interests or even those of a particular group: they must commit themselves to the defense of objective truth and right and … all … human beings. Their aim is then not simply to “prevail” or to prove that they are right and the adversary wrong, or to make the adversary give in and yield what is demanded of him.

…[N]onviolence is not built on a presupposed division, but on the basic unity of humankind. It is not out for the conversion of the wicked to the ideas of the good, but for healing and reconciliation. (“Blessed are the Meek: The Roots of Christian Non-Violence,” 1967)

In his Second Inaugural Address in January, President Obama made a passing reference to Dr. King’s speech by also mentioning the Declaration of Independence’s vision of human equality and dignity.  He explicitly expanded the reference beyond race: “We, the people, declare today the most evident of truths–that all of us are created equal–is the star that guides us still; just as it guided our forebears through Seneca Falls, and Selma, and Stonewall.”  The president was talking about three great historic moments in the fight for equality for all Americans: the Seneca Falls convention in New York in 1848, which launched the women’s suffrage movement; the marches in Selma and other cities in Alabama in 1965 that Dr. King helped organize; and the spontaneous demonstrations in New York City in 1969 by members of the gay community after a gratuitous and brutal police raid on a bar called the Stonewall Inn.

Fr. Tony’s Mid-week Message

April 17, 2013

Sara Miles on Resurrection

Here is a short snippet from Sara Miles’ fine book, Take this Bread.  She describes her feelings after the return of a friend, Martin, who she thought had died but instead had surprisingly recovered from a deadly illness.

“I didn’t believe in miracles.  And yet I had begun to believe in healing.  I saw you could be changed, opened to experiencing your life differently, made more whole, even as your body was falling apart.  That you could be healed from fear by touch, even when you remained sick.

“And I had begun to believe in resurrection.  I didn’t mean, by resurrection, having Martin stand up alive from the operating table and walk: I saw no cause and effect between our prayers together and his improbably recovery.  Resurrection didn’t mean what I still yearned for in my loneliest moments: to see my best friend, Douglas; … or my beloved father materialize again, even for just a moment, next to me.  I actually couldn’t imagine that I would see them again, in the flesh, in a drift of pink clouds in a place called heaven.  Resurrection, to me, was mysterious and true in a way I could glimpse only for a second, before my mind refused to stretch that far.  It passed, as the Bible said, human understanding.  But I sensed that it had to do with time, like the time Marshall lay in my lap and we were both present and connected.  It was about eternity available in a fully lived instant” (p. 231).

Faith is a gradual, partial thing.  Faithfulness is living out and responding to the small glimpses of the true, the beautiful, and the health-giving life behind our lives that God graces us with from time to time.  If you cannot believe in God hearing and answering prayers, or in the resurrection of Jesus, or in a general resurrection of the dead, then trust the calming effect of prayer on your worries, and the glimpses of God’s grace and of resurrection you see in your lives.  Do not try to work up a condition of belief; such efforts are doomed to fail or produce contrived and inauthentic results.  True faith comes naturally as a gift from God, sometimes in a massive and life changing flash of insight, sometimes in bits and pieces, the small dim glimpses in the world we see about us of the bright unseen world.

Grace and Peace,

Fr. Tony+

Today’s scripture readings all touch on acceptance and desire for change in some way, and do so with rich, rich images.  In the Acts passage, we hear Jesus’ question, “Why do you persecute me?” Saul’s reply, “and who, sir, are you?” receives the shocking and surprising answer that turns Saul’s world upside down,  “”I am Jesus of Nazareth whom you persecute.”  With Saul, we hear the call to retire in our blindness to a “Street Called Straight” where new friends can direct us and help heal us.

The Gospel story, an add-on after the end of John’s Gospel, tells of Peter fleeing the scene after Jesus’ death and reappearance.   “I’m going fishing,” he says, apparently seeking refuge in habit and the details of work.  He wants to get away from the shame of reconnecting with the man he has betrayed three times but now has come back from the dead in a surprising and unprecedented form.  Jesus seeks him out and when he finds him, Peter is so befuddled that he puts his clothes on before jumping into the water to swim to him.

The resurrected Jesus’ question, “Peter, do you love me?” repeated three times, seems to “undo” the threefold denial of Jesus by Peter during the Passion story.  Jesus makes Peter his disciple again by giving him as many chances to reaffirm his love and friendship as he had denied it.

Most translations of the story miss a major element in the drama of how it is told in Greek.  Jesus, pointing to the abandoned fishing tackle, asks, “Peter, do you love me more than these things?”  But Peter replies with another verb for love, a word that is primarily about the affection of friendship rather than the usual word for love itself that Jesus has used.  “Of course I like you.”  Jesus replies: “Then feed me sheep.”  Jesus asks a second time, “Peter, do you love me?” Again, Peter replies, “I like you, Jesus.”  Jesus says again, “Then feed my sheep.”  And then, as if Jesus has gotten tired of Peter misunderstanding Jesus’ question and the nature of their relationship, Jesus softens his question, adopting Peter’s verb for love: “Well then, Peter, do you like me?”  Peter:  “I really do like you,” is the reply.  And again, “Feed my sheep.”

Jesus here accepts Peter for who he is and where he is.  Even if Peter’s love is not quite what Jesus has in mind, it is enough.  And this acceptance is what brings Peter back into the circle of love and fellowship, undoing the harm of his betrayal and denial.
Are there ways that we, like Saul, persecute Jesus?  Do we scapegoat others, label them as insufficient, decline to seriously take to heart what they are saying, but rather transfer our hurts, guilts and fears onto them and try to make ourselves feel better about ourselves by labeling them, isolating them, gossiping about them, working them harm, and or outright persecuting them?  And do we do this, like Saul, for what we think as the best of reasons, the noblest of causes?

Are there ways that we, like Peter,  deny even knowing Jesus even as we proclaim that we will never forsake him?  Do we say we believe in Jesus, but then not act as if he lives and reigns?  Have we failed to live up to the values we profess: openness, hospitality, diversity, welcome, and reverence”?  Are we negligent in prayer and worship, and fail to commend the faith that is in us?  Are we deaf to Christ’s call to serve others as Christ served us?  Have we instead sought to comfort ourselves and reduce or cloak our guilt by avoiding Jesus, burying ourselves in tasks, returning to routine and habit, and not letting ourselves be challenged and changed by the new situations and people that God has put in our lives?

Sisters and brothers here at Trinity:  we all fall short of the mark, and in some ways we are all Saul or Peter.  But know that it is okay.  Jesus loves us regardless.  He accepts us and the way we are.  He expects us to accept our weakness and brokenness, the way we are, even as he accepts this.  But he also promises to heal us and change us.  He regularly seeks us out and lets us know in startling and shocking ways, like he let Saul know, how we have gotten things wrong.  And then he calls us to go to our sisters and brothers who live on a Street Called Straight so they can help us heal and be better.
When Jesus asks us, “do you love me,” and we reply “I like you,” he keeps asking us the question.  When we persist in a multitude of ways to say “love is maybe way too much for me right now, how about ‘like’,” he keeps at it, but ultimately says, “Like is good enough for now, my friend. Love will come tomorrow.”

Let me conclude with the words of the full original prayer of Reinhold Niebuhr for Serenity, Courage, and Wisdom:

Living one day at a time,
Enjoying one moment at a time,
Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace,
Taking, as Jesus did,
This sinful world as it is,
Not as I would have it,
Trusting that You will make all things right,
If I surrender to Your will,
So that I may be reasonably happy in this life,
And supremely happy with You forever in the next.  Amen.