tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18136429190338420112024-02-18T20:58:23.230-08:00On The TableChrist Church Cathedral in St. Louis. Putting our lives on the table with Christ.Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.comBlogger285125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-14262285215848652262016-06-26T10:00:00.003-07:002016-06-26T16:10:26.789-07:00"We are people of the choice" - a sermon for the sixth Sunday after Pentecost<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday June 26, 2016.</i></span></b><br />
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<i>Almighty God, you have built your Church upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief cornerstone: Grant us so to be joined together in unity of spirit by their teaching, that we may be made a holy temple acceptable to you. Amen.</i><br />
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We who believe in Jesus. We who would dare to say we want to follow Jesus are people of the choice. <br />
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And what we choose makes all the difference.<br />
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Most of you have heard the story. But maybe you haven’t heard the whole story. <br />
<br />
It was the mid 1980s, and the “Reagan Revolution” was in full swing … a broad-ranging movement that cut crucial services to the poor and marginalized, and that cut taxes, further consolidating wealth in the hands of the already wealthy and privileged.<br />
<br />
The mid 1980s also saw the rise of an epidemic and a movement. The epidemic was HIV/AIDS, which began to sweep across the American gay community with genocidal force. The movement was the rise of the religious right as a core constituency of the Reagan Revolution and one of the most powerful political forces in America.<br />
<br />
And so played out a great national and spiritual tragedy. At the moment where gay Americans were most vulnerable, most in need of compassion, most in need of the kind of servant love that Jesus tells us is the hallmark of true greatness, the loudest voices in the name of Jesus shouted hate, preached God’s rejection and in the name of Jesus called on what they called a Christian nation to do the same.<br />
<br />
Now the love of Jesus was not dead. It was powerfully alive. It was alive as men cradled their lovers’ heads in their laps as they died, as they wiped away one anothers’ tears. The love of Christ was alive as cities like St. Louis began Pride festivals and parades and gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender persons began to come out of hiding and claim their right to walk in the sun, claim the liberating love of God and the right to basic human dignity for themselves and for one other.<br />
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The love of Jesus was not dead, far from it. But it was on life support in many if not most of our churches who either through our apathy or antipathy to the cries of the dying were choosing crowd over cross and respectability over justice.<br />
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And it was a choice. <br />
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We who believe in Jesus. We who would dare to say we want to follow Jesus are people of the choice. <br />
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And what we choose makes all the difference.<br />
<br />
The Dean of Christ Church Cathedral at the time was a man named Michael Allen. Many of you knew him. Like all people and all Deans, myself included, Dean Allen was a mixed bag of virtue and vice, wonderfully imperfectly struggling to live, as are we all, into God’s dreams for each and for everyone. <br />
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Dean Allen knew that we who would dare to say we follow Jesus are people of the choice, and that there was a choice not only in front of him but in front of this Cathedral.<br />
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At a time when people in the name of Jesus were preaching a false Gospel of hate, would we join in, stay silent or would we stand up and say, “In the name of Jesus, No More?”<br />
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At a time when churches in the name of Jesus would not bury people who had died of AIDS, much less let people who were living with the disease in their doors, would we join in, stay silent or would we stand up and say, “In the name of Jesus, No More?”<br />
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Dean Allen and the people of this Cathedral … some of the very people who are sitting in this room today…. stared that choice full in the face. Stared the costs of standing up and the costs of staying silent. Stared at the cost to their souls of choosing the crowd and the costs of friendship and finance of choosing the cross. <br />
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And in the end, God gave the people of Christ Church Cathedral both the vision to behold Jesus’ call and the grace and power to choose it. <br />
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And so this Cathedral made a banner … a huge banner that said “Our Church Has AIDS.” And on a day like this about 30 years ago this Cathedral marched behind that banner in one of the early St. Louis Pride Parades. <br />
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In the midst of a national movement that appealed to our worst, this Cathedral stood up and proclaimed that following Jesus was not joining the race to the lowest common denominator of prejudice and self-interest. That following Jesus was realizing and proclaiming that Jesus stands as, stands with and stands for those among us who are most marginalized, oppressed, targeted and afflicted. <br />
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In the midst of a national groundswell to demonize images of God who were poor, black, brown, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender and even to do so in the name of Jesus, this Cathedral made a different choice. A choice that recognized that following Jesus is not maintaining a place of comfort, respectability and security but casting our lot with the Son of God who has nowhere to lay his head. <br />
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Most of you have heard the story. But maybe you haven’t heard the whole story. <br />
<br />
Because there was someone else in that Pride Parade that day. A young rabbi who saw other Jewish congregations leaving the city and gathered with a small group of Jewish families to make a different choice. To keep a vibrant Jewish presence in the city “to be on the front line of fighting the racism and poverty plaguing the urban center.”<br />
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That rabbi’s name was Susan Talve. And last August, as Susan and I and hundreds of others poured out of this Nave with some of you in this room today and marched to the Department of Justice building on the first anniversary of Michael Brown’s death to demand an end to racially biased policing in this nation, Susan told me the story of that day. <br />
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She said she saw that banner. And she saw Dean Allen and the people of Christ Church Cathedral marching behind it. And she said, “in that moment I knew … that was what I wanted our congregation to be like. I wanted us to be like Christ Church Cathedral.” <br />
<a href="http://www.centralreform.org/"><b><br />
Central Reform Congregation</b></a> was barely a dream that day about thirty years ago. Today, Central Reform Congregation is one of the greatest forces for the love of God and tikkun olam, the repair of the world, we have in St. Louis. And among their foundational inspirations was this Cathedral. Among their foundational inspirations was YOU.<br />
<br />
Not because of our beautiful building.<br />
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Not because of our long institutional history.<br />
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Not because of the preaching from this pulpit or the teaching from our classrooms or the stunningly beautiful music that resonates from this holy space. <br />
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What inspired Rabbi Susan that day and what continues to inspire people in this city to this day to choose love over hate, to choose justice over respectability, to choose the cross over the crowd is the grace and power of God working through YOU, the people of Christ Church Cathedral. <br />
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You, in the face of fears and demonization of those of us who are struggling with poverty, hunger and homelessness, through God’s grace and power making the choice not to join with the crowd but to pick up the cross and throw open the doors of this Cathedral every day saying ALL are welcome here.<br />
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You, in the face of widespread white apathy and antipathy to the cries of young, black queer images of God on the streets of Ferguson and north St. Louis, through God’s grace and power making the choice not to stand with the crowd but to pick up the cross and invite those prophets in and let those prophets lead us out.<br />
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You, in the face of a growing national backlash movement of misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, biphobia, Islamophobia, and on and on and on, through God’s grace and power making the choice not to stand with the crowd but to pick up the cross and be a voice for the Gospel in this community that says love is love is love is love is love and the gifts of ALL God’s children will be embraced.<br />
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So it was, so it is now, and so it will be again.<br />
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It’s not the mid 1980s anymore, but we are at a similar place. <br />
<br />
In America, a backlash movement against both the liberation movements of today and against the economic legacy of that Reagan Revolution of 30 years ago. A backlash movement of which the candidacy of Donald Trump is but a symptom is preaching a false Gospel of division and hate, appealing to that lowest common denominator of prejudice and self-interest, and taking even our best impulses – the desire of everyone to love and protect their families – and twisting them in fear to serve economic interests that continue to line the pockets of the uberwealthy and privileged at the continuing expense of those who have the least. <br />
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And that movement has company in other nations as the fear- and racism-based movement that led to the Brexit vote in England this past week has shown.<br />
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As much as we might wish that there really isn’t a choice. As much as the idea of choosing a side seems contrary to the Gospel of niceness and respectability that seems to govern so many of the churches of those of us who live in relative comfort. As much as we might want to cry out like Rodney King, “Can’t we just all get along?” the truth is there is a choice before us. And hearing this morning’s Gospel, we hear that it has always been this way. <br />
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Not a choice that would demonize those we might call our enemy but a choice to stand with Jesus and against the evil that would convince any of God’s children to choose fear and hate over love and compassion. The evil that would convince any of God’s children that preserving the privilege and comfort of some is justification for the oppression and enslavement of others. <br />
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As we hear in this morning’s Gospel reading, it is not a choice that asks God to have fire to come down from heaven and consume but it is a choice that demands we rebuke the forces of evil in this world and that we let Christ rebuke them in us. That I let Christ rebuke the evil in me. It is a choice that demands we choose proclamation over silence, justice over respectability and cross over crowd.<br />
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We who believe in Jesus. We who would dare to say we want to follow Jesus are people of the choice. <br />
<br />
And what we choose makes all the difference.<br />
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Over the past seven years, I have seen you choose so bravely, so lovingly and so well, and you have given me the courage to try to do the same. And as I reflect not only on our time together but on the history of this incredible Cathedral, I know deep in my heart that, through God’s grace and power, you will continue to choose proclamation over silence, justice over respectability and cross over crowd.<br />
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Those choices were never about me. My job and my joy as your priest was merely to hold up who you have always been and challenge you to make the choice to lay your lives on the table with Christ as a new generation of choices were laid before us. <br />
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In the weeks, months and years to come you will face and make these choices as this Cathedral has made them for generations. Boldly, bravely, with God’s grace and power and with glorious song.<br />
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But there is one difference. <br />
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It is no longer an option to make these choices alone.<br />
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You have heard me say over and over again that God dreams us for one another. That following Jesus is too hard to do by ourselves and too good to keep to ourselves. I will say and believe that to my dying day.<br />
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As a Cathedral, this church is the physical representation of the bishop’s role as the guardian of the faith, unity and discipline of the whole church. That is why I am grateful, Bishop Smith, that you are here with us today. As you reminded our Chapter at our workday in February, Christ Church Cathedral is not just the mother church of this diocese but the mother church of every Episcopal congregation West of the Mississippi. <br />
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What we were for Central Reform Congregation was nothing new. It is who we always have been. It is in our DNA.<br />
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For generations you as the people of Christ Church Cathedral have steadfastly remained in the heart of the city while so many others have fled. You have strived to be the Beloved Community of Christ, a community dedicated to embracing the presence of Jesus particularly in those among us who are most marginalized, targeted and oppressed. <br />
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You have done it as each successive generation identifies less with and contributes less financially to denominational religion.<br />
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You have done it as our downtown neighborhood has more and more become an object of fear and derision in the St. Louis metro area and those of us in whom we believe Jesus is most profoundly present have become increasingly criminalized. <br />
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You have done it as these magnificent buildings are literally crumbling under the weight of time. <br />
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Every year, you are asked to meet rising challenges with fewer resources. You have gone from four full time priests to two full time priests and now to one and the question on all our hearts this morning is, “Dear God, what is next?”<br />
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We who believe in Jesus. We who would dare to say we want to follow Jesus are people of the choice. <br />
<br />
And what we choose makes all the difference.<br />
<br />
And this Diocese of Missouri has the gift of a choice before it.<br />
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Is this going to be forty some odd loosely affiliated congregations … or is this going to be one Diocese, united in mission, ministry and proclamation of the Gospel.<br />
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Will this diocese choose to imitate the social Darwinism that has long infected our region and that has led to massive inequalities of education, housing, economic opportunity and life expectancy not just in St. Louis but throughout this state and across this nation and choose to preach a Gospel of every congregation for themselves? <br />
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Or will this diocese choose to embrace the incredible opportunity truly of being the Body of Christ that breaks through church walls and bridge our many divides. Will this diocese choose not merely to see our mission field as the beautiful ministries that are happening in our own individual neighborhoods but as Jesus’ call to travel to the undiscovered countries of our own region, laboring, loving and living beside images of God far different from and less comfortable to us than our own?<br />
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Will this diocese choose truly to have and support a Cathedral – one from which it reaps the transformative benefits of interconnection, diversity and meeting and standing with Christ in the most vulnerable places, but also one for which it proudly and sacrificially claims deep responsibility both in financially sustaining and actively participating in that transformative work that springs from these glorious yet rapidly aging buildings.<br />
<br />
Will these congregational banners that grace our Nave be mere relics of days past wistfully remembered, or will they be a sign of a renewed and united commitment to sustain the presence of Christ’s church in the heart of the city. A renewed and united commitment to make this Cathedral an instrument, as we prayed in the Collect this morning, to join us together in unity of Spirit by Christ’s teaching that we may be made a holy temple acceptable to God.<br />
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This is a phenomenal diocese with wonderful people and an incredible missionary history. The transformation in the name of Jesus that will happen from this place if this congregation, this diocese and this city come together to build on what God has done here and re-imagine it for the years to come truly knows no bounds. <br />
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The challenge and the gift is you will have to do it together.<br />
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We who believe in Jesus. We who would dare to say we want to follow Jesus are people of the choice. <br />
<br />
And what we choose makes all the difference.<br />
<br />
It has been a joy like no other to be your Dean for these past seven years. <br />
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To be able to gather you and invite you to lay your lives on the table with Jesus not just in here but out there and together struggling so mightily and honestly and bravely with that incredible call. <br />
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To be among you as you wrestled with the choice of following Jesus and often wrestled with me. <br />
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To be among those of you for whom the choices we made were like an oasis in the desert and especially to be among those of you who took issue with me the most but whose love for Jesus and this community was so great that you refused to leave.<br />
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I have said that I have not been your friend but that I have been your priest, and because of that I must fully leave so that another can take my place. I know that has been hard for some of you to hear, and I promise you it is no less hard for me to say. The prayer I have prayed every day since my first as your provost is “God, please love them through me.” <br />
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For the ways in which I been able to let that happen, I praise God and thank you, because your loved showed me how. For the ways in which I have fallen short, I beg God’s forgiveness and yours. <br />
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I hope during our time together you have come to know Jesus even a little better and to feel Jesus’ loving presence by your side and Jesus’ courage in your heart. To meet Jesus in unexpected places and to feel the holy discomfort of Jesus’ call on the choices of your life. I can only assure you that you have done the same for me and for that and for you I am and will always be deeply, profoundly and eternally thankful. <br />
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Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.<br />
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And know that I will pray for you, I will love you and I will carry you on my heart forever. Amen.<br />
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Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-89797151169768854252016-06-19T10:28:00.002-07:002016-06-19T10:28:25.133-07:00"Our name is Legion. A story of pain, anger, fear ... and love" - a sermon for the Fifth Sunday after Pentecost <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral at 8 and 10 am on Sunday June 19, 2016.</i></span></b><br />
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<i>Jesus then asked him, "What is your name?" He said, "Legion"</i><br />
<i>+</i><br />
What is your pain?<br />
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What is your anger?<br />
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What is your fear?<br />
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Notice I didn’t say “Are you hurting? Are you angry? Are you afraid?” That’s because pain, anger and fear are part of the human condition. <a href="http://www.iep.utm.edu/descarte/">Rene Descartes</a> said “I think, therefore I am” but he could just as easily have said “I feel, therefore I am.” In fact, that might have been closer to the truth.<br />
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So what is your pain? <br />
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Your anger? <br />
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Your fear?<br />
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What are you doing to it?<br />
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What is it doing to you?<br />
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We are created in God’s image as creatures of deep feeling. Our feelings are so deep – not just pain, anger and fear, but love, pride, joy and more – that often those feelings are overwhelming… overpowering our rational selves and with them our illusions of security, of control over our lives. <br />
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There is a rawness to human emotion. There is a rawness to our pain, our anger, our fear. They can scare us in ourselves and they can scare us in each other. They are so scary that often, far too often, we try to pretend they aren’t there. We bury them deep, deep down inside. Shove them deep into a closet. Pretend that everything is just fine … and when we do that, we create a lie that imprisons all of us. Because we look at everyone else … and they seem to have it all together.<br />
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No pain.<br />
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No anger.<br />
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No fear.<br />
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We look at everyone else … and they seem to have it all together. And we begin to believe a lie … that something is wrong with us. That our pain. Our anger. Our fear. That we’re the only one who has them. <br />
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And we don’t want to be different. <br />
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We don’t want to be weak – which is what it feels like. <br />
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And so we pretend. <br />
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We pretend for each other and we pretend for ourselves.<br />
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We pretend that we’ve got it all together. <br />
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We pretend that the pain. The anger. The fear. We pretend that they aren’t there.<br />
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We pretend because we don’t want to be different. <br />
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We pretend because we don’t want to be cast out.<br />
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We try to bury them deep.<br />
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But they don’t go away. <br />
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They become the untreated wound that never heals. <br />
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The loneliness that never feels a loving touch.<br />
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The chasm between us that is never bridged. <br />
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The awful truth that is never told. <br />
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We try to bury them deep.<br />
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But they don’t go away.<br />
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And sometimes when we are too tired to keep them down, they burst out, attaching themselves to whatever has brought them out.<br />
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Sometimes when we are confronted with a person or action or situation that triggers that pain, that anger, that fear in us, those feelings burst out.<br />
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They burst out in ways that divide us one from another, building walls and casting out.<br />
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They burst out in ways that turn us against one another, preemptive strikes against these reminders of our own hidden humanity. <br />
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They can burst out in a sharp word or a caustic email.<br />
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They can burst out in fight, and they can burst out in flight.<br />
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In the extreme, the pain, the anger, the fear can burst out <b><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2016/06/18/us/pulse-nightclub-orlando-mass-shooting.html?_r=0">as they did at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando a week ago this morning. </a></b><br />
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And always, when they burst out, they divide and they multiply.<br />
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The outbursts, large and small. The demonizations and spewing of venom. They divide us one from other. They multiply the pain, the anger, the fear. <br />
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And they perpetuate the lie that we’re on our own, that we’re not all in this together. They perpetuate the lie that indeed we are not made for one another. That we do not need one another. That indeed we are not each other’s salvation.<br />
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What is our pain?<br />
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What is our anger?<br />
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What is our fear?<br />
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What are we doing to it?<br />
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What is it doing to us?<br />
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Do we dare to name it?<br />
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Do we dare to feel it?<br />
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Do we dare to believe that it could be healed?<br />
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This morning, we hear the story of Jesus meeting a man who had “many demons.” We are not told what they are, but it is clear from his cries that he is in deep, deep pain. It is clear from his broken shackles that he was incredibly angry. It is clear from how he had been cast out of his community – sent to live in the tombs -- that he was someone of whom everyone was very, very afraid.<br />
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And Jesus, God made human, the love of the divine come to be with us, to live with us, to feel with us, approaches him. And at first Jesus is too much for the man to bear. In the face of great pain, great anger, great fear, love or even the possibility of love is often too much for us to bear because love demands we look our pain, our anger, our fear full in the face. Love demands that we drag them out of their closet and pull them out of their depths. Love demands that we acknowledge them. That we feel them. That we give them their due. <br />
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Love demands that we confront the lies that our pain, our anger, and our fear so often convince us to believe. Terrible lies about our own unlovability. But lies that nonetheless have become the country we have grown so accustomed to inhabiting.<br />
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Jesus, the love of all loves, walks up to this man of pain, of anger, the man who inspires such great fear not because he is the only one with demons but because he reminds others of their own.<br />
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Jesus, the love of all loves, walks up to this man and asks him one question:<br />
<br />
“What is your name?”<br />
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When Jesus walks up to the man and says “What is your name?” he is really asking:<br />
<br />
What is your pain?<br />
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What is your anger?<br />
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What is your fear?<br />
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And the man says the name. <br />
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Legion.<br />
<br />
Many.<br />
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I have so much pain.<br />
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I have so much anger.<br />
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I have so much fear.<br />
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My name … is Legion.<br />
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In saying that one word, “Legion,” this naked, outcast man shows himself to be a person of deep courage.<br />
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For in saying that one word, “Legion,” he is owning and naming his pain, his anger and his fear.<br />
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In saying that one word, “Legion,” he allows the process of liberation to begin.<br />
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We are in a time of great changes – and we’ve been there for quite a while. The pace of technological, social and political change in our lifetimes has perhaps been greater than any time in human history. <br />
<br />
In our nation and around the world, the past decade and particularly the past several years have seen movements of liberation that are blessedly taking structures of society that have long imprisoned people underprivileged because of skin color, gender, sexual orientation and countless other categories and breaking those structures apart … but not without backlashes that in their pain, anger and fear try to refasten those chains even more tightly.<br />
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Not only in this Cathedral but throughout mainline American Christianity, so much of what we have held dear for our entire lives is changing as well. Changing as it becomes unsustainable in a world that no longer flocks to church on Sunday mornings, and as beautiful buildings and huge institutions erected a century ago to the glory of God begin to crumble under their own weight.<br />
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And the truth is we are hurting. And we are angry. And we are afraid.<br />
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And it is not unreasonable. We have legitimately done things to wound and anger each other. The massacre of our lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender siblings in a place that was supposed to be a sanctuary has wounded and angered us. I know some of you feel wounded by me and by some of the changes that are happening here at Christ Church Cathedral. There’s nothing I can say to change that, and the last thing I want to do is tell you that you shouldn’t feel that way. That’s the opposite of what I want to tell you this morning. <br />
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The change before us is deeply unsettling and fear is not unexpected. The pain. The anger. The fear….They are incredibly natural. They are incredibly human. We feel therefore we are. The last thing I want to do is tell you that you shouldn’t feel. For if I have learned one thing from our time together, it’s that we have to feel to heal. <br />
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But I do know that feeling is hard. I do know that we feel so deeply that it sometimes is too much. So deeply that we are tempted to pretend we don’t feel at all and hope that the feelings just go away. So deeply that we are tempted to turn against one another. So deeply that we are tempted to build walls and fire arrows – hoping that if we can cast out or defeat an enemy that the pain, the anger and the fear will depart as well. And that road leads nowhere good. That road leads to the tombs where the man with his demons raged and moaned. That road leads to nothing but death.<br />
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But there is good news. Because as much as we are tempted to shrink away or lash out, in the midst of our pain, our anger and our fear, Jesus does not shrink away from or lash out at us. Jesus walks right up to us – seeing the pain, the anger and the fear, impervious to our attempts to conceal it from one another, from Jesus and even from ourselves. Jesus walks right up to us and asks us a question that is three in one. <br />
<br />
What is your name?<br />
<br />
What is your pain? Your anger? Your fear?<br />
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Can we name it? Can we have the courage of the man who had been relegated to the place of the dead? Can we have the courage to name our pain? To name our anger? To name our fear? <br />
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Can we have the courage to look not just Jesus but one another full in the face and instead of building walls and firing arrows to say:<br />
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I’m hurting.<br />
<br />
I’m angry.<br />
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I’m afraid.<br />
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And I’m wondering if maybe you are, too.<br />
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The pain, the anger, the fear can be so overpowering. But in Christ, can we meet in that place and feel them together? Not shrinking away from feeling deeply ourselves but also holding each other gently as we each do the same? Not turning against each other but turning toward each other? In Christ and through Christ, can we have that grace, that power, that courage? <br />
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Today’s Gospel tells us … yes, we can.<br />
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There were so many responses to the massacre at Pulse that moved my heart this week, but among them were two I want to share with you because they each speak to how much we struggle with the rawness and depth of what we are feeling right now and how hard it is to live together in the midst of it. <br />
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One was from <b><a href="http://www.left-bank.com/about-us">Jarek Steele, a beautiful transgender man and co-owner of Left Bank Books.</a></b> Jarek wrote:<br />
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<i>“It's as if every human in every group is screaming "recognize my pain" right now. And it's so hard to recognize and care for someone else's pain when you're in it too. Let's all be gentle and patient with each other, and when we're not able to be patient and gentle let's recognize that as a reaction to pain - not an indictment of our character.”</i><br />
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In my language of faith, I hear the word Jarek describing as “grace” … it is holding one another with unmerited love. Loving whether or not that love is returned. And with that on my heart, I read these words from <b><a href="http://www.episcopalpgh.org/bishopsblog/about/">the Episcopal Bishop of Pittsburgh, Dorsey McConnell</a></b>, that reminded me that the grace of which Jarek sings is not something we need to wish for … it is already ours in Jesus. Bishop McConnell writes:<br />
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<i>We would understand that The Problem is this: We fear our own death more than we love the lives of others. </i><br />
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<i>Because we fear, we put our sins on someone else’s head. We push them away. We kill in the hope we will finally find peace.</i><br />
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<i>But the saints, in their silence, know what we can only believe: the peace we are looking for has been won in the Cross of Christ. No further sacrifice is needed or allowed. No scapegoat. No enemy.</i><br />
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<i><b><a href="http://www.episcopalpgh.org/pastoralreflectionorlando/">(Read Bishop McConnell's whole reflection piece here)</a></b></i><br />
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This morning’s Gospel reading is not a story about some poor soul. It is not a story of “there but for the grace of God go I.” The story of the Gerasene demoniac is our story. Each of us and all of us.<br />
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What is our name?<br />
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Our name is Legion.<br />
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And this story is the story of our pain.<br />
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Our anger.<br />
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Our fear. <br />
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It is the story of the power of that pain, anger and fear to tear us apart inside and to rip us apart from one another.<br />
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But ultimately, it is the story of how Jesus, the love beyond all love, meets us in the midst of it, invites us to name it, stands with us as we feel it, turns us not away from each other but draws us toward each other and meets all of us together in a loving, healing embrace.<br />
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What is our pain?<br />
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What is our anger?<br />
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What is our fear?<br />
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What are you doing to it?<br />
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What is it doing to you?<br />
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Do we dare to name it?<br />
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Do we dare to feel it?<br />
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Do we dare to believe that, in Christ, it – and all of us -- can be healed? Amen.</div>
Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-41931913953965578022016-06-12T14:11:00.001-07:002016-06-19T10:21:07.405-07:00"Saying Goodbye, Rejecting Shame, and Choosing Extravagant Love" - a sermon for the Fourth Sunday After Pentecost<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>The Very Rev. Mike Kinman, who has faithfully led Christ Church Cathedral in downtown St. Louis since 2009, announced Sunday, June 12 that he has accepted a call to be the new rector of All Saints Episcopal Church in Pasadena, Calif. Dean Kinman shared the news with the congregation during Sunday services. He will preach his last sermon as Dean of the Cathedral on June 26; his final day in the office will be June 30. After that, he will resume his Cathedral-granted sabbatical until it ends in September.</i><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral at 8 and 10 am on Sunday June 12, 2016.</i></span></b><br />
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<i>Keep, O Lord, your household the Church in your steadfast faith and love, that through your grace we may proclaim your truth with boldness, and minister your justice with compassion. Amen.</i><br />
<br />
OK … what’s he doing here? <br />
<br />
Whatever suspense there is, I want to end right away. I’ve come back early from my sabbatical to begin the process of saying goodbye. <br />
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Earlier this week, I accepted a call to become the rector of <a href="http://www.allsaints-pas.org/">All Saints Episcopal Church in Pasadena,</a> California. Other than a couple days this week where I’ll be taking Schroedter on a college visit, I’ll be back here through the end of June so we can say goodbye and do some of the work of transition. I’ll then take the rest of my sabbatical before beginning at All Saints later in the fall. Robin, Schroedter and Hayden will spend the next school year in St. Louis before moving out to join me next summer. <br />
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For some of you this will be a shock. Others of you may have sensed this coming. I expect you now and in the days to come to have feelings across the emotional spectrum including some of you having no feelings at all. That’s natural. <br />
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I know my feelings about this are all over the place. I am excited about this opportunity and this genuine and unexpected sense of God’s call on my life. I am also grieving having to leave a diocese that has been my home for 30 years, a city that I’ve called home for 20 and where Robin and I have raised our family, and a Cathedral that truly is the most extraordinary, diverse, kooky and beautiful Christian community I have ever known. <br />
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You have shown me Jesus. Over and over and over again. I am the person and priest I am today because of you. I will carry you in my heart forever. I love you and I will miss you terribly. <br />
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I first shared this possibility of this call with your Chapter in January and I am grateful for how they, your wardens and your vicar, Amy Cortright, have led this Cathedral with grace and power through this period of uncertainty. After the service we’re going to have an On the Table forum here in the Nave where I want to hear from you, what is on your hearts and minds … and where we will answer every question the best that we can. <br />
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I would love to meet with as many of you as wish it before I leave at the end of this month so I can listen to you and express my deep gratitude for how important you have been in my life and the life of this Cathedral. <br />
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This schedule leaves me with three final opportunities to stand before you and preach the Gospel. And even though your brain might not register anything after me saying that I have come back to say goodbye … you know me, I can’t let any opportunity to open my mouth and preach the Gospel go by unheeded.<br />
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Before I left on sabbatical, I talked about this being a time of reflection for all of us … and certainly that is even more so now. We have spent seven years together and they have not been dull. There has been a tremendous amount of change and not a small amount of controversy. Many of you have come to Christ Church Cathedral during that time, others have left and some of you have been here the whole time and even long before reminding us that clergy come and clergy go but the people of God and the Holy Spirit of Christ that sustains us endures. That this has been but one more season in the nearly two centuries’ long life of this community and that others surely will follow. <br />
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And so for a few more minutes this Sunday, I want to look back on our time together through the lens of this morning’s readings. And as the lectionary so often does, it could not have provided us with a better story through which to view our seven years together and the transition now before us. Because it is a story of radical, liberating, extravagant love that takes place at the center of a power that tries to deny it. <br />
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Jesus has been invited to eat with the Pharisees. And so the first question we have to ask ourselves is: “Why?” Probably several reasons. Some of it is probably curiosity. Some of it is probably reconnaissance, scoping him out so they can assess the threat. But some of it is assuredly trying to co-opt him into respectability.<br />
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Our friend Pastor Starsky Wilson has said you have to be careful when the powers that be start giving you awards because what they’re often hoping is that you will start to care more about getting the awards, care more about keeping the seat at the table of power than about continuing to work for justice, liberation and the peace of Christ. That what looks like support is actually a graduation certificate from relevance and into the back pocket of those with power.<br />
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And history has shown it works really, really well. But not so much with Jesus. Because immediately after he sits down we hear that someone only identified as “a woman in the city, who was a sinner” enters the room.<br />
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Respectability demands that Jesus have nothing to do with her. In fact, respectability demands that Jesus judge her and judge her harshly. After all, she already has two strikes against her. <br />
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First of all, she is a woman … and what business does a woman have in conversations where authority was being exercised? Power is for men. She does not belong.<br />
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Second, the Gospel euphemistically tells us that she is “a sinner.” But it’s clear what the text was talking about. This woman had dared to have sex outside the very strict male-authority-dominated purity codes the law set on women. Whether this was the result of her being compelled by physical force or economic necessity or her daring to claim agency over her own body, we are not told and frankly it does not matter. What is clear is that because of either what she had done or what was done to her, the Pharisees and truthfully all of society see her as other, see her as less than, see her as shameful and to be despised.<br />
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This woman is one of my greatest heroes in all of scripture. Because she is everything the Pharisees say she is not and she is everything the Pharisees are not. <br />
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She is bold and brave, she is proud and powerful. Because she not only dares to enter the room, right in the face of the Pharisees, she doubles down on every shaming criticism they would have against her.<br />
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She brings an alabaster jar of ointment and she drops to Jesus’ feet and begins to express her love for him incredibly intimately, even erotically and certainly scandalously. She begins to cry, tears borne of the pain of her rejection, tears borne of the pain that women and all shamed and marginalized images of God carry with them. She begins to cry and she caresses those tears of pain into Jesus’ feet – feet being not only an intimate part of the body but themselves a sexual euphemism throughout scripture. Then sensuously she takes her hair and dries his feet …and then just in case anyone somehow was missing the message she begins to kiss Jesus’ feet and she breaks open the jar of fragrant ointment and begins to give him a deep, tender foot massage. <br />
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“You try to shame me?” this incredible woman says. “You try to shame me for my body? This body that God created in God’s own image? This body that God created out of love for love? You try to shame me?”<br />
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“Well shame this.”<br />
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“Shame you.”<br />
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And then there is this pause. And the world stops. And waits. Waits to see how Jesus will react. Surely, the Pharisees say to themselves, Jesus will “do the right thing.” Surely, he will choose the way of respectability. Surely he will join us in shaming this disgraceful woman who dares actually to assert power over her own body and use it as she wants to express love. Surely he will join us in shaming this woman who dares to behave so brazenly, so scandalously, who dares to behave so much like … a man.<br />
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There is this pause. And when Jesus speaks it is to name a sinner, but it is not the woman he names but the Pharisees themselves. For what the Pharisees see as shameful, Jesus knows is beautiful. What the Pharisees see as a scandalous breach of respectability, Jesus knows is the height of extravagant hospitality and love – hospitality and love offered by this amazing woman and not by the hosts of the house. Extravagant hospitality and love that judge her worthy and the Pharisees wanting. <br />
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Jesus embraces the woman. Jesus does what he does with all of us … meets us in the place of tears and meets us there in love. The woman’s sins – whatever they are – are forgiven. The Pharisees receive no such absolution.<br />
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Five years ago, when Chapter voted to call me as dean after two years of my being provost, we talked about how to celebrate this new stage in our life together. Traditionally in the Episcopal church we have what are called “celebrations of new ministry” … which end up looking more like coronations of individuals and which I am convinced make Jesus alternately chuckle and weep. <br />
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We decided that didn’t work for us. That this wasn’t about me but about the whole Cathedral and our life in and for the city of St. Louis. So instead we had a “celebration of the Cathedral in the City.”<br />
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We talked about the Cathedral being a Eucharistic table not just for our own private gathering on Sunday mornings but a place where we gather the entire city around whatever looks like Jesus, invite everyone to lay their lives on the table with it and then watch as God takes all that life mixed together and creates something new not just for us but for the life of the world. <br />
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And what did we decide to gather this city around and invite them to lay their lives on the table with? What looked like Jesus? <br />
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It was a community of extravagant love and hospitality. A community that embraced women who were most despised, shamed and rejected and helped them name themselves bold and brave, proud and powerful. <br />
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It was a community of heroic women like this one. It was <a href="http://www.thistlefarms.org/">Magdalene</a>.<br />
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And so we brought in Becca Stevens and Katrina Robertson and Shelia McClain and they told their stories of power and survival. Of extravagant love and hospitality. And we as Christ Church Cathedral gathered the city of St. Louis around and said “if this looks like Jesus to you, even if you wouldn’t use that language, we invite you to lay your lives on the table with the lives of these amazing, bold, brave, proud and powerful women who sure look like Jesus to us.” And St. Louis did. And a year ago, because of the Eucharistic leadership of this Cathedral community, <a href="http://www.magdalenestl.org/">Magdalene St. Louis </a>opened and right now in that house just north of here there are bold, brave, proud and powerful women who are giving and receiving extravagant love and hospitality. Women who are saying to a world that would shame, despise and reject them:<br />
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Shame this.<br />
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Shame you.<br />
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And you have not stopped. As this city has continued its sinful and dehumanizing treatment of those among us struggling with homelessness, you as Christ Church Cathedral asked that simple question yet again … what does extravagant love and hospitality look like? And we are learning that it looks like dismantling the sinful structures of us and them, of “parishioner” and “downtown neighbor” and of recognizing that we are all one beloved community and all of our job and joy is to make it a community of equity and justice for all … and from the simple act of nametags for everyone to the bold act of a housing partnership that gives the dignity and the basic human right of a home, you chose the side of Jesus over the side of the Pharisee.<br />
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When after Michael Brown was killed and his body left in the street for four and a half hours, young people took to the streets rejecting the respectability politics of our time, shouting in language that was profane but not half as profane as the conditions they had been living in. When there was a pause as the powers that be waited to see how the church would react, you chose side of Jesus over the side of the Pharisee, some of you joining the young people out in the streets and all of you opening up this Cathedral, giving away power and saying “this house is yours.” <br />
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Over and over again in our seven years together you have found new ways to live into what Christ Church Cathedral has been about for generations in the past and I pray will continue to be about for generations to come. Choosing extravagant love and hospitality over respectability. Choosing Jesus over the Pharisee. Choosing liberation, joy and love over shame, despair and fear. <br />
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Over and over again in our seven years together you have lived the words of this morning’s collect. You have proclaimed Christ’s truth with boldness and ministered Christ’s justice with compassion. And that must and will continue. We only have to hear the news this morning of more than 50 people massacred early this morning at a nightclub popular with the LGBT community in Orlando to know that we are so far away from Christ’s beloved community. That there is much truth left to be boldly told. There is much justice left to be compassionately and powerfully ministered. <br />
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God have mercy.<br />
God have mercy.<br />
God have mercy.<br />
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And God, use us to do so.<br />
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Christ Church Cathedral has not been an easy place to go to church. It has not been an easy community to be the church. And thank God. Easy is siding with the Pharisee. Easy is going along with the crowd. Easy is avoiding the conflict, playing it safe, and thinking diversity ends by just having a few token others in the room. <br />
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I have come back this Sunday to begin to say goodbye. And that means things will change here at Christ Church Cathedral. But what will remain the same is Christ’s call on us – on you and on me. And that is a call wherever we are to bring those of us who are most on the margins into the center and to let those voices be the church’s teachers and leaders. To reject this pervasive culture of coercive shame and embrace a life of extravagant love, liberation and hospitality for all. To choose justice over respectability. The way of Jesus over the way of the Pharisee.<br />
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This mission did not begin with my arrival and does not end with my departure. <br />
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This message I offer to you this morning is nothing more than a reflection back of what you have shown me these past seven years. You have lived this. You are living this. You have shown me Jesus in ways I can never forget. In ways that have changed me forever. And from the bottom of my heart and the depths of my soul all I can say is I thank you, and I love you. Amen.</div>
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Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-71294478008115768562016-03-27T07:04:00.000-07:002016-04-07T12:06:51.414-07:00"Say Her Name" -- a sermon for Easter Sunday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral at 8 am on Easter Sunday March 27, 2016.</i></span></b><br />
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Jesus said to her, ‘Mary!”<br />
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In the name of the risen Christ, Amen.<br />
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Jesus said her name.<br />
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Mary.<br />
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There is something powerful about saying the name.<br />
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Names are about identity. Names are about value. <br />
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Names help us honor people but more than that they make it harder for us to dismiss people. They make it harder to turn people into faceless statistics or anecdotes. <br />
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Not, “someone got killed last night” but “Mary got killed last night.”<br />
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“Someone” is anonymous, not worthy of our attention or care.<br />
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Mary is somebody’s mother, daughter, sister, lover, friend.<br />
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When we baptize, we say the name. <br />
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Mary, I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.<br />
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When we bury, we say the name. <br />
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We commend to Almighty God our sister Mary, and we commit her body to the ground.<br />
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When Jesus calls us, he says the name. <br />
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Mary stood weeping at the tomb. <br />
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At first, Jesus said “Woman.” And she did not recognize him. She did not recognize him because she knew that Jesus saw her as more than just “woman.” More than just one interchangeable part among legions. <br />
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Jesus said, “Woman” – a functional label and then asked a functional question “whom are you looking for” to which she gave a functional answer “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him.”<br />
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And then Jesus said her name.<br />
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Mary.<br />
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Mary.<br />
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Mary.<br />
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And she saw that it was Jesus. <br />
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And the tears stopped. Or maybe they continued all the more. <br />
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And she dove into Jesus’ arms. <br />
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And she knew that Jesus who was lost was not lost at all.<br />
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She knew that Jesus who had died had risen again.<br />
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She knew that against all hope, against all odds, against all possibilities that she had seen the Lord. and that the hope, the light, the life he brought was for her.<br />
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All because Jesus said her name.<br />
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Mary.<br />
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Mary.<br />
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Mary.<br />
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We can believe in the joy of Easter. We can believe that Jesus died on the cross. That his body was laid in the tomb. We can believe that on Sunday morning, the stone was rolled away, and the body was gone. We can believe that he appeared to his disciples, and that he really did rise from the dead.<br />
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We can believe everything about Easter, and still it doesn’t matter unless we believe it is for us.<br />
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Unless we believe that the love that was so powerful that even death couldn’t kill it is for us.<br />
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Unless we believe that Jesus says our name, too.<br />
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Now I can tell you that he does.<br />
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I can tell you that as you stand weeping. As you wonder if it’s all been worth it. As you wonder if any of your life means anything. I can tell you that as you grieve over loss and pain and death in your own life that Jesus is standing there with you calling your name. <br />
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I can tell you that Easter means that Jesus is standing with you in your tears and saying:<br />
<br />
Keith<br />
<br />
Kris<br />
<br />
Elizabeth.<br />
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Sharole.<br />
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I can tell you that, and I absolutely believe it. And maybe me saying it will help. Maybe you will even believe it, maybe you will even trust it, too.<br />
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But Jesus didn’t think that was enough. Jesus told Mary to go and tell the other disciples what she had seen. But he didn’t leave it there. He appeared to the disciples and said “as the Father has sent me, even so I send you.” He appeared to Peter on the beach and said “Do you love me? Feed my sheep.”<br />
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Being Easter people isn’t just believing a proposition. It isn’t just saying “Christ is risen, Alleluia!”<br />
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Being Easter people is being sent as Jesus is sent – into a world full of people sure they are being forgotten. It is loving as Jesus loves – deeply, passionately, individually.<br />
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Being Jesus is about saying her name. <br />
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This glorious morning, I hope you hear Jesus saying your name. I hope in whatever state you came into this space, you hear Jesus meeting you right where you are and calling you by name. Not only in the Gospel reading or in the prayers or in the smell of the lilies … but in this community. <br />
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I hope you hear Jesus saying your name because you have taken the time to share it and someone here has taken the time to learn it. <br />
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I hope you leave this place having heard Jesus say your name and remembering how that felt. Remembering how it feels to be honored by your name and not dismissed as faceless or anonymous. <br />
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And having heard Jesus say our names, I hope we take this Easter joy out into the streets, out into our lives. I hope we are sent as God sent Jesus. I hope out of love for Christ we feed Christ’s sheep.<br />
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I hope we remember the power of the name. <br />
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And that when we meet someone in pain, we say her name. <br />
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And when we see someone in poverty, we say her name.<br />
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And when we see someone sitting in brutal loneliness, we say her name.<br />
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And when we see someone abused, when we see someone who has been profiled and targeted, someone who has rejected and defamed, someone who has been reduced to a class, a gender or a color we say her name.<br />
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When we hear someone has died, we do not let her pass anonymously into the arms of God, we say her name. <br />
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There is something powerful about saying the name.<br />
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Names are about identity. Names are about value. <br />
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Mary stood outside the empty tomb. But Easter didn’t begin until Jesus said her name. <br />
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Remember the power of the name. <br />
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The power of the name to make the invisible visible.<br />
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The power of the name to bring the hopeless hope.<br />
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The power of the name to turn a faceless them into an exquisite us.<br />
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Jesus said her name.<br />
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Jesus says your name.<br />
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And if we are to be the body of the Risen Christ, we must say each other’s names as well.<br />
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So that when we do, each person, named and loved, will know that against all hope, against all odds, against all possibilities that she has seen the Lord. Amen.</div>
Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-91920802716453547212016-03-26T21:04:00.000-07:002016-03-27T05:12:18.310-07:00"Our defiant cry: 'The Light of Christ'" -- a sermon for the Great Vigil of Easter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral at the Easter Vigil, March 26, 2016.</i></span></b><br />
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The light of Christ! Thanks be to God.<br />
<br />
We began this night – about six or seven hours ago – on the steps of this Cathedral. <br />
<br />
The steps of Christ Church Cathedral are a threshold. They are a hinge. They are the place where the world meets the church and the church meets the world. <br />
<br />
If what we do in here has no relation to what happens out there – then there is no point to any of it. <br />
<br />
If what happens out there has no relation to what happens in here – then there is no hope for any of it.<br />
<br />
Standing on that threshold, that hinge between the church and the world, we can see the glorious $70 million renovation of Central Library, the $110 million renovation of the Park Pacific. We can see a refurbished Lucas Park with a great shiny playground, and we can hear the activity of the restaurants and street life on Washington Avenue. <br />
<br />
We can also see evidence of the deteriorating infrastructure of St. Louis, where the water main outside the Cathedral has broken three times already this year. We see a sign we put up asking people not to congregate on those same Cathedral steps when we are not open because they had become a place where people were meeting at night to sell K2, the newest cheapest street drug. We see where members of this community who have nowhere else to lay their heads curl themselves into the alcoves of the Cathedral for makeshift shelter at night. <br />
<br />
Standing on our Cathedral steps, we can gaze up at a penthouse apartment and gaze down on a concrete cot. <br />
<br />
Standing on our Cathedral steps, we can hear the glorious sound of organ and the sweet sound of choir and the shrill sound of sirens and the sharp sounds of street arguments.<br />
<br />
Standing on our Cathedral steps we see and hear and even smell the entire spectrum of humanity. All our glory and all our shame. All our success and all our failure. All our wonder and all our brokenness. <br />
<br />
And standing in the midst of it, the words we sing this night are the words this Cathedral proclaims every day and every night.<br />
<br />
The light of Christ. Thanks be to God.<br />
<br />
For nearly 150 years, Christ Church Cathedral has stood on this space. When the cornerstone was first laid, this was a place for the wealthy and powerful. Lucas Place, the first private neighborhood in St. Louis, extended west along Locust Street. But by the end of the 19th century, the neighborhood had changed and St. Louis with it. The wealthy and powerful had moved west and most of the neighborhood churches had moved with them. <br />
<br />
Except Christ Church Cathedral. We stayed. <br />
<br />
We stayed in the heart of this city because the Gospel doesn’t follow the path of comfort. We stayed because as this neighborhood changed, one thing didn’t change – the need for Christ’s presence in it. The need for a place and a people to proclaim:<br />
<br />
The light of Christ. Thanks be to God.<br />
<br />
This is the night, we sing. God, this is the night when you brought our fathers and mothers, the children of Israel, out of bondage in Egypt, and led them through the Red Sea on dry land.<br />
<br />
This is the night, when Christ broke the bonds of death and hell and rose victorious from the grave.<br />
<br />
How blessed is this night, when earth and heaven are joined and we are reconciled to God. <br />
<br />
As darkness falls this night, we sing: <br />
<br />
May Christ, the Morning Star who knows no setting, find it ever burning – he who gives his light to all creation and who lives and reigns for ever and ever. <br />
<br />
The light of Christ. Thanks be to God.<br />
<br />
St. Louis is in trouble. We are in a Lent, a deep desert time, that seems to have no end. We are being called the most dangerous city in America. For decades and more we have been one of the most segregated metropolitan areas in this nation. For the past two years, our deep racial divides have been broadcast for all the world to see and yet so many in our own city still refuse to open our eyes to see them ourselves.<br />
<br />
Our schools are failing. Food deserts are expanding. Drugs and guns are everywhere. And we spent nearly $17 million on a plan to build a stadium for a team that didn’t even want to be here and a mount a campaign to repeal a tax that provides more than a third of this struggling city’s budget. <br />
<br />
There is an appalling lack of leadership and vision in this city. An appalling unwillingness to come together to do anything but cheer for the Cardinals and refurbish the Arch grounds. An appalling unwillingness to come together and let basic human decency and care for the common good trump political expediency and the grab for the quick vote or the quick buck.<br />
<br />
It is especially appalling because there are amazing, wonderful people in this city. Compassionate people. Brilliant people. But we have allowed ourselves to become hostage to our own parochialism. We have allowed ourselves to let a social Darwinism run amok become the defining and driving economic and cultural force. Our approach to our deepest problems increasingly is for those of us with power and wealth to try move away from the problems or move the problems away from us. To say not “we’re all in this together” but instead “Hey, I’ve got my own problems … that race, crime, poverty, education, unemployment, deteriorating buildings thing you all have in the city … good luck with that.” <br />
<br />
It is not worthy of us. It is not worthy of a great city. It is not worthy of a great people. It is not worthy of us as images of the living God. <br />
<br />
We began this night on the steps of this Cathedral. <br />
<br />
The steps of Christ Church Cathedral are a threshold. They are a hinge. They are the place where the world meets the church and the church meets the world. <br />
<br />
If what we do in here has no relation to what happens out there – then there is no point to any of it. <br />
<br />
If what happens out there has no relation to what happens in here – then there is no hope for any of it.<br />
<br />
The salvation history we hear this night is the story of God never giving up on the people even in our darkest hours. It is the story – OUR story – of triumph. Of liberation in the face of slavery. Of life in the face of death. <br />
<br />
St. Louis is in trouble. We are in a Lent, a deep desert time that seems to have no end. And yet after we hear the long story of God’s faithfulness, as sirens wail outside, we throw on the lights and we cry "Alleluia! Christ is Risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!"<br />
<br />
St. Louis is in trouble. And this is the night. It has to be. I don’t know how many nights we have left to keep these lights on. <br />
<br />
This is the night when we rededicate ourselves to doing what Christ Church Cathedral at our best has always done – <br />
<br />
defiantly standing against self-interest and parochialism, <br />
<br />
defiantly standing against the clamor for the easy vote and the quick buck, <br />
<br />
defiantly standing with those who are most oppressed, most targeted, most ridiculed, most marginalized<br />
<br />
calling all people to come together for the common good <br />
<br />
working together to solve our problems and not just pushing them around so they are out of sight and out of mind of those of us who could actually do something about them, not just pushing drug dealers away from our steps but actually addressing the underlying issues of hopelessness, mental illness and poverty that create the demand for drugs.<br />
<br />
Not waiting for leadership to somehow emerge from somewhere else to name our inequities and injustices and call us to a greater justice, a greater equity, a greater common purpose but taking that mantle of leadership on ourselves.<br />
<br />
Standing on those Cathedral steps – joining heaven to earth and earth to heaven -- staring into the darkness this is the night we with one voice defiantly cry “The light of Christ. Thanks be to God!”<br />
<br />
The salvation history we hear this night is the story of God never giving up on the people even in our darkest hours. It is the story – OUR story – of triumph. Of liberation in the face of slavery. Of life in the face of death. <br />
<br />
It is the story that reminds us that there is no darkness so deep that the light of Christ shining through us can’t dispel. <br />
<br />
It is the story that reminds us that there are no bonds so strong that the victory of Christ cannot break.<br />
<br />
It is the story that reminds us that there is no despair so great that the hope of Christ cannot dissolve.<br />
<br />
This is the night when we – not just the congregation that gathers here on Sunday, but all of us in this city and around this diocese -- continue to write the next chapter of that story. When in the midst of darkness we ask God once again to send God’s saving power into our lives, to liberate us from all that binds us, to heal all that wounds us and to shine a light from this place and from each one of us that will touch the hearts of all St. Louis. <br />
<br />
Not just any light. <br />
<br />
But THE light.<br />
<br />
The light of Christ.<br />
<br />
Thanks be to God.<br />
<br /></div>
Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-69288602659246672372016-03-25T16:06:00.001-07:002016-03-26T15:30:17.550-07:00"You Can't Stop the Revolution" - a sermon for Blues at the Crossroads of Good Friday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Repeat after me.<br />
<br />
You. <br />
<br />
Can’t. <br />
<br />
Stop. <br />
<br />
The Revolution.<br />
<br />
Louder.<br />
<br />
You. <br />
<br />
Can’t. <br />
<br />
Stop. <br />
<br />
The Revolution.<br />
<br />
Now clap.<br />
<br />
You. * Can’t. * Stop. The * Revolution.*<br />
<br />
You. * Can’t. * Stop. The * Revolution.*<br />
<br />
You. * Can’t. * Stop. The * Revolution.*<br />
<br />
You. * Can’t. * Stop. The * Revolution.*<br />
<br />
You. * Can’t. * Stop. The * Revolution.*<br />
<br />
You. * Can’t. * Stop. The * Revolution.*<br />
<br />
Amen.<br />
<br />
Please be seated.<br />
<br />
Sisters and brothers, we are here tonight to commit a revolutionary act.<br />
<br />
We are here to stand up when we are told to lie down.<br />
<br />
We are here to sing in the face of terror.<br />
<br />
We are here to weep when we are told to smile. <br />
<br />
We are here to lament when we are told to just shut up and go away already. <br />
<br />
We are here to claim a story that was meant to end us, a story that was meant to kill us, a story that was meant to terrify us into submission – we are here to claim it as our life, our strength and our victory over the very forces that would see us cower before them. <br />
<br />
Friends, just by coming together in this place, we are committing an act of resistance, an act of revolution. <br />
<br />
And the revolution will not be stopped.<br />
<br />
This Good Friday night, we hear the story of how Jesus was executed by the state in an act of terrorism. That’s what it was, you know. Crucifixion was state sponsored terrorism. It wasn’t just about killing someone. If you were a Roman citizen and the state decided it wanted to kill you, there were quicker, more private, more humane ways it was done. No, crucifixion was reserved for the oppressed and occupied people. Crucifixion was reserved for the people who needed to be kept in line, who needed to be put in their place. <br />
<br />
The purpose of crucifixion was not just state sponsored murder but state sponsored terrorism. To kill someone so horribly, so publically, so gruesomely, so terrifyingly that nobody else would dream of raising their voice or anything else against the empire. Crucifixion was torturous death on the grandest public stage. And the message of crucifixion to the masses was clear and unambiguous:<br />
<br />
We have the power. You have none. <br />
Be very afraid. Because you are next.<br />
<br />
The purpose of crucifixion was to terrorize the people. <br />
<br />
The purpose of crucifixion was to stop the revolution.<br />
<br />
And Jesus? Well Jesus was a revolutionary. Jesus was a revolutionary because he took those most on the margins, those most abandoned, most despised, most oppressed, and he put them in the center and said “What would you have me do for you?”<br />
<br />
Jesus was a revolutionary because he spoke truth to power and not just any truth but truth that exposed the lies and frauds of the powerful. Truth that set the powerless free.<br />
<br />
Jesus was a revolutionary because he tore down the idols and false gods that were set up to control and enslave the people and lifted up the militant nonviolent love of the one, true God whose only dream is to liberate the people.<br />
<br />
Jesus was a revolutionary because he loved in the face of hate, he embraced in the face of exclusion, he brought life in the face of death.<br />
<br />
Jesus was a revolutionary and revolutionaries are dangerous. Revolutionaries are a threat. Revolutionaries can change hearts with a touch, can topple empires with a word. Revolutionaries can bring down the mighty from their seats and exalt the humble and meek.<br />
<br />
Jesus was a revolutionary. <br />
<br />
He reminded people that even though Caesar’s image was on the coin, that God’s image was on them. <br />
<br />
That even though the state told them their lives didn’t matter, that God said their lives mattered more than could be measured. <br />
<br />
Jesus turned his face toward Jerusalem, toward the chief priests, the scribes, the Pharisees and the centurions and proclaimed in a loud voice that the whole damn system was guilty as hell but that he knew that they would win because the people united would never be defeated. Jesus was a revolutionary.<br />
<br />
And Jesus did what revolutionaries do – he took to the streets. That’s right. Jesus and his followers shut down a highway … one of the main roads heading into Jerusalem. And they shouted Hosanna! Hosanna! Whose streets? Our streets! Whose streets? Our streets? Jesus was a revolutionary. <br />
<br />
And Jesus did what revolutionaries do – he went to the center of power. <br />
<br />
That’s right.<br />
<br />
He went right into the temple and said, “How dare you take this place, this place that belongs to the people. This place where the very presence of God meets the people on whom God’s image rests. How dare you take this and use it for your own power and privilege. How dare you use it to oppress and imprison God’s very image. And knowing that people matter far more than property, that economic damage is insignificant compared with the horror of the oppression of an entire race of people, he overturned the tables and made a whip of cords and drove the moneychangers out of the house of God. Jesus was a revolutionary. <br />
<br />
Jesus was a revolutionary, and revolutionaries are dangerous. Revolutionaries must be made an example of. Revolutionaries must not only be killed, they must be killed so horribly, so publicly, so gruesomely, so terrifyingly that nobody else would dream of raising their voice or anything else against the empire.<br />
<br />
Jesus was a revolutionary, and so he was crucified because that’s how you stop a revolution.<br />
<br />
Or so they thought.<br />
<br />
But the revolution did not end. <br />
<br />
They turned the crowds against him and had them shout: “Crucify him! Crucify him!”<br />
<br />
And the revolution did not end.<br />
<br />
They whipped him and they beat him and they spat on him.<br />
<br />
And the revolution did not end.<br />
<br />
They strapped a beam to his back and made him walk with his last ounce of strength to his own public execution.<br />
<br />
And still the revolution did not end.<br />
<br />
They pierced his hands and his feet with nails and his side with a spear. They gave him vinegar to drink and put a mocking sign over his head. They scared his disciples, other than a few incredibly brave and faithful women, into cowering in the shadows. And when they were done, when they had finally killed him, they sealed his broken, lifeless body in a tomb, rolled a stone over it and put a guard outside it just to be sure.<br />
<br />
And still the revolution <br />
<br />
did <br />
<br />
not <br />
<br />
end.<br />
<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
Why didn’t it end? The state did everything right. They beat him. They pierced him. They humiliated him. They drove the people in terror into hiding. It should have worked. Why didn’t it end?<br />
<br />
Because the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.<br />
<br />
Why didn’t it end?<br />
<br />
Because instead of fearing a crucified Christ, we proclaim a crucified Christ… Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. <br />
<br />
Why didn’t it end?<br />
<br />
Because You. Can’t. Stop. The Revolution.<br />
<br />
Friends, the revolution continues. And the powers of hell will never prevail against it. And the truth we proclaim tonight. The truth that has always been true since that terrible day on Calvary. The truth that can set us free. The truth that will either loose our chains or bind them tighter is this:<br />
<br />
The only thing that can stop this revolution is us. <br />
<br />
The only thing that can stop this revolution is if we abandon the Gospel and cross of Jesus the Christ.<br />
<br />
The only thing that can stop this revolution is if we decide we care more about respectability than justice.<br />
<br />
The only thing that can stop this revolution is if we decide we care more about being a friend of the state than being a prophet to the state.<br />
<br />
The only thing that can stop this revolution is if we decide we care more about safety and survival than standing with Jesus.<br />
<br />
And whom does Jesus stand with? Whoever is most oppressed. Whoever is most targeted. Whoever is most ridiculed. Whoever is most marginalized. <br />
<br />
That’s where Jesus is. That’s where Jesus is right now. And the question before us this night. The question before us this night where we hear this story that is supposed to terrify us but instead inspires us. The question before us this night is if that is where Jesus is, with the oppressed, the targeted, the ridiculed, the marginalized. <br />
<br />
If that is where Jesus is…<br />
<br />
Where. <br />
<br />
Are.<br />
<br />
We?<br />
<br />
We gather tonight to sing the blues at this crossroads of Good Friday. And it is well that we should. It is well that we should because there is much to lament. <br />
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In the words of our sister, Traci Blackmon, "we lament the acceptable invisibility of black children, of black babies.<br />
<br />
"We lament the criminalization of poverty and of people who do not have access to excessive resources.<br />
<br />
"We lament that we live in a nation and a city where it is acceptable for many to have a whole lot and for many more to not have enough<br />
<br />
"We lament that black girls and black boys get a substandard education and then get blamed for not being able to get a job.<br />
<br />
"We lament that neighborhoods are criminalized and villainized because they are populated by black people.<br />
<br />
"We lament that black boys and black girls living in poverty are not able to have recreational resources and facilities, and then because they are still brilliant and ingenious, they create their own collaboratives on street corners and in alleys and in streetways, and then have those areas victimized and villainized and criminalized."<br />
<br />
And that's not all...<br />
<br />
We lament that we support a rabidly insane culture in this nation that sells power to black people and fear to white people in the form of a gun. <br />
<br />
We lament that state sponsored terrorism is alive and well in the mass incarceration and extrajudicial killing of young black women and men.<br />
<br />
We lament that economic slavery is alive and well as people and municipalities with power and privilege squeeze the labor out of black bodies through suppressing minimum wages and through balancing municipal budgets on their backs.<br />
<br />
We gather tonight to sing the blues at this crossroads of Good Friday. And it is well that we should. But not only because there is much to lament, but because we as the church are at a crossroads. And the question before us is the old blues question of the crossroads:<br />
<br />
Will we make a deal with the devil or will we stand with the Christ?<br />
<br />
When the killing of Michael Brown and his body lying in the streets for four and half hours finally drove me out into the streets – and I say finally because I went out there much, much, much too late. But when I did, I met incredible young black women and men who got in my face. <br />
<br />
They were not impressed with my color or with my collar. <br />
<br />
They told me that my talk was cheap. And they had had enough of that.<br />
<br />
They told me that I had been in my church praying while they were out there dying. And they had had enough of that.<br />
<br />
They told me that I had been caring more about preserving my respectability and policing their profane language than about working for justice and ending the profane conditions in which they had been living. And they had certainly had enough of that.<br />
<br />
They said, “You want to help? Then don’t come out here and preach at us. Come out here and stand with us. Stand against the tear gas and the rubber bullets. Stand against the pepper spray and the riot gear. Stand up and speak out. Amplify our voices. Do your white folk work. Give away your power and let us lead.”<br />
<br />
We gather tonight to sing the blues at this crossroads of Good Friday because we as the church are at a crossroads. And the question before us is the old blues question of the crossroads:<br />
<br />
Will we make a deal with the devil or will we stand with the Christ?<br />
<br />
Jesus is a revolutionary … and he is alive and well. He is out in the streets right now. He is standing up and he is shutting it down. And he is waiting for his church to get it together. He is waiting for his church to leave the comfort of our buildings and to get out there and join him. To toss Caesar’s coins back in his face, overturn tables and start making whips of cords. To meet oppression with militant nonviolent love. <br />
<br />
Jesus is a revolutionary … and he is alive and well. And he is standing where he always stands, with the oppressed, the targeted, the ridiculed and the marginalized. <br />
<br />
Jesus is a revolutionary … and he is leading the fight for freedom. And he bids us to get out of our comfortable pews and join him. <br />
<br />
The devil is telling us to play it safe. The devil is telling us that if we play it safe we can keep our buildings and our reputations. That people in high places will say nice things about us. That we can keep our seats of honor at banquets and places of privilege in the public square.<br />
<br />
Jesus is telling us those things are nothing but finely gilded prisons and they have been keeping us bound for far too long – and that we need to have had enough of that.<br />
<br />
Jesus is a revolutionary … and he is telling us that we need to lay it all on the line because truly we have nothing to lose but our chains.<br />
<br />
We gather tonight to sing the blues at this crossroads of Good Friday because we as the church are at a crossroads. <br />
<br />
As we tell the story of the cross, will we celebrate that together we can leave everything behind and carry that cross with him and with each other, counting all things as loss compared with the surpassing excellence of knowing Christ Jesus our Lord? <br />
<br />
As we hear the nails pounded into his flesh, will we celebrate that the worst the world could offer could not stop the revolution then, and that the baton is being passed to us?<br />
<br />
As we see his body laid in the tomb will we proclaim with one voice that that body is us, that the tomb is not the end, and that this party is just getting started?<br />
<br />
As we leave this place will we go not to the comfort of our homes but into the streets. Will we not hoard power for ourselves but give it away to a new generation of young, black, queer, profane leaders. Will we live in such away that even agents of the empire will, like the centurion, look on us and say “truly this is the Son of God?”<br />
<br />
Because, friends, that is who we are.<br />
<br />
We are the Body of Christ.<br />
<br />
We are the revolution.<br />
<br />
And as long as we remember that, the revolution will never be stopped. <br />
<br /></div>
Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-55897494301348711702016-03-24T17:21:00.000-07:002016-03-24T17:54:52.462-07:00"Table manners" -- a sermon for Maundy Thursday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Maundy Thursday, March 24, 2016.</i></span></b><br />
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<i>For as often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.</i><br />
<br />
From our earliest moments, almost all of us know how to do two things. <br />
<br />
We know how to breathe and we know how to eat. <br />
<br />
The first we do on our own. We suck in great lungfulls of air and then let out loud cries, still traumatized and fearful from the transition from the womb into the outside world. <br />
<br />
The second we can’t do on our own. We need someone else. A mother. A father. A nurse. A midwife. Someone who can put us to the breast or to the bottle and then almost always, instinct takes over. We begin to suckle. We begin to feed. <br />
<br />
For most of us, feeding – and the sensations that come with it – being held securely and womblike, the warmth of skin on skin – are our first experience of love, of acceptance, of safety. More powerful than any words, we get the message – this is for you. You are not alone. There is another to sustain you. <br />
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To protect you. <br />
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To love you.<br />
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Or alternately, not.<br />
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Feeding and being fed is the central act of being human in community. It is why every major celebration, be it a birthday or a wedding or a funeral or a graduation, involves communal eating. It is why families eating together are directly correlated to them living well together. It is why Thanksgiving dinner can be a glorious celebration or a treacherous minefield. And it is why eating disorders and the body shaming that so often accompanies them are so destructive. <br />
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Because eating cuts to the heart not just of how we survive but our very feelings of worthiness to survive.<br />
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Feeding and being fed is how we include. <br />
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Feeding and being fed is how we exclude as well.<br />
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Our earliest and most deeply ingrained purity codes revolve around sex and food – two acts that are about intimacy, biological drive, creation, sustenance and even deep celebration and joy. Two acts that that can be used to wound and destroy as much as they can be used to heal and restore. Just as historically human beings have included and excluded based on sexual norms, we also include and exclude based on what foods we eat and on whom we allow to sit at table. <br />
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Feeding and being fed are what defines who “the us” is. Because on a primal, embodied level, feeding and being fed are how we say not just “this (an item of food) is for you” but “this (the community) is for you” as well. <br />
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The table defines the community. The community is defined by the table. <br />
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What is eaten. Who is served.<br />
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What is not eaten. Who is not served.<br />
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Who is embraced. Who is shamed.<br />
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We see this today here at Christ Church Cathedral. Before we gather at table for the Eucharistic prayer this evening, I will remind us that “this is Christ’s table and all may approach.” Some may choose to approach to partake in the food. Some may choose to approach and receive a blessing. But all may approach. <br />
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We make a powerful statement by this invitation. One that is rooted in our scripture and the historic faith of the church that God so loved the WHOLE WORLD that God became human in Jesus the Christ and gave himself up not just for some of us but for all.<br />
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Tonight, we hear one of the earliest pieces of Christian scripture – the account of the last supper in Paul’s first letter to the Church in Corinth. Paul hands on to the community what he received from the risen Christ, “that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, ‘This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’ In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.’”<br />
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It is one of the most profound and defining pieces of theology in all of history. Jesus as the host of the table saying that he is both the server and the meal. Both the one that provides and the sustenance itself. Both the giver and what is given. <br />
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This is my body that is for you, you plural. All of you.<br />
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This cup is the new covenant in my blood. No longer the blood of the Passover lamb for the liberation of just the people of Israel, but as Paul knows as much as anyone the blood of the lamb of God for the liberation of all people, Jew and Gentile, woman and man, slave and free. <br />
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The Eucharist is the great equalizer. The great unifier. That all may be one as the Christ and the Father are one through the power of the Holy Spirit. Not just a meal, not even just a liturgy but the very ground of our being. <br />
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As St. Augustine said to those gazing on these holy gifts: “Be what you see, receive who you are.”<br />
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If only it were that easy.<br />
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If only it were as easy as saying all may approach.<br />
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If only it were as easy as all of us coming together around this table like Dr. Seuss’ Whos down in Whoville singing on Christmas morn. <br />
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If only it were as easy as just saying “here, lay your life on this table and receive new life in return.”<br />
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If only it were as easy as just saying “be what you see, receive who you are.”<br />
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But it’s not. It isn’t now and it wasn’t then.<br />
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Paul relays these words about the Eucharist to the Corinthians not because they are doing it right but because they are getting it wrong. The Corinthian church is a struggling church. They are struggling with division and diversity. They are struggling with competing agendas. They are struggling with strong appetites and preferences and the powerful gravitational pull of human frailty.<br />
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Just before the reading we heard this evening, just before Paul hands on this story of the meal that he received from the Lord, Paul writes this:<br />
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“Now in the following instructions I do not commend you, because when you come together it is not for the better but for the worse. For, to begin with, when you come together as a church, I hear that there are divisions among you; and to some extent I believe it. Indeed, there have to be factions among you, for only so will it become clear who among you are genuine. When you come together, it is not really to eat the Lord’s supper. For when the time comes to eat, each of you goes ahead with your own supper, and one goes hungry and another becomes drunk. What! Do you not have homes to eat and drink in? Or do you show contempt for the church of God and humiliate those who have nothing? What should I say to you? Should I commend you? In this matter I do not commend you!”<br />
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There are some bad table manners going on in Corinth. Because the people of the church in Corinth are forgetting. They are forgetting that this meal is not about them, not about the individual, the needs and wants of the one. They are forgetting that like the love of Christ itself, this meal is always about the love that is always reaching outward, always giving of itself, always caring more for the other than for itself. <br />
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The Corinthians are forgetting that when they eat of this bread and drink of this cup, they not only remember Christ they are re-membered – literally knit together as the body of Christ themselves. That they are given for the life of the world. That, as former Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams preached, when you are receiving the bread and wine, the body and blood of Christ, you must have excellent peripheral vision. You must see the people being fed on either side of you and ask Jesus not just to feed you but to make you a part of feeding them as well.<br />
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The Corinthians are forgetting that the bread and the wine were just one part of that meal. That “after supper, Jesus got up from table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. And that when he was done he said, ‘So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet” you also ought to wash one another’s feet…. I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you’ – intimately, passionately, with my body, with my blood, touching the dirt on your feet and caressing them with love – ‘Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.’” <br />
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There are some bad table manners going on at Corinth because they are forgetting not only that Jesus is both server and meal. Both the one that provides and the sustenance itself. They are forgetting not only that Jesus is both the giver and what is given … but that as the Body of Christ…<br />
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So. Are. They.<br />
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And so we gather together this night to do the most primal act of human community. To share a meal. But not just any meal. A meal where Jesus offers us bread and wine and says “this is for you. I am for you.” A meal where we are bid to have excellent peripheral vision and to gaze on our sisters and brothers and be what we see and receive who we are and say one to another “this is for you. I am for you.”<br />
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And like the Corinthian church we are struggling church. We are struggling with division and diversity. We are struggling with competing agendas. We are struggling with strong appetites and preferences and the powerful gravitational pull of human frailty.<br />
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And, thankfully God is infinitely patient.<br />
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Because like those Corinthians, we struggle with our table manners. We struggle because we are so human. We struggle because we forget. We forget that this meal is not about us, not about the individual, the needs and wants of the one. We forget that, like the love of Christ itself, this meal is always about the love that is always reaching outward, always giving of itself, always caring more for the other than for itself.<br />
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Like those Corinthians, we forget that when we eat of this bread and drink of this cup, we not only remember Christ, we are re-membered – literally knit together as the Body of Christ ourselves. And that we need the full diversity of all God’s children truly to become that Body. And that as that body, we do not exist for ourselves but we are, just like Christ, given for the life of the world.<br />
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Tonight we commit a revolutionary act. Tonight we remember and are remembered. Tonight we invite all to the table and say “This is for you. I am for you.” Tonight we are what we see. We receive who we are. Tonight we wash each other’s feet and touch and caress and love the long, hard journeys we each have traveled.<br />
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Tonight we hear the story, and break the bread and share the cup and we proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes. Tonight we remember that Jesus is both server and meal. Both the one that provides and the sustenance itself. That Jesus is both the giver and what is given. And that as the Body of Christ…<br />
<br />
So.<br />
<br />
Are.<br />
<br />
We.</div>
Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-86891449780033718212016-03-23T06:15:00.000-07:002016-03-23T06:24:55.738-07:00"Betrayal" - a sermon for Wednesday in Holy Week<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Wednesday in Holy Week, March 23, 2016.</i></span></b></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Very truly I tell you. One of you will betray me.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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I wonder if this wasn’t the most painful part of the passion for Jesus. </div>
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More than the nails.</div>
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More than the spear.</div>
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More than the fear.</div>
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Betrayal.</div>
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Betrayal is a pain like no other. </div>
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Betrayal is deep and searing.</div>
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Betrayal is crushing and disorienting.</div>
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Betrayal turns us inside out and upside down. It takes that which we trusted most and turns it against us. Takes the warmest embrace of safety and turns it into the coldest steel blade piercing our heart. </div>
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Judas was one of Jesus’ closest friends, one of Jesus’ most intimate confidants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Jesus had said “follow me” and Judas had followed. When things got rough and others had left, Judas had stayed. </div>
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In all the world, there were only a handful<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of people that Jesus truly trusted, and Judas was one of them.</div>
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And Judas betrayed him. </div>
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Not some nameless informant.</div>
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Not his traditional nemeses the chief priest and the Pharisees.</div>
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But Judas.</div>
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His friend.</div>
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The betrayal is perhaps not only the most painful but the most overlooked part of the passion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are drawn to and repulsed by the horror of the nails and the spear, but we are also removed from that. Most of us will never know that horror. For most of us, the cross is symbol and metaphor.</div>
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But betrayal?</div>
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Betrayal is one of our greatest fears. Betrayal is one of our deepest pains.</div>
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Betrayal is what keeps us up at night. </div>
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Images of our lover in another’s embrace.</div>
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Sounds of a treasured friend whispering against us across a restaurant table.</div>
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The moment of revelation that that supportive hand on your back was actually holding a knife.</div>
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Betrayal leaves scars that run more deeply and heal more slowly than any other wound. </div>
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Betrayal robs us of trust. </div>
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Betrayal makes us question our lovability, our worthiness, our very sanity.</div>
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Jesus was betrayed. Betrayed by one of his own.</div>
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And because of that, for us this Holy Week, there are at least two truths of which we can be sure.</div>
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The first is that Jesus knows that pain. That means if you have been betrayed. If you have known that pain. If you are haunted by those images and voices, you can know that you are not alone. That you share that pain with the one who bears all our pain, Jesus the Christ.</div>
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That doesn’t make the pain go away. It doesn’t even make it hurt less. But it does mean even in the searing pain of betrayal, you will never be alone.</div>
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The second is that Jesus didn’t stop loving.</div>
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Betrayal makes us ultimately vulnerable … and so betrayal tempts us to close up. To not let anyone else in. To not give anyone else the opportunity ever to hurt us again. </div>
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Betrayal tempts us to close ourselves off. To not trust anyone else with our love lest that love get turned against us in betrayal once more.</div>
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Jesus was betrayed with a kiss. And he responded with a kiss. He felt the pain, bore it all, and continued to love, loved all the way to death, even death on a cross.</div>
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Today as we prepare for the end. </div>
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Today as we prepare for the final meal, the washing of the feet, the loneliness of the garden and the agony of the cross.</div>
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Today as we stand on the precipice of the great three days, let us hear this story and remember. </div>
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Remember that Jesus was betrayed.</div>
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That Jesus was betrayed and stands with us bearing the pain of all our betrayals. </div>
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That Jesus was betrayed and pleads with us to stand with him in all our vulnerability.<br />
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That Jesus was betrayed and it was not the end. It was only the beginning. Amen.</div>
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Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-27689270806927673902016-03-13T12:24:00.001-07:002016-03-13T12:26:13.736-07:00"What Honors God?" -- a sermon for the fifth Sunday of Lent<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, March 13, 2016.</i></span></b><br />
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What honors God? <br />
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Over and over again in the Gospels, Jesus raises the question: “What honors God?”<br />
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He asks it of Pharisees and Sadducees. Of disciples and detractors. A week from this Thursday night in Gethsemane, with his life in the balance, he will even pose it to God herself.<br />
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Not “What do I like?”<br />
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Not “What makes me feel comfortable?”<br />
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Not “What is the easiest?” or “What makes me feel strong and superior?” Not even “What makes the most sense?”<br />
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But “What honors God?” <br />
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What makes the divine heart dance? What makes the divine voice shout for joy? What makes the divine eye beam with pride?<br />
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What honors God?<br />
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It’s a hard question to answer. Because God is love, what honors God is always about love, and there isn’t a messier, slipperier creature in heaven or earth than love. <br />
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We know that, don't we? We know from our own experience that love doesn’t make things easier and simpler. Love makes things harder. Love complicates everything. Love makes things really, really, messy. <br />
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And so sometimes the only way to start. Sometimes the only way to try to answer the question “What honors God?” is to start with what doesn’t. To start with the places where the very stones beneath us cry out: NOT THIS.<br />
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That’s how I felt on Friday morning. <br />
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On Friday morning I stood with some other members of our Cathedral community and a small group of others outside the Peabody Opera House. We had come to stand in support of our Muslim sisters and brothers and against the hatred and fearmongering of Donald Trump, who two days earlier had declared on national television that “Islam hates us” – using his considerable pulpit to mischaracterize and sow fear about that ancient religion in the hearts of millions of Americans. <br />
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The line for the rally was thousands of people long. It wound around blocks. It was old and it was young. And periodically the crowd would break into a chant of: <br />
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“Build that wall. <br />
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“Build that wall.” <br />
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A huge crowd of people, many of them in their teens and 20s and even children who couldn’t be more than five years old pumping their fists in the air chanting:<br />
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“Build that wall. <br />
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“Build that wall.”<br />
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And I was filled with an overpowering sadness. A sadness that seemed to well up not only from deep inside but even from beyond my body. <br />
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This was not about political disagreement. This was not about Trump or Cruz, Clinton or Sanders. This was not even a spirited debate on immigration policy. This was about human beings, created in the image of God, gleefully -- gleefully proclaiming that other images of God were less than they were. That other images of God were to be feared and hated because of the color of the image of God they were, because of the name of the God they worshipped, and because they had dared to raise their voices and demand our nation actually live up to Emma Lazarus’ plea to “give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”<br />
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I was filled with overpowering sadness because I could feel God weeping for all of God’s children in that moment.. How broken we are. How trapped in false dichotomies of us and them. How those on the margins instead of being embraced were being pushed further and further and further out.<br />
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And I thought of Jesus’ question, “What honors God?” And in that moment I was sure of one thing. <br />
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Not this.<br />
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Not this hatred. Not this fear. Not this building of walls and sharpening of swords. <br />
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What honors God? <br />
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Not this. Definitely, not this.<br />
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And as I stood there with “Not this. Not this. Not this.” pounding with every beat of my heart, I was tempted to despair. I really was. The chanting crowd seemed like a tidal wave and how could we stand against it.… and then I remembered the Gospel reading for this morning. <br />
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And I was filled with hope. <br />
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Because I remembered Mary’s answer to the question. <br />
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I remembered what honors God.<br />
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In this morning’s Gospel, Jesus is at the most vulnerable point of his life so far. He has traveled long and far and loved so boldly that he knows that powers of the world are preparing to take him out. His ministry is over. All that is left for him is the journey into Jerusalem to die.<br />
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And so he takes refuge with those dearest to him. With Lazarus, Mary and Martha and yes, with Judas. And that’s where a scene unlike any this side of the Song of Solomon and Fifty Shades of Grey plays out. <br />
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Mary takes a pound of the most expensive perfume. Now this ain’t something she got from <a href="http://ismellgreat.com/">ISmellGreat.com</a>. This is like Chanel Grand Extrait -- $4,200 an ounce. The whole bottle is worth an entire year’s salary. And Mary doesn’t just dab some on Jesus. She slips off his sandals, and takes his feet – feet that are dirty and dusty and cracked and sore from walking so many miles – she takes his feet and cradles them in her hands and then lavishly pours all the perfume all over them and lovingly massages those feet with her long fingers digging deep into them until both her hands and his feet are glistening wet and yielding to the touch.<br />
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Then looking at him lovingly, she caresses his feet over and over again with her long hair, soaking up all the perfume until her hair is dripping and his feet are dry and soft and radiant.<br />
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And the fragrance of the perfume fills the room, overflowing into the nostrils of every person at the table – and probably into their shocked, gaping open mouths as well. Captivating them in this dance. Because that’s what it is. An extravagant. Passionate. Loving. Dance.<br />
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This is not an ordinary act of hospitality. This is extravagant. This is intimate. This is sensual. <br />
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This is Mary, Jesus … for God’s sake, get a room!<br />
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Jesus is facing his death. He is about to go into Jerusalem where he will be betrayed and beaten, crucified and killed. And Mary meets Jesus at his most extreme marginalization and vulnerability and loneliness. And she meets him not with fear or anger or hatred – but with deep, slippery, sensual, messy, extravagant love.<br />
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Love that is unexpected. <br />
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Love that flouts conventional wisdom. <br />
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Love that offends sensibilities and defies purity codes. <br />
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Love that can be mistaken for nothing else but divine love, the same passionate, extravagant love that will lead Jesus out that door and place those same feet on the road to Calvary. <br />
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Why? <br />
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Why would Mary love Jesus so extravagantly? <br />
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So passionately? <br />
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So messily??<br />
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Because that’s what honors God.<br />
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What honors God is when deep pain is met with extravagant love. <br />
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What honors God is taking the best we have and meeting Christ at his most vulnerable knowing that the face of Christ always rests on those who are the most vulnerable, are the most marginalized, are the most condemned.<br />
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What honors God offends our sensibilities. It seems impractical, even crazy. <br />
<br />
It is O’Henry’s Gift of the Magi. <br />
<br />
It is the “with all that I have and all that I am, I honor you” of the marriage service.<br />
<br />
What honors God is loving one another the way God loves us, the way God loves you -- extravagant, passionate, intimate, crazy, wild love. <br />
<br />
And no wall shall ever stand against it.<br />
<br />
And what does this love look like? It isn’t always clear. It looks different in every situation because love is always personal and contextual. But we do know it is always costly and it is usually uncomfortable to be around. It is the love of the poured out perfume. It is the love of the journey to the cross. It is the love of healing on the Sabbath and putting your body in the dirt between the woman on the ground and the crowd holding the stones. <br />
<br />
It is a love that risks ridicule and that means we will always have those voices inside and out that are telling us we’re crazy just as we’re giving it away.<br />
<br />
It is the love of standing with our Muslim sisters and brothers, even putting our bodies between theirs and an angry mob – just as many Muslims have done time and again forming human shields around Christians in the Middle East.<br />
<br />
It is the love of seven women and men staging a 39-hour filibuster to try to beat back a vicious LGBT-hating bill this week on the floor of the Missouri State Senate.<br />
<br />
It is the love of greeting a parent struggling with a restless child in worship with a look of joy and understanding instead of annoyed scorn. <br />
<br />
What honors God? That’s for us to figure out. But it always looks like love. Extravagant, overwhelming love.<br />
<br />
Here at Christ Church Cathedral, when I think of what honors God, I think of evensong. <br />
<br />
Here at Christ Church Cathedral, evensong is a feast for the senses. The beauty of this space as night is falling. Soaring anthems offered by the choir. And to top it off, when it’s all done, Myrna Wacker, Dave Lawson and the St. Martha’s Guild lay out a spread of some of the most sumptuous gourmet hors d’oeuvres you have ever tasted. <br />
<br />
We don’t pack the house for evensong. We get 50 maybe 75 people. But what I love is seeing those of you who are living in the deepest vulnerability come off the streets often carrying all your possessions with you, come in and fall into a chair. I know from our conversations that the moments of beauty in your life are often few and far between. And I see you close your eyes as you let the music wash over you.<br />
<br />
And then after the service is over. I see you come to the table where this amazing feast, this heavenly banquet is laid out – and in a world that seems to begrudge you even a bologna sandwich or a bowl of soup, a world that will soon enough ask you to sleep on hard concrete instead of a soft bed – I see you partaking of food that explodes with rich flavor, finally a feast worthy of you as images of God. <br />
<br />
Every time I see it, I think of this Gospel passage. Because it us as a Cathedral taking the finest that we have and offering it to those among us who are most vulnerable. <br />
<br />
It is us as Christ Church Cathedral at our best.<br />
<br />
It is love that is unexpected. <br />
<br />
It is love that flouts conventional wisdom. <br />
<br />
It is love that offends sensibilities and defies purity codes. <br />
<br />
It is what honors God. And in our blessed humanity we do it so imperfectly that it is important to hold up the glimpses when we get it right.<br />
<br />
Because this is how we fight the fear. This is how we fight the hatred. This is how we fight all that stands opposed to God’s dreams for us, all that makes Jesus weep over all our Jerusalems. By asking and living this simple question:<br />
<br />
What honors God? <br />
<br />
It is the question that brings out the best in us. It is the question that will tear down walls and build up bridges. It is the question that will lead us into holy trouble and scandalous joy. <br />
<br />
And so we need to remember to ask it. Again. And again. And over and over again. <br />
<br />
When you came in this morning you were given a bracelet that says, rather predictably, at this point: “What honors God?” I hope you’ll put it on. I hope you’ll wear it even for this one week as we with Jesus turn our face toward Jerusalem. Wear it as a reminder not to ask ourselves “what would Jesus do?” but rather “what would I do for Jesus?” <br />
<br />
To ask ourselves in every situation we face: What honors God?<br />
<br />
We will not always agree on the answer. And that won't be anything new for us at Christ Church Cathedral. But Jesus asks us to wrestle with that question and to have that conversation -- even if the conversation is just with ourselves or just between us and God. When we are presented with a challenge, be it the diversity of race or class in our community, the challenges of our budget, the fussiness of a child or expressions of our sensuality and sexuality; the crowd chanting hate or even the guy cutting us off on interstate 40 to reach beyond our personal preferences and momentarily offended sensibilities to ask ourselves and one another and God in that moment:<br />
<br />
“Ok, but what honors God?”<br />
<br />
What does pouring expensive perfume over Jesus’ feet and wiping them with our hair look like in this situation?<br />
<br />
What does recognizing that the person in front of me is the very image of the divine and that I am not only called but given the gift of opportunity of loving this person extravagantly look like?<br />
<br />
What does passionate, crazy, purity-code busting, conventional wisdom flouting, scandalous, I can’t believe you said that, I can’t believe you <i>did</i> that love look like?<br />
<br />
Over and over again in the Gospels, Jesus raises this question: “What honors God?”<br />
<br />
Not “What do I like?”<br />
<br />
Not “What makes me feel comfortable?”<br />
<br />
Not “What is the easiest?” or “What makes me feel strong and superior?” Not even “What makes sense?”<br />
<br />
But “What honors God?” <br />
<br />
It is our job to name it.<br />
<br />
It is our joy to live it.<br />
<br />
It is our deepest destiny to show it to the world. Amen.</div>
Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-14448772765902745172016-02-28T12:30:00.004-08:002016-02-28T12:30:53.629-08:00"Moses was afraid to look at God. But God is never afraid to see the people." - a sermon for 3 Lent<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look at God.</i></div>
<i>
Then the LORD said, "I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt.” </i>+<br />
<br />
Moses was afraid to look at God. But God is never afraid to see the people. <br />
<br />
Have you ever seen something that was just too much. Something that was just too powerful. Either too terrible or too beautiful or too something that you had to turn away. Something that was just too much.<br />
<br />
Whatever it is, we’ve all had it. And we turn away before we even think of it – like shielding our face from bright sunlight when we’re coming out of a movie theater. Or how about accidentally walking in on someone getting undressed? Whoa! Our heads turn away and that hand shields our eyes before we can even think about it. <br />
<br />
Or maybe not … I don’t know.<br />
<br />
That’s what happens to Moses in the desert this morning. And who can blame him? He’s tending his father-in-law’s flock. That’s a solitary task. And he’s not even in the wilderness … he’s beyond the wilderness … he is really far out there, far, far away from everyone. <br />
<br />
…But not from God.<br />
<br />
Because suddenly, God is there. A voice calling “Moses! Moses!” telling him to take his shoes off. A burning bush that keeps on burning, never consumed. And just in case there was any doubt, the voice saying <br />
<br />
“I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.”<br />
<br />
And instinctively, Moses says “Whoa!” His head turns away and his hand shields his eyes. <br />
<br />
God – Whoa! Can’t look at that! Too powerful. Too terrible. Too wonderful. Too something. <br />
<br />
Moses was afraid to look at God.<br />
<br />
And then God speaks again. And as Moses turns his head and shields his eyes from God, God lets Moses know that God is not doing the same thing. The very next words from God are these:<br />
<br />
“I have seen the misery of my people who are in Egypt.” <br />
<br />
God says “I have seen the misery of my people.”<br />
<br />
“I see you.” God says.<br />
<br />
Moses was afraid to look at God. But God is never afraid to see the people. <br />
<br />
When we dive into the Hebrew a little bit, this contrast is even more incredible. <br />
<br />
Moses was afraid to even “look at” God – that’s the Hebrew <i>mê·hab·bîṭ</i>, which literally means “to look at.” Like looking at my hand. Or looking at one of these banners.<br />
<br />
But God goes even further. God says I’ll see your fear of <i>me-hab-bit</i> and I’ll raise you <i>raah</i>. I have seen the misery of my people. The same verb that Jacob uses after a night of wrestling with the angel when he says I will call this place Peniel because I have seen God face to face and yet my life is preserved. The kind of seeing that comes from wrestling with someone all the way through the long, long night. Knowing every inch of the other’s body, all of their tendencies. Knowing their mind. Knowing their heart. <br />
<br />
God doesn’t just look at God’s people. God sees them. <i>Raah</i>. God sees us. <i>Raah</i>. Face to face. Just as the verb yada connotes intimate knowledge when God says a second later “Indeed I know their sufferings,” here God is saying I have not just glanced down at my people, checking to make sure they are still there. I have seen them. Fully. Completely.<br />
<br />
I have looked deeply into their eyes even as they are shielding those eyes from me.<br />
<br />
Moses was afraid to look at God. But God is never afraid to see the people. <br />
<br />
I want you to turn to someone next to you or near you. Find a partner. Everyone. <br />
<br />
Anyone not have a partner? Raise your hand. <br />
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Now, get close enough to that person so you are less than a foot or two away.<br />
<br />
Now I invite you to look into each other’s eyes, and hold that gaze.<br />
<br />
(Wait 5 seconds).<br />
<br />
See each other.<br />
<br />
Know that behind those eyes is a life of victory and tragedy. Of love and pain.<br />
<br />
Know that those eyes have shed bitter tears and danced with incredible joy.<br />
<br />
Know that those eyes have seen beauty and horror. <br />
<br />
Know that behind those eyes are a million memories of battles fought, love shared and loneliness endured. Of hopes realized and dreams shattered and rules mischievously broken. <br />
<br />
Know that those eyes are a window to a life that is full of fragility and power, pride and shame, certainty and doubt.<br />
<br />
Just. Like. You.<br />
<br />
OK. You can look away – if you haven’t already. <br />
<br />
Let’s just sit for a moment. Sit and consider that experience. <br />
<br />
Was it easy or hard?<br />
<br />
Was it welcome or intrusive?<br />
<br />
Was it beautiful or terrifying? Or was it beautiful and terrifying?<br />
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Did it seem to last forever or was it over much too soon?<br />
<br />
Whether it was all of these things or none of these things I guarantee you one thing it was not and that is meaningless. When we see each other deeply, when we dive into each other’s eyes and search to see the life behind them, and when someone does the same to us it is powerful. It is holy. <br />
<br />
I wonder if why God told Moses to take off his shoes because he was on holy ground is not because God was on that ground but because Moses was on that ground. That even out beyond the wilderness, even so isolated and alone that Moses was days away from another human soul, God saw Moses, saw behind his eyes, saw into his heart, saw the beauty and complexity and ardor of Moses’ life journey and knew that the ground Moses was standing on was holy not just because God had shown up in a burning bush but because God’s child Moses was walking on it – and there is no holier ground in all the cosmos than our lives. <br />
<br />
We have just felt that. Or at least I hope you did. I hope as you gazed into another’s eyes and had them gaze into yours through the discomfort and through the uneasiness and through the fear and the vulnerability you got at least a glimpse of the holy. I hope maybe you got at least a little taste of an urge to take your shoes off because you felt that holiness that is the life each of us have lived and are living even to this day.<br />
<br />
This morning we hear the story of the beginning of the liberation of God’s people from slavery, and it begins with this truth:<br />
<br />
Moses was afraid to look at God. But God is never afraid to see the people. <br />
<br />
So three things to take away from this for our life together and our life out there.<br />
<br />
First, to know that God sees you. <br />
<br />
God sees YOU. Yes, you. Even when you are beyond the wilderness. Even when you feel that nobody cares. Nobody knows. Nobody sees. <br />
<br />
God does. <br />
<br />
God sees you face to face. God sees the beauty and complexity and joy and horror. God sees all of you – even the parts that you hide from yourself. <br />
<br />
And God calls it holy. <br />
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And God takes off her sandals when she sees you because your life, your body, your soul, is holy ground.<br />
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God is never afraid to see the people. <br />
<br />
God lives to see the people. <br />
<br />
God sees and loves – you.<br />
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Second, to know that the knowledge that God sees us and loves us is the beginning of liberation. <br />
<br />
Knowing that God sees us and loves us and takes her shoes off in our presence and calls us holy because how could we not be after all we are made in God’s image … knowing all this is the beginning of not only our liberation but the liberation of all of God’s people who are in slavery of every kind.<br />
<br />
Because the holy is never meant to be in bondage. The holy is never meant to be oppressed. The holy is never meant to be treated with anything less than untied sandals, profound dignity and deep, deep love. And where the holy that is every human being created in the image of God is treated with anything less than that dignity and love, God knows that liberation is the only course of action. And God will not rest until it happens. God will not rest not only until you are free from what binds you but until all of God’s holy children are free from what binds them as well.<br />
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Finally, as God sees us, and loves us, God also calls each of us by name: <br />
<br />
“Moses! Moses!” <br />
<br />
“Ed! Ed!”<br />
<br />
“LaToni! LaToni!”<br />
<br />
“Myrna! Myrna!”<br />
<br />
And even as we shield our eyes and turn away because God is so amazing and we can’t possibly believe this love and this light and this voice could be for us. Even as we shield our eyes and turn away, God is calling us to see one another as God sees us. To seek out the holy. To seek out the beauty. To not turn away from the tragedy and the pain and the suffering but to see it even more clearly, more deeply, more truly. <br />
<br />
And when people try to gaze into our eyes, to seek out our holiness and beauty … to see the tragedy and pain and suffering in our lives, God asks us not to turn away then, either. To dare to be vulnerable. To let the other in. To trust that being seen is not the path to destruction but the road to liberation.<br />
<br />
God is calling us to gaze deeply into each other’s eyes. To take our shoes off on the holy ground of each other’s lives. To see where each of us is in bondage and to reach out a hand and say follow me to freedom. Let me help you. We’re gonna get there together.<br />
<br />
Moses was afraid to look at God. But God is never afraid to see the people. <br />
Beloved people of God, God sees you and that is nothing to fear. God sees you and knows your heart, and God has taken her sandals off and called the ground of your life holy. <br />
<br />
Believe it. <br />
<br />
Trust it. <br />
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Rejoice in it. <br />
<br />
Go and do likewise.</div>
Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-68889398137978960482016-02-22T11:32:00.000-08:002016-02-22T11:32:11.678-08:00"The Herods in Our Lives," a sermon for the Second Sunday in Lent by The Rev. Chester Hines, Feb. 21, 2016<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-outline-level: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The <span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> is my light and my salvation; whom
then shall I fear?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 2; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-outline-level: 2; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This morning, we find Jesus on His way to Jerusalem for what will turn
out to be His greatest gift to each of us, His death on the cross which will
pardon us from all our sins and open the gate for us to life eternal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-outline-level: 2; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">On His way He is approached by some Pharisees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Pharisees are middle-class businessmen of
the community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are in contact with
the common man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are not the one
per-centers of their day and time; they are held in high esteem by the
community and generally have the support of the people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They believe in God, the resurrection of the
dead, they believe in reward and punishment on an individual basis in the
afterlife and they believe in the existence of angels and demons. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-outline-level: 2; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">However, they have not come to a full understanding of who Jesus is and
what God is able to do through His son. They know He has a following in the
community and people are drawn to Him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But the Pharisees also have a following in the community and people are
drawn to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are the Pharisees in competition
with support from the same people who are enamored with Christ?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe, maybe not but on this day, they have
intercepted Jesus and are warning Him to get away from this place because Herod
wants to kill Him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-outline-level: 2; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This Herod would be representative of the one per-centers of his
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He cared little for others and
greatly about himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This Herod is the
same Herod who had John The Baptist imprisoned and later beheaded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is not necessary for Herod to be connected
or concerned with the people because in today’s language, he is
self-sufficient.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jesus hears and receives the information from the Pharisees and then
gives them an assignment</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Go and tell that fox, ‘Behold, I cast out demons and perform cures
today and tomorrow, and the third day I finish my course.</span>” Jesus
had a timeline for what He had to do and today was not the day for
interruption.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jesus
understood His opposition was cunning like a fox, but calmly showed that this
opposition would not stop Him from carrying out His mission of redemption, the
saving of people from sin and evil.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-outline-level: 2; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jesus
told them to tell Herod that He is not worried about the threat and He will not
stop working until His work is completed.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">This gospel reading reveals Our Lord living on the edge
of danger. Controversy is swirling around him. His outspoken style and his
constant challenge to the established order have drawn the attention of powerful
people and now Jesus has an increasing number of enemies<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b>When<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b>Jesus<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b>is given a
warning that His life is in danger and responds with courage and determination
we see what is meant by the contrast between the inclusive, abundant life given
to us in Christ compared to the fearful frightened life that excludes and
enslaves us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">We later learn that even the warning from the Pharisees
may have been a cloak for in the near future, they will join with the
Sadducees, the one per-centers of the community, in calling for Christ’s
death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Christ had a purpose and
would not be distracted by outside threats. Jesus knew why he came into the
world and what he needed to do. There was no way he would suspend his work and
go into hiding. He set his face toward Jerusalem and nothing would deter
Him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The words of the gospel this
morning challenges us to set an example like Jesus by living our lives with
courage and resolve. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">Most of us probably do not have the notoriety or status
of local, state or national celebrity but all of us are affected by the influence
of self-absorbed individuals and their effects upon institutions and the way of
life of people within the community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These
powerful decision makers and the policy they create cause insecurity, fear, and
anxiety in our daily life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thousands of
our fellow Missourians right now wait in anticipation of action from our state
legislature as to whether or not money for their life supporting benefits will
taken away and given to the transportation department to repair the roads and
bridges of our state.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">These decisions and related policy can become the
Herod’s in our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The acts and
actions of those who influence how we live may not lead to our immediate demise
but surly its effect has a long term impact causing us to experience a slow and
agonizing deterioration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It may be
things, factors, issues, life’s challenges; those circumstances that hold of us
and dominate our lives, keeping us from that peace that is given to us through
Christ; keeping us from being whole. </span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">Many of you this morning can probably recall a time
when you faced a type of Herod in your life; someone or something that you felt
could or would cause you great harm but you had a greater call and it was
necessary for you to walk into the danger zone because not to do so would in
some way be an even greater loss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">As some of you are aware, I serve as the Chairperson
for the Diocesan Commission on Dismantling Racism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that capacity I feel compelled to confront
racism in all places and at all times in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I’m sharing with you a personal
experience where I had a Herod like experience; even though there was great
risk, I had to tell the “fox” what was necessary in order for me to be able to
live with myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">This situation occurred when I worked for St. Louis
City Government, I had gotten into an employee/employer conflict with my
immediate supervisor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He directed me to
do something that I didn’t think was appropriate so I refused; this refusal lead
to my being sent to the Office of the Chief of Staff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After having expressed my perspective on the
situation, the Chief of Staff (who at that point became my Herod), clearly
expressed his anger with me and he wanted and from his perspective needed to
punish me; he needed to let me know he was large and in charge, so he informed
me that I was to do whatever my supervisor directed me to do, quote, “if he, tells
you to count bumps on the wall, you count bumps on the wall”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">Now hearing this directive, I first questioned myself
as to whether what he said was what I heard; upon realizing I was not in the
twilight zone but in his office, it was like a gunshot to my brain; my head
actually felt like it was spinning. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">This powerful white man in my work relationship had
just taken away all of my dignity and self respect in the last few seconds. He
had achieved his task; he had reduced me to a person of low status in an
arrogant and hurtful manner; he had accomplished his mission.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">At that moment, I had come face to face with a Herod
type experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in the danger
zone; the next action on my part would set a challenging course; what would
happen if I just accepted this personal <span class="hvr"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">disparagement,</span></span><i> </i>diminishment and racial aggression;
what would happen if I spoke my heart just at this moment. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">Admittedly, my response probably was not Christ like
because whatever I said in response to his directive lead to my termination a
week later; this Herod experience lead to the death of my employment <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>with St. Louis City Government after twenty
five years of service.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">I tell you this story because my response was not
professional but in my view it was necessary, I had to inform the Chief of
Staff in a manner in which I thought he would understand that my task right at
that moment was not to be concerned with job security and retirement but was to
inform him of his racism and the detrimental effect it had on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">I did not get out of bed that morning with the idea
that I would have a conflict with the surrogate of an elected official of the
City of St. Louis but in retrospect, I see how Christ puts us in places and
calls us to do things that are completely removed from our minds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Christ gives us the opportunity at the most
unsuspecting time to demonstrate our faith in our relationship with Him; He
gives us the opportunity to be an imitator of Christ in this world we live in
today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He lets us know there are storms
in our lives but we are called to endure and move forward knowing He will never
leave or forsake us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">That morning for me was an opportunity for me to
demonstrate to myself that I was a believer in the power of Christ. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On that morning with the Chief of Staff, as I
was speaking the words that lead to my firing, I heard the voice of Christ in
my head and felt His spirit in my heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I understood better how faith in God can become a shield and buckler
against the Herod’s in our life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">Jesus was walking into danger and yet He was still
working to and seeking ways to bring the community to the grace of God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Jesus walked the earth, people gathered
as they could to express their personal faith in God; to hear the word of God,
to seek a greater understanding of the mystery of God and Jesus Christ.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> <o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">Now it is important for us to have a personal faith in
God and in Jesus Christ, and our faith is deepened when we are a part of the
body of Christ, which is the Church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
when I say the church I don’t mean the physical building where we gather, I
mean the personal and spiritual relationships we have with each other in our
relationship with Christ.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A place to
gather is important but the church is that which lives in each of us. And our
task today and always is to be the eyes, hands and bodies of Christ on earth
for those seeking solace and a better understanding of life with Jesus
Christ.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And like Christ you are only
going to find these tasks in the places of challenge, discomfort and on the
edges of humanity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">We are called to talk about and act like Jesus in the
places we go; Herod is there lying in wait to do us harm if possible but Christ
is there also steadfast with His love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;">No doubt you have heard the story about the young man
in a family of farmers. The hen house on the grandfather’s farm burned down
just up the road from his home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His dad
arrived just in time to help put out the last of the fire. As he and the
grandfather sorted through the wreckage, they came upon one hen lying dead near
what had been the door of the hen house. Her top feathers were singed brown by
the fire’s heat, her neck limp. The grandfather bent down to pick up the dead
hen. But as he did so, he felt movement. The hen’s four chicks came scurrying
out from beneath her burnt body. The chicks survived because they were
insulated by the shelter of the hens wings, protected and saved even as she
died to protect and save them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-outline-level: 2; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">That
is the story of Jesus. Jesus acts like that mother hen who would rather die
than see its children suffer in agony. Jesus longs to gather his beloved under
his wings to protect them; but we have a part in the process, we have to be
willing to receive Jesus and live in accordance with His commandments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus did not fear Herod just as we should
not fear the Herod’s in our life for we have a covenant with God through Jesus
Christ which is a living document that protects us from all evil and despair
and allows us to meet all the challenges and strife of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-outline-level: 2; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">When we live in Christ, the
flesh need not fear death;</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> for the Lord is our light and
salvation and in Him we have no fear. Scripture <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(Palms 91:4)</i> tells us that He will cover you with his feathers and
under His wings you will find refuge; His faithfulness will be your shield and
rampart. Make the Lord the strength of your life for He will overcome all of
the Herod clones in your life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever
you are confronted with know that God has the power, the grace and divine
intervention to nullify the bad, to make smooth the rough places in your life,
to defeat the foes and adversaries who gather against you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God does all of these things with the
greatest weapon we have ever known, He does it with LOVE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-outline-level: 2; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So
let us strive to be people of courage and determination, resisting the Herods
in our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let us stand up to strife,
confusion, and wrongs wherever we find it, always living as citizens of God’s
Kingdom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Amen.</span><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 9.0pt; letter-spacing: 2.4pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-transform: uppercase;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05874696069012355669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-47731779271346160072016-02-14T12:31:00.001-08:002016-02-14T12:48:05.809-08:00"The sin is the choice that is no choice" -- a sermon for Lent 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, Feb. 14, 2016.</i></span></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i><br />
</i></span></b></div>
<i>The sin is the choice that is no choice… And the Devil convinces us it’s the best we can do. </i><br />
<br />
+<br />
<br />
So, here we are again – back in the desert with Jesus. <br />
<br />
It seems like just yesterday that things were so very different. Jesus was coming out of the Jordan River, the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’<br />
<br />
Surely, this was the beginning of something great, something powerful, something amazing. <br />
<br />
Surely, the next stop was liberation and power and glory, heading to Jerusalem to knock Herod off his throne and the Romans out of Israel.<br />
<br />
Instead that same Spirit, the one of the beautiful voice and those words we all so long to hear, and believe about ourselves – you are my Beloved, in you I am well pleased. That same Spirit led Jesus not toward Jerusalem, not yet … but into the desert.<br />
<br />
A place of hunger.<br />
<br />
A place of poverty.<br />
<br />
A place of powerlessness, vulnerability and fear.<br />
<br />
The Spirit led Jesus into the desert because the Spirit knew that was where he belonged, that is where God always resides. <br />
<br />
In the desert, in the wilderness – in the places of greatest poverty, greatest powerlessness, greatest vulnerability, greatest fear. That is where God resides – not on a throne but in a manger. Not in a palace but in a shelter. <br />
<br />
Not at a lush oasis but in the desert. <br />
<br />
And Jesus didn’t just visit. Jesus became a desert person. He stayed there for forty days, which is Bible-speak for a long, long time. <br />
<br />
And he became poor. <br />
<br />
And hungry<br />
<br />
And powerless<br />
<br />
And vulnerable<br />
<br />
And afraid<br />
<br />
And the Devil was there with him. <br />
<br />
It seems like just yesterday that things were so different. That dawn was about to break and empires were about to fall.<br />
<br />
And yet that is always when the Devil makes his appearance – just when we are sure he is nowhere to be found.<br />
<br />
As French poet Charles Baudelaire wrote:<br />
<br />
<i>“My dear friends, do not ever forget, when you hear the progress of lights praised, that the loveliest trick of the Devil is to persuade you that he does not exist.” </i><br />
<br />
Jesus, the Son of God, the beloved, in whom God was well pleased.<br />
<br />
Was poor.<br />
<br />
And hungry<br />
<br />
And powerless<br />
<br />
And vulnerable<br />
<br />
And afraid<br />
<br />
And the Devil was there with him. <br />
<br />
And that should be no surprise to us.<br />
<br />
The Devil is always where Jesus is. Because Jesus is always with us when we are at our most vulnerable. And that’s where the Devil makes his living. That’s where the Devil eats his lunch. When we are at our most vulnerable. <br />
<br />
Offering us the choice that is no choice.<br />
<br />
And convincing us it’s the best we can do.<br />
<br />
The Devil caught Jesus at his worst and most vulnerable -- and instead of doing what God would do … having compassion on him, meeting his worst with God’s best. The Devil did what the Devil does – he preyed on him. The Devil tried to take advantage of Jesus’ vulnerability to enslave Jesus for himself. <br />
<br />
The Devil offered him a choice that is no choice – and tried to convince him it’s the best he could do. <br />
<br />
Jesus was hungry, and powerless and fearful. And instead of offering him food, and power and assurance. Instead of reminding him, “Hey -- you are God’s child, the beloved, in you God is well pleased,” the Devil says: “I will give you food … I will give you power … I will give you assurance … but you have to play by my rules. You have to live by my values. You have be slave in my house. <br />
<br />
The sin is the choice. The sin is the choice that is no choice. The sin is when people are forced to choose between starving, powerlessness and fear on one hand …. and slavery on the other.<br />
<br />
It is the choice that is no choice that the Devil in the form of Pharaoh offered when the people of Israel were starving in a famine: <br />
<br />
Become slaves and eat … or stay free and die.<br />
<br />
It was the choice that is no choice that the desert tempted the people of Israel to be forced to make again when they longed for the fleshpots of Egypt – return to slavery in Egypt or starve in the desert. <br />
<br />
That’s not the way of God. God met the people in the desert … God met their worst with God’s best. And God provided bread from heaven and water from the rock. A pillar of cloud to guide them by day and a pillar of fire by night. <br />
<br />
In the desert, the Devil offered the choice that is no choice – and tried to convince Jesus it was the best he could do.<br />
<br />
But Jesus remembered.<br />
<br />
As poor, powerless, vulnerable, hungry and afraid as Jesus was, Jesus remembered the voice, and remembered the words. <br />
<br />
Jesus remembered that he was God’s beloved, and that in him God was well pleased.<br />
<br />
Jesus remembered that the love of God would never leave him. Jesus remembered the bread from heaven and the water from the rock, the pillar of cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night.<br />
<br />
And Jesus said to the Devil, “I am not a slave to you or to any. I am a child of God. I am beloved. I make God dance and sing and I will not suffer your lash no matter how sweet you make it sound.<br />
<br />
“And I will be fed. And I will be strong. And I will be safe and secure not because of your lies. Not because of your choice that is no choice. We can do better. Because I am a child of God. I am beloved. And the whole reason I am in the desert is because God takes care of God’s own.”<br />
<br />
<i>Well that ‘ol Devil bowed his head<br />
Because he knew that he’d been beat.<br />
And he took his leave from Jesus<br />
Until a more opportune time to meet.</i> <br />
<br />
Sisters and brothers, the Devil is alive and well – and now is his opportune time. <br />
<br />
And that means it is time for the church to get prayed up and suited up. <br />
<br />
To put on the armor of light and the helmet of salvation. <br />
<br />
Like Jesus, it is time for us to remember that the love of God will never leave us. To remember the bread from heaven and the water from the rock and the pillar of cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night.<br />
<br />
Like Jesus, it is time for us to remember to hear and to believe that we are God’s beloved in whom God is well pleased – to hear and believe that truth in the deserts of our lives and to take that truth to the deserts of our community. <br />
<br />
To the places in our hearts and on our streets where God’s people are poor.<br />
<br />
And hungry<br />
<br />
And powerless<br />
<br />
And vulnerable<br />
<br />
And afraid<br />
<br />
“My dear friends, do not ever forget, when you hear the progress of lights praised, that the loveliest trick of the Devil is to persuade you that he does not exist.” <br />
<br />
Do not be fooled, the Devil is here. <br />
<br />
The Devil is right here in St. Louis, where God’s children are dying of hunger, poverty, powerlessness, vulnerability and fear.<br />
<br />
The Devil is here offering the choices that are no choices – and with a silver tongue convincing us it’s the best we can do.<br />
<br />
The Devil is here in the form of the gun lobby, meeting people who are hungry for real power over their lives, hungry to feel like human beings with control over their own destiny and offering them instead the power of the gun that enslaves us all to a culture where violence begets violence and trauma begets trauma in a never-ending cycle.<br />
<br />
And the Devil is saying “that’s the best we can do.” <br />
<br />
The Devil is here in the form of the National Geospatial Intelligence Agency, meeting people in North St. Louis who are hungry for jobs so they can feed their families and know the dignity of an honest day’s work and offering them the promise of jobs – jobs most of them would not qualify for anyway – only if they will sell their souls to an agency that coordinates drone strikes on civilians in far away lands and illegally monitors the young activists in our own city who are working the hardest to bring true liberation. <br />
<br />
And the Devil is saying “that’s the best we can do.” <br />
<br />
The Devil is here forcing lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgendered children of God to choose between hiding who we are and keeping our jobs or getting an apartment.<br />
<br />
The Devil is here forcing the abused woman to choose between staying in a marriage that is killing her slowly or risking the violence that could kill her or her babies quickly. <br />
<br />
The Devil is here forcing women trapped in prostitution to choose between turning a trick in the back of a car or getting beat if they don’t come back to their pimp with the cash.<br />
<br />
The Devil is here offering us the choice that is no choice – and convincing us it’s the best we can do.<br />
<br />
The Devil departed from Jesus until an opportune time – and that time is now. <br />
<br />
But now is our opportune time as well.<br />
<br />
We are the Beloved Children of God, and now is our opportune time and instead of doing what the Devil does – instead of catching God’s people at their worst and preying on them. Instead of trying to take advantage of our vulnerability to enslave us for himself. Now is our opportune time to be God’s beloved, to be those in whom God is well pleased, to follow Jesus into the desert – if we’re not there already -- and do what God does when we are poor.<br />
<br />
And hungry<br />
<br />
And powerless<br />
<br />
And vulnerable<br />
<br />
And afraid<br />
<br />
To meet the people’s worst with our best. <br />
<br />
To people hungry for power over their lives not offering a gun but real authority over what happens in their lives and in their communities.<br />
<br />
To people hungry for the dignity and fruits of a job not offering the empty promise of being a part of morally bankrupt instrument of death but the best jobs, green energy jobs, hi-tech jobs, community development jobs, jobs selling fresh produce and providing excellent education not just where the white and wealthy reside but in those desert neighborhoods that need those jobs the most.<br />
<br />
To we who are lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender not the choice of silence or poverty but the power of constitutional protection.<br />
<br />
To we who are abused women not the choice of dying slow or dying fast but a route to escape and safety.<br />
<br />
To we who are women trapped in violence, drug abuse and prostitution not the choice between rape and assault but communities of health, and love and recovery.<br />
<br />
Here we are again – back in the desert with Jesus. And the Devil is right here with us. <br />
<br />
And that should be no surprise to us. The Devil is always where Jesus is. Because Jesus is always with us when we are at our most vulnerable. <br />
<br />
And when the Devil offers the most vulnerable among us the choice that is no choice, Jesus reminds us to stand together with him – and to get right in the Devil’s grille, to look him dead in the eye and say:<br />
<br />
“I am not a slave to you or to any. I am a child of God. I am beloved. I can make God dance and sing and I will not suffer your lash no matter how sweet you make it sound.<br />
<br />
“And I will be fed. And I will be strong. And I will be safe and secure and not because of your lies. Not because of your choice that is no choice. We can and we will do better. Because we are children of God. We are beloved. And we will be out in the desert offering real love to God’s people because God takes care of God’s own.”<br />
<br />
Here we are again – back in the desert with Jesus and the Devil.<br />
<br />
Whose side will we be on?<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-2958912361025282952016-02-10T17:02:00.000-08:002016-02-10T17:14:43.157-08:00"Remember that you are dust" -- A sermon for Ash Wednesday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Ash Wednesday, 2016.</i></span></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i><br /></i></span></b></div>
We are tired.<br />
We are hungry<br />
And we can’t remember the last time we had a good night’s sleep.<br />
<br />
We didn’t get the job.<br />
We didn’t get the girl.<br />
And we really, really want that cigarette<br />
<br />
Our clothes don’t fit.<br />
Our kids won’t talk.<br />
And we’re putting off getting that lump on our breast checked out because we really don’t want to know.<br />
<br />
We are scared.<br />
We are lonely.<br />
We feel utterly inconsequential.<br />
<br />
We barely got up this morning, and by 10 am it was all we could do not to crawl back into bed. <br />
<br />
People stopped asking us what we want to be when we grow up a long time ago and those dreams of what we could be died about that same time.<br />
<br />
We try not to wonder what it’s all about … because most of the time we haven’t got a clue.<br />
<br />
And we smile. <br />
We pretend. <br />
We say “OK” when people say “How’s it going?” not because we want to lie but because that’s the reflex, that’s what people want to hear.<br />
<br />
Because this is what OK has become. <br />
<br />
Because the real truth will just make us more different. <br />
More vulnerable.<br />
More alone.<br />
<br />
Remember that you are dust. <br />
<br />
How can we forget?<br />
<br />
Today is the day we tell our secrets. <br />
Today is the day we take off our masks.<br />
Today is the day we wear our imperfection, our weakness, our mortality, our neediness for all to see.<br />
<br />
Today we wear a sign that not only will these bodies return to the dust someday but indeed we already are. Strangely, wonderfully, problematically, troublingly shaped piles of dust making our way through the world. <br />
<br />
Without all or even any of the answers. <br />
Knowing our days are numbered but not knowing how many.<br />
Utterly powerless against the forces of time, and decay and death. <br />
<br />
Today we stand up and proclaim what we already know but hardly ever say. <br />
That we are dust.<br />
That we feel like crap.<br />
That we’re really not OK. <br />
And that we don’t know what to do.<br />
<br />
Today we remember that we are dust. <br />
As if we could ever forget.<br />
<br />
Today we remember one thing more. <br />
<br />
That God is dust as well. <br />
<br />
Today we remember that these strangely, wonderfully, problematically, troublingly shaped piles of dust that we are, are the very image of God. <br />
<br />
That we being ashamed of our dustiness was something that we learned and not how we were made.<br />
<br />
That hating our dustiness was something that we learned and not how we were made.<br />
<br />
That God so loved our dustiness that God became dust once more in Jesus, to remind us of what we had forgotten. That we are not only W-H-O-L-L-Y wholly dust but that we are also H-O-L-Y holy dust. <br />
<br />
And that no amount of fatigue or hunger, not getting the job or not getting the boy. No amount of rejection or castigation, fear or loneliness, pain or disease, uncertainty or despair can ever change that.<br />
<br />
Remember that we are dust. <br />
<br />
And that is how God made you. <br />
<br />
That is how God continues to make you.<br />
<br />
And God looks on you, yes you, in all your dustiness.<br />
<br />
Different from everyone else’s dustiness and yet all in God’s image.<br />
<br />
A dustiness that defies categorization despite so many efforts to try to make you fit into someone else’s idea of what that image should be.<br />
<br />
God looks on you, yes, you in all your dustiness<br />
<br />
And God smiles. <br />
<br />
And dances. <br />
<br />
And sings <br />
<br />
And delights.<br />
<br />
And rejoices. <br />
<br />
And gazes on your dustiness and says, “This is very, very, very good.” <br />
<br />
Remember that you are dust. <br />
<br />
Dust not bound by others’ standards of beauty <br />
<br />
Or success.<br />
<br />
Or gender.<br />
<br />
Or excellence.<br />
<br />
Remember that you are dust. <br />
<br />
Wholly and holy.<br />
<br />
One with creation. <br />
<br />
Never separate. <br />
<br />
Never alone. <br />
<br />
Remember that you are dust.<br />
<br />
Beautiful.<br />
<br />
Naked.<br />
<br />
Never needing to be ashamed. <br />
<br />
Remember that you are dust.<br />
<br />
In pleasure and in pain.<br />
<br />
In joy and in sorrow.<br />
<br />
In soundest sleep and through the sleepless night.<br />
<br />
In highest ecstasy of dust bodies being rejoiced in and in deepest agony of dust bodies being despised. <br />
<br />
Remember that you are dust.<br />
<br />
Strangely, wonderfully, problematically, troublingly shaped piles of dust.<br />
<br />
Dust that is the image of God.<br />
<br />
Beautiful.<br />
<br />
Holy.<br />
<br />
Unique.<br />
<br />
Everlasting. <br />
<br />
Remember that you are dust.<br />
<br />
Your pain is exquisite.<br />
<br />
Your hunger is ravenous. <br />
<br />
Your doubt is devastating.<br />
<br />
Your fear is paralyzing<br />
<br />
Yet you need not hide.<br />
<br />
You need not be ashamed.<br />
<br />
For your dustiness is your divinity.<br />
<br />
For your dustiness is your salvation.<br />
<br />
Your dustiness is God’s delight.<br />
<br />
Remember that you are dust.<br />
<br />
Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.<br />
<br />
Ever beautiful.<br />
<br />
Ever worthy.<br />
<br />
Ever the dancing light in the eye of God.</div>
Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-35851953549876304442016-02-01T09:00:00.005-08:002016-02-01T09:00:42.583-08:00Love is patient, love is kind... but love is also difficult. A sermon for 4th Epiphany, Jan. 31st 2016, by Peter Armstrong<div style="background-color: #faf9f5; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #45494f; font-family: 'Libre Baskerville', Baskerville, 'Book Antiqua', Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 34px; margin-bottom: 1.5em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">“Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” The first words we hear Jesus preach in the Gospel of Luke, referring to the section of Isaiah we heard him read in the synagogue last week, tell of his coming to bring glad tidings to the poor and let the oppressed go free. At first, the listeners from his home town, who know Jesus from his youth and have watched him grow up, are pleased with him. However, as he continues on to spell out how that fulfillment of scripture might mean serving foreigners, as well, rather than just those closest to him at home, the Nazarenes become angry and attempt to throw him off a cliff. The story of Jesus’ first sermon ends with him slipping away from the murderous crowd, ostensibly leaving all his bridges to burn.</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It was not until long after I had signed up to preach today that I realized the coincidence of delivering my first sermon on Jesus’ first sermon. Now, rest assured; as far as I can tell, there is no reason to believe that any scriptural prophecies are coming true on this last day in January, 2016. And neither, you’ll be grateful to know, did I just come from spending 40 days in the wilderness. And with luck, the end of this day will also turn out a little bit better for me than it did for Jesus. However, I do find it remarkably auspicious, just as when Jesus was given to read that section from the prophet Isaiah for his first sermon, that today I get to preach on the chapter on love from St. Paul’s letter to the Corinthians. I say this not because I’m a hopeless romantic, which I am; and also not because I’m planning on getting married soon, which I am not; but rather because I believe that to love is what we are called to do, first and foremost, as members in this community known as Deaconess Anne House.</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The word “love” in the English language has many facets to it. It can mean romantic love, which is what we most often associate with the words “I love you.” The term “love” can also signify the emotion felt between close friends. In both of these cases, the love is built upon some sort of give-and-take relationship. But in the original Greek, Paul is writing specifically about </span><i style="box-sizing: inherit;">agape</i><span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">love, the type of love that requires a complete outpouring of the self in service to another, without regard for one’s own self. This is the type of love we believe God has for us, and the type we hope to cultivate in ourselves for God and for each other. The extent to which we fail at this becomes obvious if you pause and reflect upon how unlikely it is that you would find yourself one day saying “I love you” to a stranger.</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Paul writes to the church in Corinth about love, not to provide them with a beautiful hymn to be incorporated into their wedding ceremonies, but to instruct them on the basic attitude with which they must learn to form the Body of Christ in this world. In the previous chapter Paul described this Body of Christ as a literal body; members such as the ears and eyes and hands and feet must each go about doing their own duty, not trying to be anything they aren’t for doing so would mean spurning the essential purpose of whatever role they had in the first place. But now that the eyes know to see, the ears know to hear, and the feet know to walk, they must learn the glue that binds them all together, the lifeblood which enables and is essential to the success of any one member; this, Paul writes, is love.</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">“Love is not envious nor boastful nor arrogant nor rude.” Even more than simply performing the tasks that we have the skills to accomplish, Paul reminds us that it is the attitude in which we carry out our duties that makes or breaks our relationships. Back home at Deaconess Anne House, I imagine what it would be like were my roommate Burton to continue to perform his oh-so-common role of sharing his wealth of knowledge about obscure cultural details with us, but to do so impatiently and in a mean spirit; or for Sophie to still unload the dishwasher every morning, but to complain in her heart while doing so against the rest of us for using so many dishes the night before. I can tell you one thing: in such an environment, it would be hard to call Deaconess Anne House anything close to home. Though we could still be called a group of young adults living and sleeping within the same four walls of a house, I doubt anyone would truly call that “community.”</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">What binds any community together are the bonds of love shared between its members. And even though I imagine it will feel slightly awkward to do so, I want to try something out. Sophie, Olive, Burton, Jose, Maria, Martin, Rebecca: I love you. I love you.</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I want to sit with that for a moment. Once we become comfortable using that phrase to mean more than the limited sense of passionate, infatuating and often lustful romantic love, what else can it mean? Paul writes, again, that love “does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful.” At Deaconess Anne House, we would never get anything done if we all wanted to have things our own way. Every Monday evening, we prepare a dinner and eucharist with invited guests from the community – you could come too, if you wanted to make the long drive – and we split the tasks of cooking for, entertaining, and cleaning up after our guests. I doubt that there has ever been a time where everyone was completely happy with how things went, or when we were all excited about the jobs we were given. But thanks to the love we choose to share with each other and with our guests, we are able to continue this joyous, though often stressful, ritual.</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">As a community, we have also undertaken more ambitious projects of hospitality and service, such as collecting and distributing several hundred coats to those in our neighborhood who needed them back in November, and we are currently working on a blanket drive for the same population. Without love for the stranger, none of this would be possible. Rebecca may have many connections through building up friendships in the neighborhood, and Olive may have the unique ability to keep us all organized, on track, and in good cheer, but without love to push us into action we would accomplish nothing.</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Finally, Paul writes that love “does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.” Love is not about sugarcoating our experience, nor avoiding hard truths for fear of offending. It is this aspect of love that I see in Jesus’ first sermon to his home town of Nazareth. There, his fellow Jews complacently accepted the story of their being God’s chosen people; they consciously or unconsciously saw non-Jews as somehow less valued, less worthy in God’s eyes. But Jesus tells them the hard truth of God’s love for all people by showing how, like him, the other prophets came not just for the Jews but for the sake of foreigners, as well. Jesus essentially tells them that Gentile Lives Matter, and their response is to throw him out and attempt to run him off a cliff.</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It is impossible to love while shying away from hard truth. And once we have recognized that truth, true love calls us into action. One cannot say, “I love you, people of Flint, Michigan,” without feeling called to speak out against their suffering. I cannot stand before you and say I love my neighbors Johnny and Gretchen and Talea without feeling called to try to alleviate their poverty and suffering, because they sleep out in the cold every night while I am warm and dry and snug in the blankets of my own bed. I cannot say I love the members of my community at Deaconess Anne House without feeling called to listening to their needs in community, obeying the core values at the heart of our program and amending my own impulses to become a more loving member of the community.</span></div>
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Love is patient, love is kind, yes. But love is also difficult; it sets a high bar for our values, provides the impetus to action and, in so doing, becomes the life force which keeps any community together. Love is all these things, and more. May God bless you this day with love, and transform you in your hearts to be all that he wants you to be. Amen.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05874696069012355669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-16264094824249192392016-01-31T10:10:00.000-08:002016-02-01T12:13:00.631-08:00"Do we believe in a God who knows us … or a God who is trying to find us out?" -- a sermon for the fourth Sunday after Epiphany<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, Jan. 31, 2016</i></span></b><br />
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<i>Jeremiah said, “The word of the Lord came to me saying: </i><br />
<i>“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you.”</i><br />
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“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you.”<br />
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The first word God has for Jeremiah. The first word of many that would not only change Jeremiah’s life but the course of an entire nation was this:<br />
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I know you.<br />
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That word, “know,” is one of the most powerful words in scripture. In Hebrew, it’s yada.<br />
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<i>Yada</i> doesn’t just mean “Hey -- I know that guy.” <i>Yada</i> means to know deeply … intimately … fully. <br />
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We read <i>yada</i> in Genesis when we hear that Adam knew Eve -- wink, wink, nudge, nudge, know what I mean? That kind of know. In “the biblical sense.” <br />
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We read <i>yada</i> in Exodus when God says to Moses, “I know the sufferings of my people and I have come down to deliver them.”<br />
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This is deep, intimate, vulnerable, personal and utterly complete knowledge. All hearts open. All desires known. No secrets hid.<br />
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<i>Yada</i> is the ultimate approach/avoidance situation of human existence. We crave being able to share and to have another know those parts of ourselves we are convinced we must hide away. We crave it almost as much as we fear the pain and shame of that intimate knowledge being turned to ridicule, betrayal and rejection. Almost as much as we fear what we thought was “being known” turning into “being found out.”<br />
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It’s ironic isn’t it? Being known might be our deepest desire. And yet being found out is so often our greatest fear. <br />
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That’s because being known is being understood. Being found out is being shamed.<br />
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Being known is living fully, authentically and without shame. Being found out is being yanked out of a closet and sucked into the deep downward spiral of shame.<br />
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Being known is about intimacy and acceptance, about love and embrace, about forgiveness and grace. <br />
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Being found out is about examination and rejection and the confirmation that those voices inside us that have told us we are no good, that we are less than, that we are not worthy of love have been right all along.<br />
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And so when the Word of the Lord comes to Jeremiah, when God says “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,” does Jeremiah sing with joy or cringe in fear? Does his heart fill with hope or did his stomach bottom out in dread. <br />
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I imagine it was a lot of both.<br />
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But God is kind. Because God doesn’t leave Jeremiah twisting in the wind, wondering if he has been known or found out. Because in the very same sentence God says even more.<br />
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</i> <i>“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,</i><br />
<i>and before you were born I consecrated you;</i><br />
<i>I appointed you a prophet to the nations.”</i><br />
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“Jeremiah. I know you. I have always known you. I will always know you. And what I have seen is so good, so beautiful, so worthy that before you even did anything to earn it, I have set you apart and am giving you a purpose to fulfill, a life to lead, a truth to tell to the world.”<br />
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God tells Jeremiah, “I know you.” <br />
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Not “I’ve found you out” but “I know you.” <br />
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And even though it takes Jeremiah a second to believe God. Even though Jeremiah’s first reaction is to look behind him, certain that God must be talking to someone else, someone older, better, more eloquent – the message sinks in. Jeremiah indeed becomes a prophet to the nations. And the words God gives him – words that become a fire shut up in his bones that he cannot help but let out (20:9) – are words that change the course of history itself. <br />
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God tells Jeremiah, “I know you.” Not “I’ve found you out” but “I know you.” <br />
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And Jeremiah believes God. <br />
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And that makes all the difference.<br />
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So the question for us this morning:<br />
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Do we believe in a God who knows us … or a God who is trying to find us out?<br />
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Because our answer makes all the difference, too.<br />
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For centuries and even millennia, much of Western Christianity has preached a God who is trying to find us out – and we have suffered mightily for it. We have turned following Jesus into the very things he railed against – adherence to purity codes, behavioral norms, and dogmatic confessions. This Grand Inquisitor God has not stood with Christ while Christ stands with us in all the fragility and beauty and imperfection of our humanity -- but instead has driven us behind masks and into closets. <br />
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Preaching a God who is trying to find us out, for centuries and even millennia, we have enshrined the Fall, not rejoicing that we are wonderfully made but cowering in fear and shame when God comes walking in the garden in the cool of the day because our very bodies – created in God’s image -- offend us, and, we assume, offends God as well.<br />
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And preaching that false God, for centuries and even millennia, we have turned the church into an instrument of fear and shame. Instead of proclaiming with Jesus that today the Gospel of liberation is fulfilled in your hearing, the church has been an enslaver, using fear and shame to subjugate anyone who doesn’t fit into a hopelessly narrow understanding of human being and expression.<br />
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Instead of proclaiming with Paul that love is patient and kind and that at best now we see in a mirror dimly, for centuries and even millennia the church has become a generator and amplifier of the moralizing certitude of slut-shaming, purity culture, modesty culture, homophobia, transphobia and the list goes on and on.<br />
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Instead of singing with the psalmist, “In you, O Lord, have I taken refuge; let me never be ashamed,” in the name of Jesus, for centuries and even millennia, the church has used fear and shame and even our own religious imagery to support systems that tell people with black and brown bodies to be ashamed and fearful, that refuge in the church is contingent on acting white, and that expressing fully who you are, especially any anger you might have, is not allowed.*<br />
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Fear and shame. That is what preaching this God who is trying to find us out has wrought in our hearts and in our churches. Fear and shame. <br />
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Have you felt it? <br />
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Even in this space … even in this wonderful community, have you felt the need to hide pieces of yourself in fear and shame? Have you felt unable to be your full self, to explore who that might be, to express the image of God that is upon and within you?<br />
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Even in this space … even in this wonderful community, have you felt the fear that you will be found out – that you will be discovered unworthy, an impostor Christian or less than a full and beautiful child of God because of something you have done, or believe or even who you are. <br />
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Even in this space … even in this wonderful community, is there something that when God brings God’s word to you that God is setting you apart and giving you a purpose to fulfill, a life to lead, a truth to tell to the world your first reaction is to look behind you because surely God must be talking to somebody else. Certainly God could not be giving this incredible word to you?<br />
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Fear and shame. That is what preaching this God who is trying to find us out has wrought in our hearts and in our churches. Fear and shame. And that is not only the deepest tragedy, it is also the deepest irony. <br />
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Because fear and shame have not only no place in Jesus’ Gospel of liberation, fear and shame are the biggest enemies Jesus’ Gospel of liberation knows. <br />
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Fear and shame are the very things from which Jesus’ Gospel of liberation comes to free us.<br />
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And so that is why this question – Do we believe in a God who knows us … or do we believe in a God who is trying to find us out? That is why this question is so important … and why our answer makes all the difference.<br />
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It made all the difference to Jeremiah. God gave Jeremiah a word to judge the nations – a word that plucked up and pulled down, a word that destroyed and overthrew, a word that built and planted. And yes, it was a word about how the people of Israel had strayed and fallen short, about how they had gone after other gods and betrayed God’s love for them. It was a word of calling to account for the sins they had committed. <br />
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It needed to be. Judgment is important. Our actions matter and confessing sin and together committing through the grace of God to new ways of living is how we fully live into the images of God we always have been.<br />
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But the context is always God’s grace. And God’s grace is that first word that Jeremiah heard – a word Jeremiah had to believe first for himself if he was going to say any of the others: That the God who has called us into covenant, the God who created us in the divine image and brought and brings us out of bondage is not a God who finds us out but a God who knows us. <br />
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A God who sees deep in our hearts and understands because God has been there. <br />
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A God whose dream for us is to live fully, risk boldly, love deeply, and grieve honestly. <br />
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A God who does not shame us for our sins but who stands with us in them, bearing their pain with us and calling us into new life in their wake.<br />
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A God to whom all hearts are open, all desires known and from whom no secrets ever can be or ever need to be hid.<br />
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Jeremiah believed that the God who spoke to him that day was a God who had not found him out but a God who knew him. And because he heard and believed that word, he was able without fear or shame to take a word upon his heart and upon his lips that would change the world. <br />
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And now the question rests on us. Which God do we believe in? <br />
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Do we believe in a God who knows us … or a God who is trying to find us out?<br />
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Do we believe in a God who calls us to cower in a closet or to rejoice we are wonderfully made?<br />
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Do we believe in a God who castigates us with shame or stands with us in love?<br />
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Do we believe in a God who dreams for us to join God as co-creators of a liberated world or live in fear of breaking rules that continually forge our chains.<br />
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The Word of God comes to us this morning saying, “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you.”<br />
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Imagine what purpose we could fulfill, what life we could lead, what truth we could tell to the world,<br />
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Imagine what living ambassadors of Jesus’ Gospel of liberation we could be if we could believe God knows … and loves … us, too. <br />
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<i>*I am indebted to Elle Dowd for these thoughts about the damage the church has done to bodies. <a href="https://dowdsermonizing.wordpress.com/2016/01/31/the-business-of-bodies-for-gynnya-mcmillen/">Be sure to click here and read her fantastic sermon on this same text that expands on these thoughts and links it to the killing of Gynnya McMillen. </a></i><br />
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Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-9589106206198019112016-01-26T13:48:00.001-08:002016-01-26T13:49:37.450-08:00Christ's Inaugural Address -- a sermon for the 3rd Sunday after Epiphany<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Rev. Chester Hines at Christ Church Cathedral at 8 am on Sunday, January 24, 2016</i></span></b><br />
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In scripture, Jesus starts his ministry this morning. He just won the election, in this case the selection by God as His beloved Son. He is filled with joy and the power of the Holy Spirit. If he did not know previously, He knows now He has been anointed by God to do something special. He understands He is to go out into the communities and tell the people who He is. He knows He will need to lead the people, encourage the people, empower the people. He knows His message is the message necessary for the salvation of the people. <br />
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History shows us he was willing to work hard to spread his message. He lays down the foundation of what he intends to accomplish. He begins immediately during His inaugural address to those gathered in the synagogue to paint the picture of what his platform will be; The Spirit of the Lord is upon Him because he has been anointed by God to go and do this work.<br />
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God anointed Christ just as Christ anoints each of us each Sunday through the blessing of God we receive from our priest or bishop. It is this blessing that anoints us continuously to go and do the physical work of Christ and be the spiritual influence of Christ here on earth.<br />
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Christ was created and set apart for a specific purpose. Know in your mind and heart this morning that the purpose for which Christ was called is the purpose for which each of us is called. To proclaim good news to the poor; not just the poor financially and economically but also the poor in spirit, the poor in mind and body, the poor who are shut out of the mainstream of the communities in which they live; the poor who are seen and not heard; the poor who live among us and their voices seem like a cry in wilderness unheard and unanswered. The poor who suffer from lack of resources to afford housing, food, clothing, healthcare, all of the necessities of life. The poor who live in danger of violence from others in the community, from the police, from the criminal justice system and this list goes on and on.<br />
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Even the financially wealthy are poor in spirit concerned about whether friends and family will ask for money or loans; they wonder if they get sued, they wonder if they will have enough money to last, they wonder if this person is my friend or a friend to my wealth. And lastly, many are poor because of the torment that they have all that money can buy but lack happiness and emotional comfort. Christ has come even to bring good news to all of us who suffer from some type of poverty.<br />
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Christ was sent to proclaim release to the captives. Who among us are captive this morning? Clearly we are not living in the many prisons, jails and other institutions of incarceration because we are here at Christ Church Cathedral. But how many of our minds and hearts are incarcerated by the vicissitudes of life, challenges in family, loss of employment, concern over lack of health care, concern over world issues, the middle east conflict, the worldwide economy, the terrorism occurring all over the world and in our churches, in our schools, on our college campuses. How many have been in captivity this week as the stock market bounced up and down loosing over five hundred points in one day, watching helplessly as the value of the portfolio dwindled. <br />
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Belief and faith in a God in heaven who sent His son for us to emulate can release all of us from the punitive incarceration put upon us by environmental and other life hindrances. <br />
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He has sent me to recover the sight of the blind. Jesus is not just talking about those who cannot see physically. He demonstrated he could bring sight back to the blind when he restored the sight of blind Bartimaeus. Jesus here is talking about another type of restoration; He is talking about recovering our sight from spiritual blindness to a spiritual re-awakening and seeing. He is calling you and me to turn away from the darkness of the world to the light of the world, from the power of Satan, to the power of God; to move from the trials and tribulations that blind us and keep up from having a full relationship with Christ. A relationship that gives us unlimited sight. To receive remission of our sins and to be sanctified by the grace given to us by Christ and to be faithful to our call to live a life filled with Christ. Christ is telling us to look and see that which is beyond the things that are visually present to us to the things that are spiritually present to us.<br />
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He has sent me to let the oppressed go free. Where is our oppression this morning? Is it in the addiction from drugs, abuse of medications, tobacco, alcohol; is it in the fast food restaurants, is it in the rejection from a job loss or a relationship broken, is it in chronic worries, is it in traumatic conflict, is it in the neglect we do regarding the things that are important to us which are pushed aside because we believe we do not have the time? Is it the oppression that has our children carrying guns and killing each other? Is it the oppression that has our children experimenting with all types of chemicals in an attempt to get to the next high? Is it the institutionalized power that has been historically formed and perpetuated over time; the oppression that allows certain groups of people to assume a dominant position over other groups; the oppression built into institutions like governments and educational systems; governments that illicitly charge residents in order to raise money to continue an oppressive government; educational systems that consistently look for excuses for our children not receiving an education. <br />
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Oppression is all around us and takes many forms, comes in many shapes and acts in strange and confusing ways. Oppression can enslave us and lead us into chaos and confusion which seems to have no end.<br />
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Christ continues with His inaugural address when He informs those gathered that He has come to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. How do we know when we have the Lord’s favor? Those who are favored by God know that God is with them and that nothing can tear them apart from His good purpose. They rest in a quiet confidence that their sins are forgiven and that they are within the plan of God. God is love and when we give and receive love, we have the Lord’s favor; God requires justice and when we have a concern for justice, peace, and a genuine respect for all people, we have the Lord’s favor; God’s holiness is the natural expression of His righteousness. God is infinitely pure and He is opposed to all sin, and that opposition to sin is constantly demonstrated in His love for our sinful world. Our righteousness is expressed every time we make the decision to live a life without sin. God has given us a covenant. This covenant is expressed in the first and second commandments. He is declaring that He will not tolerate unfaithfulness and competition with anything else. An idol can be in the form of anything that you might place in a higher priority over God. God requires that He is first in our life; when you put God first He knows your faithfulness.<br />
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Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing. If you are a Christian, Christ’s inaugural address was written for you. You have been called to duty and are a part of the great administration; you have been prepared to take on the great challenges of righting the wrongs of the community; you are being sworn in, taking the oath of office to go and do and be the presence of Christ in the lives and places where Christ is absent; to go and do and be Christ in the presence of great challenge and unbelievable odds. We are called to be in the places of pain and discomfort; to be the salve of healing to those who suffer from the inequities of life. You have heard the words, we know the tasks, we are the children of a God who will never change His mind in regard to us or His calling to us; He will never write us off, never leave us or forsake us. We are a part of God's family and He requires us to do His work. Let us go forth with the enthusiastic call and doing a feverish work of peace, love and justice for all of God’s people. Amen.<br />
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Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-51661298217420244872015-12-27T10:26:00.000-08:002015-12-27T10:26:37.750-08:00Words made flesh: Joining Jesus in the life of skénoó - a sermon for the First Sunday after Christmas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, Dec. 27, 2015.</i></span></b><br />
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</b></i> <i><b>In the name of love</b></i></div>
<i><b>What more in the name of love</b></i><br />
<i><b><br />
</b></i> <i><b>“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”</b></i><br />
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+<br />
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It’s been nearly 40 years since Paul Hewson, David Evans, Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen got together for the first time in Larry’s kitchen in Dublin, Ireland. <br />
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40 years since four teenagers who individually had limited musical proficiency and seemed like they were nothing special first realized that together they might be something special. <br />
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40 years since the beginnings of what would become U2. <br />
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Since that day in 1976, U2 has become the longest-continuously running and most successful band in rock n roll history. And in those nearly 40 years and close to 2,000 concerts only once have they not taken the stage together – November 26, 1993 in Sydney, Australia when Adam Clayton was too hung over to take the stage. Afterward, the band sat him down, lovingly and angrily got in his face about how he was self-medicating his depression with alcohol, helped him get into rehab and he hasn’t had a drink and they have never performed apart from each other ever since.<br />
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How have they stayed together? How has U2 survived the forces that have torn other incredibly successful bands apart. How are they as they end their 15th concert tour, arguably stronger and more creative than they have ever been.<br />
<br />
Lead singer Bono will tell you it’s because drummer “Larry Mullen cannot tell a lie. And his brutal honesty is something we need in this band.” They will talk about a shared commitment never to be satisfied with their success but to risk and experiment and remake themselves continually in the hope of getting even better.<br />
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And then Bono tells this story:.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bono (left) and Adam Clayton</td></tr>
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“It was 1987, somewhere in the South. We’d been campaigning for Dr. King – for his birthday to be a national holiday. And in Arizona, they’re saying no. We’ve been campaigning very, very hard for Dr. King. Some people don’t like it. Some people get very annoyed. Some people want to kill the singer (“the singer” is how Bono refers himself). Some people are taken very seriously by the FBI, and they tell the singer he shouldn’t play the gig, because tonight, his life is at risk, and he must not go onstage.<br />
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“The singer laughs. You know, of course we’re playing the gig, of course we go onstage. And I’m standing there, singing “Pride in the Name of Love,” and I’ve got to the third verse (which is the verse about Dr. King being shot and killed), and I close my eyes, and I know I’m excited about meeting my maker, but maybe not tonight. I don’t really want to meet my maker tonight. I close my eyes, and when I look up, I see Adam Clayton standing in front of me, holding his bass like only Adam Clayton can hold his bass. <br />
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“And you know, there’s people … who tell you they’d take a bullet for you, but Adam Clayton would’ve taken a bullet for me – and I guess that’s what it’s like to be in a truly great rock and roll band.”<br />
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This morning we hear another song -- the song of the Gospel according to John:<br />
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In he beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The Word was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. <br />
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And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.<br />
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In a world of statistics and prose, the prologue to John’s Gospel is a love song. It’s not the historical context of Luke, full of “when Quirinius was the governor of Syria” or the mechanical “now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way” of Matthew. <br />
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John sings a song of the cosmos. <br />
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In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The Word was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnThM32EEQ0K0uxYzpjhqD13dkZRa1k2kcR-IiMwxJl3dAG0m_JfYDALbTdlGwD_pXXIIX0PYPiOVT0MUM-azFZY8jAtKBduUQCQxtiNJzgEQHBYiRP73tEdy6hTfA05s1NNPEDT7KjyXS/s1600/normal_Star-field-near-M31.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnThM32EEQ0K0uxYzpjhqD13dkZRa1k2kcR-IiMwxJl3dAG0m_JfYDALbTdlGwD_pXXIIX0PYPiOVT0MUM-azFZY8jAtKBduUQCQxtiNJzgEQHBYiRP73tEdy6hTfA05s1NNPEDT7KjyXS/s320/normal_Star-field-near-M31.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
All politics might be local but God is cosmic. The observable universe is at least 91 billion light years in diameter and is nearly 14 billion years old and God is God of all of it. We are a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck, <br />
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and yet..<br />
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The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.<br />
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Think about that for a second. Think about the size of the universe. It’s 93 million miles even to get to our sun and cosmically that’s like walking across the street to Tim Horton’s to get some donut holes. And God is the God of all of it. <br />
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And yet …<br />
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The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.<br />
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And the word John uses for dwelt is an important word. <br />
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It doesn’t mean just drop in for a visit.<br />
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It doesn’t even mean just move into the neighborhood.<br />
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The Greek word for dwelt John uses here is ἐσκήνωσεν (skénoó) and it means to spread your tent over someone. It means not just staying with someone but enfolding them, standing between them and danger. Saying there is nothing out there you will ever face alone because “I will always be standing right next to you and in front. Always right next to you and in front.”<span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="background: #FDFEFF; color: #001320; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1813642919033842011#_ftn1" name="_ftnref" title="">[1]</a></span></span><br />
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It’s Adam Clayton standing in front of Bono ready to take a bullet for him during the third verse of Pride.<br />
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It’s the band loving Adam enough to get in his face about his depression and alcoholism even though conversations like that can break up the best of families.<br />
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It is a commitment to brutal honesty and never to put personal achievement over what we can do together.<br />
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When John sings that the Word became flesh and dwelt, and skénoó with us, John is proclaiming the deep and soul-exploding truth that even though we are a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck in this vast 91 billion light years wide universe among who knows how many other universes, the God that created and continues to create it all chose and still chooses to go all in with us, to stand right next to us and in front, and to never, never, never, ever leave.<br />
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In the name of love<br />
What more in the name of love.<br />
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That is the gift of Christmas. God’s gift of the divine self. Not just dropping in for a visit but dwelling with us, skénoó –ing with us, covering us, loving us enough to take a bullet for us and loving us too much not to speak the truth to our face. It is God standing with us and saying “sink or swim, succeed or fail, win or lose, pride or shame, I am with you today, tomorrow, forever.”<br />
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And God has two more words for us in this pledge of love. In this pledge of dwelling. In this pledge of skénoó . <br />
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The Word made flesh gazes up at us from the manger this morning and says two words:<br />
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“Join me.”<br />
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This Christmas gift is not meant for us to keep to ourselves. In fact, that would be the deepest blasphemy. This gift of Godself, of the divine presence who broods over the world like a mother over her children reminds us that this is the image in which we all were created and this mission is our deepest joy as well. <br />
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That just as God stands with us in our deepest pain and most frantic anxiety. Just as God meets us where we are most isolated, most closeted and most rejected, we are invited to do the same for this world into which Christ was born. <br />
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To go into the heart of the most agonizing pain and paralyzing fear. <br />
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To go to the places that are the furthest out and the most rejected. To the people that the world views as completely inconsequential and not mattering at all. <br />
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To go to the places that as far as the world is concerned are as useless as a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck and not just drop off a care package with a few things to make life a little more bearable. <br />
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Not just drop in for a visit and an encouraging pat on the back. <br />
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But to dwell there, to skénoó there. To not only with our lips but with our lives enfold those who dwell there, stand between them and danger. Say that there is nothing out there you will ever face alone because “I will always be standing right next to you and in front. Always right next to you and in front.”<br />
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What does that look like? <br />
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What does it look like not just to hand out pastries and eggs to those among us who are hungry but truly to skénoó together?<br />
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What does it look like not just to keep this space open for those among us who have no place to go but truly to skénoó together?<br />
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What does it look like not just to say “Black Lives Matter” but across the lines of race and class truly to skénoó together?<br />
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What does it look like not just to denounce Islamophobia and homophobia and transphobia and misogyny and so on and so on and so on but truly to skénoó together?<br />
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I don’t have a simple answer for us today. But I do know that if we are to be the church of the one who became flesh in Jesus, we get to find out. I do know that if we are to listen to the cry from the manger this morning to join the Word made flesh in becoming flesh in new ways and new places ourselves, we get to find out.<br />
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I do know that like the Word becoming flesh, this mission will lead us out of our comfort zones into places of unfamiliarity, vulnerability and risk. That like the Word made flesh, this mission invites us to dismantle “us serving them” models of ministry in favor of building Beloved Communities together. That like the Word made flesh we must be willing to sacrifice power and privilege, resources and respectability, safety and security to stand with one another in truth and solidarity and love.<br />
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What does it look like to live the skénoó life of God? I don’t have a simple answer but I know it is giving up a life of safety for a life of self-sacrificing love. It is recognizing that in the words of Dr. King until we have found something we will die for we are not fit to live. It is realizing that in Christ true greatness lies not in how much we accomplish or how much we acquire or how faithfully we preserve but in how deeply and fully we are willing to give up ourselves - even our very lives - for one another.<br />
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Bono said, “You know, there’s people … who tell you they’d take a bullet for you, but Adam Clayton would’ve taken a bullet for me – and I guess that’s what it’s like to be in a truly great rock and roll band.”<br />
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That’s what it’s like to be a really great church, too. <br />
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The Word became flesh and skénoó among us, showing us what true greatness looks like.<br />
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The Word became flesh and skénoó among us, and we have seen her glory, full of grace and truth. And from her fullness we have all received grace upon grace. <br />
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The Word became flesh and skénoó among us … and lying in a manger, the Word made flesh in Jesus invites us to do the same. Amen.<br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1813642919033842011#_ftnref" name="_ftn1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference">[1]</span></a> Will McAvoy to Sloan Sabbith in Season 1, Episode 6 of “The Newsroom” by Aaron Sorkin. (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2299127/)</div>
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Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-66789685752648571052015-12-24T22:53:00.000-08:002015-12-24T22:58:24.549-08:00"What are you waiting for?" - a sermon for Christmas Eve Night<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Christmas Eve Night, 2015.</i></span></b><br />
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<i>And God said to Godself: “What are you waiting for?”</i></div>
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You know, we should do this more often.<br />
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Seriously, it shouldn’t just be once a year that we come together in the middle of the night, when the rest of the world is asleep. <br />
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I tell my teenage boys that “nothing good happens after midnight” – because I’d rather they be home safe in bed so I’m not up worrying. I really have to stop saying that to them. <br />
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Because the truth is wonderful things happen in the middle of the night.<br />
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The deepest conversations.<br />
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The most profound revelations.<br />
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The most passionate love. <br />
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The middle of the night is when prose turns to poetry and statistics turn to song. <br />
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The middle of the night is when we are haunted by ghosts of the past, and enticed by hopes of the future. <br />
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The best questions come in the middle of the night.<br />
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The best questions come in the middle of the night.<br />
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And this night is no exception.<br />
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For us fully to appreciate what happens this holy night, we need to know the backstory. We need to know that the child born this night in Bethlehem has been a long, long time in coming. <br />
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We need to know that this birth comes after millennia upon millennia of God loving us from afar, dancing when we returned that love and agonizing when we rejected it. <br />
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We need to know that this birth comes after millennia upon millennia of God watching us turn against God, betray God’s trust, and turn against one another. <br />
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We need to know that this birth comes after millennia upon millennia of God staying distant and safe, letting prophets and sages deliver God’s messages of love. Until one night, deep in one night, as the world sleeps below, God has the deepest conversation, the most profound revelation of the most passionate love.<br />
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And God asks the divine self a single question:<br />
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“What are you waiting for?”<br />
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I have to believe that is the question God asks the Divine self before the incarnation, before the angel comes to Mary, before this holy night is pierced by the baby Jesus’ first cry.<br />
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“What are you waiting for?” <br />
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It’s a question all of us come to at some point in our lives – and often more than once. <br />
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What are we waiting for?<br />
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What are we afraid of?<br />
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Why are we holding back?<br />
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We always have reasons. There are always reasons to wait. Reasons not to do the bold thing. Not to do the courageous thing. Not to make the grand act of love.<br />
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It will hurt.<br />
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It could cost too much.<br />
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Think of what I have to lose?<br />
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I wonder if God wasn’t thinking the same thing. Being born, becoming human is such a risk. Loving so deeply to give yourself body and soul to someone is such a risk. What if they reject me? What if it hurts?<br />
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What if? What if? What if?<br />
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And the truth is, when God becomes human in Jesus, all these things do happen and yet still – and indeed because of all these things -- it is the deepest truth, the most profound event, the most passionate love in human history.<br />
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God asks Godself “What are you waiting for?” And God is not the only one. The question is ever on our hearts as well. <br />
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“What are you waiting for?” <br />
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It comes to us in the middle of the night. And when it does, our powers of rationalization are literally paralyzing. <br />
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We convince ourselves that playing it safe is the best practice. That long-term sustainability is more important than truth-telling and that discretion truly is the better part of valor. <br />
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We sell our souls not in grand gestures for glorious prizes, not at the Crossroads for the soul to play the blues. No, we sell our souls a little bit at a time…<br />
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Each time we say it is smarter to hedge our bets and keep our distance. <br />
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Each time we hide in the safety of the crowd.<br />
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Each time we shrink away from having the conversation that lays our heart bare.<br />
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We sell our souls a little bit each time we hold ourselves back for some better opportunity down the road, and in so doing miss the opportunities for true greatness the present moment has in her hands.<br />
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Well, Christmas is God having enough of that. <br />
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Christmas is God refusing to stay safe, keep her distance, and miss that opportunity. <br />
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Christmas is God going all in and standing in solidarity with our fragile humanity. <br />
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Christmas is God not fixing all the brokenness in the world, not magically solving every problem but saying “I’m going to be with you deep in the midst of it, this night, every night, forever. “<br />
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Christmas is God saying “What am I waiting for? Now is the time for love. Now is the time for truth. Now is the time to go all in. This love can’t wait any longer. This love can’t be lived from far away any longer. I’ve got to get down there. I’ve got to be with them. I don’t care about the danger. I don’t care about the risk. I love them too much to be away from them one second longer.<br />
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“Now is the time.”<br />
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I think about how many times I have thought playing it safe was the smart thing to do. And then I look at the Gospel, and I realize that playing it safe was not in Jesus’ playbook. Playing it safe is not in God's playbook. <br />
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If playing it safe was God's operating system, we would not be here this night. There would be no Christmas -- and there would certainly be no church. Christmas happened because God turned to the divine self and said, “What am I waiting for? What am I afraid of? Why have I waited so long to go all in? ” <br />
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And Christmas begs the same question of us. For all that conventional wisdom tells us to play it safe and hold back and make sure we live to fight another day, Christmas tells us that tonight is that night. That now is the time. <br />
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Christmas asks us “What are we waiting for?”<br />
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It’s not like there is any shortage of brokenness in this world for us to throw ourselves at in love and healing and it’s not like we are not up to the task. My God, we are the body of Christ! We are made in God’s image and loved beyond measure. Through Christ, we are capable of infinitely more than we can ask or imagine. And yet, we convince ourselves that we’re not. We convince ourselves that we cannot make a difference. We forget that we are people of this holy night, the night that Christ was born.<br />
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This holy night reminds us that the way we love is not from a safe distance but dwelling intimately with one another, no matter the danger, no matter the risk. In the heart of the danger. In the heart of the risk.<br />
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This holy night tells us that the way we love is not fixing all the brokenness in the world, not magically solving every problem but saying “We’re going to be together deep in the midst of it, this night, every night, forever.”<br />
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This holy night invites us to look at all the places we are holding back, all the places we are afraid, all the places we are waiting until we know how to do it exactly right, until there will be no cost or ramifications, until the odds will be in our favor -- to look at all those places and to remember that the proudest histories of those who dared to follow Jesus are histories of those who looked at themselves and said, just as God does this night, “What am I waiting for?” <br />
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Christmas is not about giving a small gift. <br />
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Christmas is not about a simple act of generosity. <br />
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Christmas is not about playing nice for a day and then going back to business as usual.<br />
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Christmas is about us looking at ourselves in the mirror, and like God in the incarnation saying “What are we waiting for?” <br />
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There is a world out there, a world of oppression and division, of hopelessness and hunger. And there is a world in here, too – a world inside each one of us – a world of dread and fear, a world where we hide our true selves from one another for fear of judgment and suffer in silence rather than risk rejection. And this night we are given the gift of life and the gift of opportunity to love all of it – the world out there, and the world inside each one of us -- into a different place, a better place, a place of freedom and forgiveness and joy.<br />
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Why are we holding back? <br />
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What are we waiting for?<br />
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Wonderful things happen in the middle of the night.<br />
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The deepest conversations.<br />
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The most profound revelations.<br />
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The most passionate love. <br />
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The best questions come in the middle of the night.<br />
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And this night is no exception.<br />
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We have the gift of the greatest love the world has ever known. This night is born a Bethlehem a child who is Christ the Lord. His song is on our lips and his love is on our hearts and there is a world out there and many worlds in here waiting for us to meet him and bring him near.<br />
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Wonderful things can happen in the middle of the night. <br />
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What are we waiting for?<br />
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Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-11035930486980799432015-12-13T09:48:00.000-08:002015-12-13T10:14:53.311-08:00"The church must be the headlight. Not the Taillight" -- A sermon for the Third Sunday of Advent<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral at 8 am on Sunday, December 13, 2015</i></span></b><br />
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<i>Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us.</i></div>
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The church must be the headlight. Not the taillight.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPbCr9BRDuX5CJqs_TF1ahjUt3pO9C5W9IDPFhVibEPihkp5rM1lpt9yfknEB83ZvaiD_5NaBOLIim0jh-zDew1wtdOckviqy-E9JcMeCmDBI10mZL7qVZi_s8H7zAmNkFHOl2SBJmmsHB/s1600/john+lewis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPbCr9BRDuX5CJqs_TF1ahjUt3pO9C5W9IDPFhVibEPihkp5rM1lpt9yfknEB83ZvaiD_5NaBOLIim0jh-zDew1wtdOckviqy-E9JcMeCmDBI10mZL7qVZi_s8H7zAmNkFHOl2SBJmmsHB/s200/john+lewis.jpg" width="200" /></a>John Lewis knows a lot about trouble.<br />
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The son of sharecroppers from Troy, Alabama, as a teenager, John Lewis listened to Martin Luther King on the radio and decided to dedicate his life to making trouble. And thank God he did. Because trouble is what made John Lewis great.<br />
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He organized lunch counter sit-ins in Nashville. He was a Freedom Rider and chair of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, one of the architects of the March on Washington and led protesters across the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma.<br />
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He was arrested more than 40 times and beaten, sometimes severely, more often than that. All before the end of his 25th year. All before he had served even one day of his nearly 40 years representing Georgia’s 5th District in Congress.<br />
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Earlier this year, Representative Lewis was speaking to a group of pastors and other church people about the church today. About how the church has become pacified and self-concerned, respectable and removed. <br />
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And as he paced restlessly across the stage, he recalled the hero of his youth and reminded the audience that this was the church that King faced, too. That much of Dr. King’s energy was spent trying to wake up a church that believed God smiled on their docility. A church that had domesticated Jesus into a passive champion of the status quo, preaching a love that was about staying quiet and out of the way.<br />
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The church had to be woken up then, Lewis said. And the church must be woken up now. As he noted the young people taking to the streets and risking arrest to fight for human rights across our nation, Representative Lewis said: “I believe it’s time for the church to get in trouble as well.”<br />
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“I believe the American church is too quiet,” he said. “and it’s time to speak up and speak out. To find a way to get in the way. To get into trouble, good trouble, and necessary trouble.”<br />
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The church is fueled by the Holy Spirit, Lewis said. And we become great when we let the Holy Spirit do her work. We become great when we let the Holy Spirit stir up her power and with great might come among us and when we are not afraid to step out in that Spirit with grace, faith and love.<br />
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And not just step out but <i>lead</i>.<br />
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That’s right, we must not just fall in behind in the relative safety of the crowd, walking steps that have been made safe by others’ sacrifice and risk. As the church of Jesus Christ, we must make those sacrifices and take those risks ourselves, blazing the trail into a world where the ground has not been prepared for us. Where despite John the Baptist’s pleadings the mountains were not made low and the valleys lifted up, the pathways were not made straight and the rough places smooth before the Word became flesh in Jesus of Nazareth.<br />
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“If we want to build a loving community,” Lewis said. “We cannot shy away from the responsibility to lead.”<br />
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“The church must be the headlight not the taillight,” <br />
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The church must be the headlight not the taillight.<br />
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I think John Lewis and John the Baptist would have gotten along just fine.<br />
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John the Baptist also knew a lot about trouble. Long before his head ended up on a platter, John the Baptist was getting into trouble, good trouble, and necessary trouble. <br />
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This morning, he is surrounded by people who are coming out to hear him. They are fans. And John has a peculiar greeting for this crowd of potential followers. He calls them a “brood of vipers.” He asks them, “Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come.” He tells them to “Bear fruit worthy of repentance.”<br />
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Now, I would say as a church growth strategy, this leaves a lot to be desired, except John the Baptist wasn’t interested in growing numbers. John the Baptist was interested in making disciples. John the Baptist was interested in preparing people to follow Jesus, the one who was coming to baptize not with water but with the Holy Spirit who stirs up her power and with great might comes among us and leads us into trouble, good trouble and necessary trouble.<br />
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This is not “How to win friends and influence people.” This is shock therapy. This is the toughest of love. This is John the Baptist saying, “Wake up people! A great light is coming into the world, a light that the darkness cannot overcome. A light of the best, deepest, most life-changing, soul-sating love the universe has ever known. A love that is for me. A love that is for you. A love that is everything we’ve ever dreamed of, a love that is our heart and soul’s desire but that demands our heart and soul in return.”<br />
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John is saying “Wake up, people! A great light is coming into the world. And there is a choice to make. <br />
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“Are you going to live this love? <br />
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“Are you going to be this light? <br />
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And you gotta make the choice. You cannot just rest on who you have been in the past, stay in your comfort zone and think that is enough. God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham.”<br />
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It is the Advent of the Christ. And Jesus is coming. And he will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire. And it is the baptism we as the church have chosen. And if we are, in the language of our baptismal service, going to turn to Jesus Christ and except him as our Savior. If we are to put our whole trust in Christ’s grace and love. If we are to follow and obey Christ as Lord, John the Baptist is clear this morning that we have a choice to make. <br />
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A choice between safety and risk.<br />
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A choice between standing on the sidelines and leading the charge.<br />
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A choice between following the world and following the Christ. <br />
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A choice between being a headlight and being a taillight.<br />
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John Lewis and John the Baptist have the same message: Now is time. Time for the church to wake up. To speak up and speak out. To find a way to get in the way. To bear fruit worthy of repentance. To get into trouble, good trouble, and necessary trouble knowing trouble is always what makes the church great.<br />
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John Lewis and John the Baptist have the same message: Now is the time. The church must be the headlight. Not the taillight.<br />
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And so when politicians and pundits tell us we should greet refugees with slammed doors rather than open arms, now is the time for us to stand up and say “No! That is not the love of Christ.” And so we join with our sisters and brothers at Central Reform Congregation to adopt and welcome two refugee families into our city not just to nod toward compassion but as a first step to a broader partnership of radical hospitality for all.<br />
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The church must be the headlight. Not the taillight.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkOEHPKGjfx9eeZMn4_pqlss75rOy7ds8bvWnG07GBQwwL8eKgbqAvsPwtqcAqJjo6W6rMMHr_0ZylEBRTfAFXyKq6DxRvOj29x52rX_92ORlTUWO8si1oxWhXe-afTdIcIXxd9HcvhdIa/s1600/Love+card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkOEHPKGjfx9eeZMn4_pqlss75rOy7ds8bvWnG07GBQwwL8eKgbqAvsPwtqcAqJjo6W6rMMHr_0ZylEBRTfAFXyKq6DxRvOj29x52rX_92ORlTUWO8si1oxWhXe-afTdIcIXxd9HcvhdIa/s320/Love+card.jpg" width="320" /></a>When Donald Trump and his supporters spew hate against people following the ancient faith of Islam, now is the time for us to stand up and say “No! That is not the love of Christ.” And so this morning, you can take one of these postcards and write a message of love to our Muslim sisters and brothers at the Islamic Foundation of St. Louis as a first step in our commitment to beginning a deepening relationship of love that will stand against the demonization of these beloved children of God.<br />
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The church must be the headlight. Not the taillight.<br />
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But that’s just the beginning.<br />
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When the people cry to John the Baptist: “What then should we do?” How do we shine our halogens ahead blazing the path, and not just bring up the rear of history’s parade? Here is what John says. <br />
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He says to the crowd: "Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.:”<br />
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He says to the tax collectors, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you." <br />
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He says to the soldiers, "Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages."<br />
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Three different groups of people – the crowd, tax collectors and soldiers – people at every level of collaboration with a dehumanizing, oppressive, occupying Roman State – ask John how do we accept this baptism, how do we become this headlight … and the answer John the Baptist gives to every single one of them is economic and it is personal. <br />
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Yes, it is absolutely about making a stand and saying the words, but it is also about choosing a way of life – individually and collectively – that is concerned not with building up wealth and power for ourselves but creating a beloved community of equity and justice for all. <br />
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What then can we do? <br />
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We can be a headlight not a taillight.<br />
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We can not only with our lips but with our lives reclaim the historic role of the church as chief lobbyists for the poor and the marginalized, not negotiating accommodations but demanding transformation and even dismantling of economic systems intentionally constructed so that some have a whole lot and others do not have enough; where greed is rewarded and wanting is justification enough for having. <br />
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What then can we do?<br />
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We can be a headlight not a taillight.<br />
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With our own life as a Cathedral, by how and where we invest our money, by our insistence that this space doesn’t belong to some but belongs to all, by giving away one of our coats every time we see we have two, we can give St. Louis a glimpse of our best future, of what Jesus’ vision of the beloved community can be right here, right now.<br />
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And so as our city prepares to build a football stadium while Black parents in North St. Louis City and County struggle to graduate their children from the failing schools White parents like me can escape from. In the face of this economic injustice will the church, will <i>this</i> church be a headlight or a taillight?<br />
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As we continue to pour millions and even billions in investment and tax breaks into the city’s central corridor while north St. Louis City and County are given crumbs off the table … will the church, will <i>this</i> church be a headlight or a taillight.<br />
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As income inequality spikes to levels not seen in a century, as north St. Louis becomes a broader and wider food desert, as the region continues to dump people struggling with homelessness on downtown St. Louis and considers that a viable solution to a moral crisis, as people of color throughout this country continue to get left off the major wealth escalators of property ownership and access to reasonable credit, as we continue to deny a minimum wage that even approaches a living wage…<br />
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Will the church, will Christ Church Cathedral, will <i>we</i> care more about our own survival or will we continue to say we care more about the life of all God’s children. Will the church, will Christ Church Cathedral, will <i>we</i> care more about keeping people comfortable or will we continue our call to shape disciples of a Jesus whose love has very little to do with comfort? <br />
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Will we speak up and speak out? Will we find a way to get in the way?<br />
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Will we get into trouble, good trouble, and necessary trouble?<br />
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Will we bear fruit worthy of repentance? <br />
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In this moment of history, with so much of it happening right here around us, will the church, will Christ Church Cathedral, will <i>we</i> be a headlight or a taillight?<br />
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This Advent, we are reminded once again that a great light is coming into the world. It is God’s love for us, and the Good News is this incredible love meets us where we are, and accepts us just as we are – nutty and brilliant; messed up and beautiful; clueless and creative. But God’s love for us is too deep and passionate to leave us as God finds us. God’s love is too great not to give us the chance and in fact beg us to choose to share in that greatness ourselves. To know the joy of John the Baptist. To know the joy of John Lewis. To know the joy of Jesus giving self for the life of the world.<br />
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The American church has been too quiet, and now is the time to speak up and speak out. Now is the time to find a way to get in the way. Now is the time to get into trouble, good trouble, and necessary trouble and my hope is we are just getting started. <br />
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The church is fueled by the Holy Spirit. And now is the time to let the Holy Spirit do her work. Now is the time for us to mean every word of the collect of this Third Sunday of Advent and bid the Holy Spirit stir up her power and with great might come among us and not be afraid let her lead us out into the world with grace, faith and love.<br />
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Now is the time. The axe is lying at the root of the trees.<br />
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Now is the time to bear fruit worthy of repentance.<br />
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Now is the time to live the surpassing love of God in Christ.<br />
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Now is the time for the church to be the headlight, not the taillight.<br />
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AMEN.<br />
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Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-46349555493252532452015-12-06T10:16:00.000-08:002015-12-06T10:20:44.142-08:00"Hearing John the Baptist in a world that forgives nothing" - a sermon for the Second Sunday of Advent<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral at 8 am on Sunday, December 6, 2015</i></span></b><br />
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<i>“He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.”</i><br />
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“We live in a world that permits everything and forgives nothing.”<br />
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My friend Becca Stevens said that to me once, and it’s stuck with me every since. Turns out she was quoting a Roman Catholic Archbishop, Cardinal Francis George of Chicago.<br />
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“We live in a world that permits everything and forgives nothing.”<br />
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It’s true, I think, on both counts. Our society is becoming more and more permissive – and we can argue whether or not that is a good thing. Frankly, it’s probably a lot of both. But it’s the second piece of that quote that truly resonates with me. <br />
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We live in a world that forgives nothing.<br />
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We live in a world that is increasingly merciless. Where we get hammered for every mistake or wrong word or sin of omission or commission. We certainly see it in the political sphere where a slip of the tongue can end a career and where candidates are not allowed to evolve in their opinions or, God forbid, even change their minds lest they be called flip floppers and panderers, a symptom of a near-total breakdown in trust. <br />
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But it’s not just there. Increasingly most everyone I know is more and more afraid not so much to make a mistake but to have their mistakes discovered. The mantra of our society seems to be “Do whatever you want … just don’t get caught.... Because if you get caught, we will bury you!” <br />
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And so we live in a country where half of married women and 60% of married men will have an extramarital affair in their lifetimes … and yet we are brutally unforgiving when one comes to light – particularly to women.<br />
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We live in a country where 64% of men view pornography online at least monthly and pornography makes up about a third of all global internet traffic, yet instead of asking how we can help with an addiction, we cast out as a perverted pariah any man who is discovered with it on his computer. <br />
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There are similar statistics for other destructive behaviors. And our mercilessness has devastating effects. Because we live in a world that forgives nothing and that makes almost no allowance for human fragility, our own sin and brokenness is consistently driven into closets and underground in fear. <br />
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And that not only sends us into death spirals of shame, it cuts us off from resources and communities that can help us. It keeps in the darkness what only the light can heal. <br />
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It is into this merciless world that John the Baptist cries this second Sunday of Advent. And his cry is at once terrifying and liberating. He is proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. <br />
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What John is inviting the people to. What John is inviting us into as an act of preparation for Christ in our lives flies in the face of this world that permits everything and forgives nothing. Because what he is inviting us into is a radical change in how we approach our own sinfulness. <br />
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John is inviting us to come out of the closet as sinners. <br />
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Baptism is a communal public act. So when John proclaims a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, John is inviting us to publicly own our sins and admit our mistakes, to proclaim publicly all those places where we have fallen and continue to fall short, to stand up and say to the world. “Hey everybody – we screwed up.” <br />
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But it’s more than that. It’s more than just “Hey everybody – we screwed up.” It’s “Hey everybody – we screwed up and we don’t want to do this anymore. And so we need help.” And yes, the first step is acknowledging we have a problem. <br />
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Repentance is about radical change of life. It is about recognizing that of course we fall short, of course we make mistakes. And that when we keep that sin hidden in the darkness it only grows in power. <br />
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But when we bring those mistakes, when we bring our sin and brokenness out of the darkness into the light, it doesn’t need to hold us hostage anymore and its power fades. And we don’t need to be imprisoned by the fear of an unforgiving and merciless world discovering our shortcomings and instead we can accept each other’s help and healing. We can form relationships of support and accountability to live new and different lives. We can say commit to something different together with one loud voice saying “We will, with God’s help.”<br />
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That is what a baptism of repentance is. It is coming together in Christ’s name and just being dead honest with each other about where we have screwed up and where we are screwing up, affirming that doing wrong doesn’t make us bad, unworthy and unlovable people, and supporting each other in leading a new life. <br />
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And that means it is also about forgiveness. It is about trusting that we are made in God’s image and that each of us is beautiful and good and that we need never, never, ever fear losing that, never fear losing our goodness, fear losing the incredible love God has for us. And that yes, we mess up in ways large and small. We make the same mistakes over and over again … and then we also find brand new and incredibly creative mistakes to make. We make mistakes because we are human and though we are in the image of God, we simply do not have the perfection of God. <br />
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And in these mistakes, in our sins, if we can own them and together commit to a new life, we can trust that we actually are forgiven. That in this merciless world that permits everything and forgives nothing, there actually is mercy and forgiveness out there for each and all of us. <br />
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And that we don’t need to be ashamed.<br />
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And we don’t need to hide.<br />
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And we actually can be free.<br />
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John’s invitation indeed is both liberating and terrifying. It’s liberating because we all long to be free of the burden of carrying our sin in silence. We all long to be free of praying that nobody find out what we have been trying so hard to conceal. We all long to be rid of the voice that says “Oh, if only they knew, you wouldn’t be loved … you wouldn’t even be liked.” <br />
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We long to trust in the truth of forgiveness – but our experience of the world is so powerful, we are terrified to try. We are terrified that if we reveal even a little we will be cast out forever. We are terrified that even though God might be forgiving our fellow human beings seem far less likely to be. <br />
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We are terrified because we have been burned before and we don’t want to be burned again.<br />
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John’s voice crying in the wilderness is one that will take great courage for us to follow. It will take us having the courage to believe in the midst of a world that permits everything and forgives nothing that we can be honest about who we are. That we can take off the masks and tear down the facades. That we can confess our sins and find instead of the wagging finger of judgment the loving embrace of Christ, helping us to overcome our sin and together to lead a new and better life. <br />
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Becoming this community of forgiveness will not happen in a grand gesture. It will not happen with us all suddenly pouring down to the riverside for some giant mass conversion. It will happen one encounter at a time as we speak the truth to one another with trembling voice. As we risk to trust one another to hold us in compassion and mercy instead of condemnation and judgment. As we inspire each other with the courage of our own truth telling and give each other permission to do the same.<br />
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This second Sunday of Advent, John the Baptist invites us to come out of the closet as sinners. To say with one voice “Yes – we screwed up and we keep on doing it.” To trust that despite all the evidence of our lives to the contrary that there is love and forgiveness out there for us all. Amen.</div>
Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-41870846331851232982015-11-29T10:35:00.001-08:002015-11-29T11:31:27.743-08:00"Stand Up and Raise Your Heads" -- a sermon for the First Sunday of Advent<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on November 29, 2015</i></span></b><br />
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<i>‘People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in a cloud' with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.’</i><br />
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All this has happened before, and it will all happen again.<br />
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Today is the first Sunday of Advent. <br />
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Today we begin again to tell the Jesus story, the story of God’s epic love for humanity. The story of a love so strong, so deep, so wide that it could not be contained or kept separate from us but had to be with us as one of us. <br />
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Today we begin again to tell the Jesus story. The story of a God whose solidarity with us and love for us is greater than any fear.<br />
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Today is the first Sunday of Advent. And like children at the feet of our grandmother, just after she has closed the storybook. Just a week after we have seen Pilate wash his hands and seal Jesus’ fate, we cry out “Again! Again! … Tell the story again!” And with great patience and love she relents and smiles sweetly and says: <br />
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“OK, just one more time.” <br />
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Today is the first Sunday of Advent and we begin again to tell the Jesus story. Not because we don’t know it. But because we need to keep hearing it. Because like the retelling of the story itself, we need to be reminded that God’s overflowing passion for us wasn’t a one-time event. That the Good News of God in Jesus Christ is reborn again and again and again.<br />
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That indeed all this has happened before. And it will all happen again. <br />
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And that with every retelling, with God’s help, we can trust in its truth in this telling just a little bit more than the last. <br />
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The story begins in an all too familiar place. <br />
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Jesus says:<br />
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<i>“There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.”</i><br />
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It’s been nearly 2,000 years since Jesus said these words and yet in every retelling in every year since, we have been able to look around us and say “How did he know?” How could he describe this day so perfectly? Because we look around us, and this is exactly what we see. <br />
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There is distress among the nations. It feels like we are in a time of gathering darkness. And the people’s reaction to it … is fear. <br />
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The world is a fearful place right now. Fear is a commodity that is being sold to us -- and everywhere people are buying. <br />
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Fear is sold to us so we will buy guns. Fear is sold to us so we will fund prisons. <br />
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Fear is sold to us so we will continue to believe that people who are Christian need to be protected from people who are Muslim. <br />
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Fear is sold to us so we will continue to believe that people who are White need to be protected from people who are Black and Latinx and Syrian. <br />
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Fear is sold to us so we will not see the humanity in one another and then object to the dehumanizing way people different from us are treated.<br />
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Fear is sold to us so we will elect and empower the same people who are telling us both to be afraid and that they are the ones who can protect us and then charge us for the pleasure.<br />
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Fear is sold to us because fear is big money. Fear is big power. Fear is what keeps those of us who are wealthy rich and those of us who are poor in chains. <br />
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We see it all around us. We feel it in our hearts. On the earth there is distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. And people are fainting from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world. And it seems the very powers of the heavens are being shaken.<br />
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And we are tempted to join them. We are tempted to lose hope. We are tempted to buy the fear. <br />
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We are tempted to keep our heads down. To not stick our necks out. To not speak up for fear of being shouted down. To find a place of refuge and safety and hole up there … just until the storms pass … only the storms never really ever seem to pass, do they?<br />
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We are tempted to buy the fear. And then we remember. We remember that we are not people of the world but people of the Story. And so we say “Again! Again! … Tell the story again!” And we hear the nations in distress and the people fainting from fear and foreboding and the heavens themselves being shaken. And just at the moment we are about to join them. Just at the moment we are about to buy the fear, we hear Jesus' next words:<br />
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"Then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in a cloud' with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near."<br />
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We hear the story, and we remember. We remember what is planted deep inside us, the heart of the God in whose image we were made.<br />
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We remember that we are not people of fear.<br />
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Yes, we see what is happening around us. <br />
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We see the roaring of the sea and the waves.<br />
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We see violence and degradation.<br />
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We see the cause of evil prospering. <br />
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But that is not all we see.<br />
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Because we are people of the Story. <br />
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And people of the Story don’t keep our heads down. <br />
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People of the Story stick our necks out.<br />
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People of the Story speak up even if we will be shouted down.<br />
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People of the Story don’t look for a place of refuge and safety to hole up until the storms pass. <br />
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We are people of the Story, and we stand up and raise our heads. <br />
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And because we do, we see what others do not see. <br />
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We see Jesus.<br />
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That’s right. <br />
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We are people of the Story. And we stand up and raise our heads and when we do, yes we see the storm clouds gathering but in those clouds in power and glory we see the Son of Man. We see Jesus.<br />
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It’s not that the darkness fades away or the nations are no longer in distress. <br />
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We still see what is happening around us.<br />
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We see it but we do not keep our heads down. We stand up and raise our heads and in the midst of the darkness we see a great light. A light of love. A light of power. A light of hope.<br />
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We stand up and raise our heads and we see our redemption drawing near.<br />
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We stand up and raise our heads and out of the darkness we see the light of Christ. <br />
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And because we see the light, because we see Jesus, the world can sell all the fear it wants but we are not buying. Not today. Not ever.<br />
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We are not buying the fear because the hour is coming and now is when Jesus is coming into the world. And when we stand up and raise our heads, we see Jesus breaking through everywhere.<br />
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In individual acts of compassion.<br />
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In communities welcoming the stranger.<br />
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In volunteers tutoring after school.<br />
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In young people standing in front of store entrances crying “not one dime until there is justice for all.”<br />
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We see Jesus breaking through in the perseverance of the love that Kurt and Richard have for one another as at long last we bless their marriage today – a love that is greater than the fear so many have had and still have of that love. <br />
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As the darkness gathers and the storms rage and the nations tremble, we stand up and raise our heads and we see Jesus in a million lights that cannot be extinguished, in movements for justice that will not be stopped, in a perfect love that casts our fear.<br />
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All this has happened before, and it will all happen again.<br />
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Today is the first Sunday of Advent. Today we begin to tell the story again. <br />
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Today we look around us and yes, we see deep darkness, but that is not all we see. <br />
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Today we join together and when we are told the darkness is too deep, when we are told to duck and cover and cower, instead together we stand up and raise our heads because our redemption is coming near. Together we stand up and with one voice sing “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” knowing that Jesus is not only on his way but indeed he is already here.<br />
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People of the Story, rejoice and sing for this is our time. <br />
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All this has happened before, and it will all happen again.<br />
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The world is trembling. Same as it ever was.<br />
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The world is buying the fear that so many are selling. Same as it ever was.<br />
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But same as it has been for countless generations of the faithful, in the midst of despair, we who believe in hope, in the midst of darkness we who believe in light, in the midst of slavery we who believe in freedom will not rest until it comes. And hope, light and freedom are coming riding on a cloud in great power and glory. Hope, light and freedom are coming in Jesus and no power will stand against it. <br />
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People of the Story, though the skies look dark, rejoice and sing. It is the Advent of the Christ.<br />
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Stand up and raise your heads.<br />
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Our redemption is drawing near. </div>
Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-80054108170627297822015-11-26T09:58:00.001-08:002015-11-26T09:58:05.317-08:00"Go ahead ... worry!" -- a sermon for Thanksgiving Day.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Thanksgiving Day, 2015</i></span></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i><br /></i></span></b></div>
Jesus says, “Don’t worry about it!”<br />
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Don’t worry.<br />
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You wouldn’t necessarily think so, but this morning’s Gospel is one of the more fraught passages in holy scripture. And it’s because of our complicated relationship with those two words: <br />
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Don’t worry.<br />
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When someone is telling us not to worry, a couple things are usually going on.<br />
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The first is, we are worried. We are anxious. There is something that is troubling us and we are nervous and feeling out of control and fearful. And we’re feeling that strongly enough that other people are starting to pick up on it . Or maybe the circumstances are so obviously troubling that they are kind of doing a preemptive strike on our anxiety. <br />
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The second is, most often the person saying “don’t worry” to us … that person isn’t worried. They are feeling OK, in control. But all is not well for them. Our feeling worried … or their anticipation of our anxiety in the situation … is starting to make them nervous. Maybe it’s making them feel bad, or powerless … or maybe they are tempted to anxiety themselves and they don’t like that feeling. <br />
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Whatever it is, often the anxiety, the worry we are feeling and expressing is making them uncomfortable, so they want to remove it. They want it to go away so they can feel comfortable again. <br />
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It's not that there isn't genuine compassion there, but so much of the time the driving force is that feeling of discomfort. <br />
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And so the words come out.<br />
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Don’t worry.<br />
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It’s OK.<br />
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It’s going to be just fine. <br />
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Words of hope? Sure. But mostly words that are designed to soothe. To take the uncomfortable feelings and make them go away because they are making other people uncomfortable. And that’s a real problem … because feelings don’t just go away. They get suppressed. They get repressed. And when they do that, they fester. When they do that, they tempt us to think the feelings are bad and that maybe we are bad or weak or somehow “less than” for having them. <br />
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When I was working as a hospital chaplain one of the best pieces of advice I got was this:<br />
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When someone is crying or expressing anxiety or other emotion, it’s important that they be allowed to feel it! In fact, it’s important that they not only be allowed to feel anxiety or pain or fear but that they feel supported and protected as they feel it. <br />
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And because of this there are two things you should never do: <br />
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First is, when someone is crying or trembling or feeling pain, fear or anxiety, never pat or rub them on the back. We learn when we are babies that when someone pats or rubs us on the back they are wanting us to be quiet, to stop crying, to stop expressing whatever emotion we are expressing. Instead, any touch should be safe touch of support. Cradle their head. Put a hand on their elbow, gently supporting and lifting up. <br />
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Second, never say “Don’t worry.” Because no matter how sound the theology behind it, we interpret “Don’t worry” as worrying being bad and we being weak or faithless or even bad ourselves for doing it. <br />
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Frankly, most of the time, “don’t worry” just is about as helpful to those who are worrying as “don’t be hungry” is to those who are starving or “don’t be devastated” to someone whose child has just been killed. <br />
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So it’s problematic when we hear Jesus saying “Don’t worry.” Not because these aren’t good and true words of hope but because much of our experience of them is about others trying not to bring us words of truth but to suppress our own troubling emotions for the sake of their own comfort.<br />
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And it’s especially problematic on a day like Thanksgiving where the cultural expectation is so high for us to be joyful and thankful. But the truth is, on days like today when we truly are thankful for what we have, we are also painfully aware of what we lack. We are painfully aware of the broken relationship, of the empty seat at the dinner table, or maybe of the fact that we have no one to share a table with at all … or maybe of the fact that we don’t even have a table at all.<br />
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To just hear Jesus out of context spouting “don’t worry about your life” can seem cruel on a day like today. It can feel dismissive and denying and make us feel unworthy and less than.<br />
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And so on this day particularly, this Gospel reading needs a little redeeming. And that starts with remembering that Jesus was never one to be uncomfortable with our feelings. That Jesus was never one to pat us on the back and say “shhhhhhh” when someone started to cry. That starts with remembering that Jesus shed tears at Lazarus’ grave, trembled in anxiety in the Garden of Gethsemane and absolutely freaked out in fear of abandonment on the cross.<br />
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Jesus says don’t worry about our lives not because worrying is a sin or because our anxiety makes him uncomfortable. Jesus says don’t worry precisely because he is not going to run in fear and discomfort from our anxiety and pain. Jesus says don’t worry because he is the Word that became flesh and didn’t just pop in for a short visit, and then when things got uncomfortable glanced at his watch and said “look at the time!” and headed out the door … but dwelt with us and stays with us in all our anxiety and pain and brokenness. Jesus says “don’t worry” because he is the same Jesus who would stand with his disciples and say “Remember, I am with you always even to the end of the age.”<br />
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Jesus says “don’t worry” not because there isn’t anything to worry about but because in all those things we never have to worry about being alone. Jesus says “don’t worry” because he is modeling a way of life that is not about spouting platitudes to one another for our own comfort but actually hanging in with each other, actually being the assurance that we won’t go without food or clothing. Setting the foundation for the first church where “All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.”<br />
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Now that is something to be thankful for!<br />
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The irony of how we’ve applied this Gospel today is those of us who are in comfort have too often used it to disengage from the very human anxieties and worries that come from our deepest wounds and disparities … the very places Jesus intentionally leaned into the most and dwelt the deepest.<br />
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The irony of how we’ve applied this Gospel today is that we have used it to take anxiety, pain and fear and suppress it instead of doing what Jesus did – own it, feel it, and let it motivate us to be people of healing, creators of equity, and crusaders for justice. <br />
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The irony of how we’ve applied this Gospel today is that too often we have used it as an excuse to shut down one another’s pain and anxiety instead of resting in it together, using it to grow deeper in love and understanding and ultimately to become the Body of Christ that is the eventual path to every fear being answered and every tear being wiped away.<br />
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So this Thanksgiving, let’s hear this Gospel differently. And instead of hearing Jesus say “don’t worry” and patting one another on the back saying “shhhhhh….” Let’s cradle each other’s heads and put a supporting hand under each other’s elbows. Let’s say “worry, fear, cry, rage” – do it all you want and we’re going to be here and we’re going to be the presence of Christ holding each other and feeling with each other and knowing that these feelings are not going to be our last but that they must be felt if healing is to come.<br />
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Because holding each other in love, holding each other in discomfort, holding each other no matter what comes – that is the kingdom of God and God’s righteousness. And if we seek to live that first, everything else truly will be given to us as well. Amen.<br />
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Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-18925969349692104492015-11-22T09:33:00.000-08:002015-11-22T09:46:37.961-08:00"God is about liberation ... and we are too." -- a sermon for Christ the King Sunday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, November 22, 2015</i></span></b><br />
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There are two stained glass windows directly above me. Some of you can see them. Most of you can’t. But I am aware of them every time I climb into this pulpit. <br />
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They are a couplet, side by side, both designed and executed by Emil Frei’s studio here in St. Louis. They pair two scenes – one from our Biblical story and one from American history. The most western window depicts Moses delivering the children of Israel from slavery in Egypt, and the companion window shows Abraham Lincoln freeing the children of Africa from slavery in America. The quatrefoil above the window has the Chi Rho symbol … the first two letters of Christ’s name in Greek.<br />
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For more than 60 years, these windows have been a part of this Cathedral, a reminder of a truth that our ancestors in this space believed so strongly they insisted it be literally imprinted on this very building. That it become physically a part of this Cathedral so that it would last even when their generation had gone to dust and was lying beneath our chapel floor.<br />
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And that truth is this:<br />
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God is about liberation.<br />
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God is about setting people free.<br />
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And if we are followers Jesus. We are too.<br />
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As we read scripture, we find that God is inconveniently and maddeningly consistent. God unfailingly stands with those who are oppressed, God unfailingly stands with those who are enslaved, God unfailingly stands with those who are cast out and vulnerable and wounded and told their lives don’t matter and God does it every single time.<br />
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The people of Israel were suffering and dying in slavery, a slavery they were bound into for no other reason than they had to leave their own land or starve to death. And God looked down on them and God, yes God took a side. And God did not take the side of Pharaoh. God did not take the side of the enslaver, of the oppressor. God said:<br />
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<i>“I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry on account of their taskmasters. Indeed, I know their sufferings, and I have come down to deliver them from the Egyptians, and to bring them up out of that land to a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey.”</i><br />
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And God said these things not to a general with an army but to a shepherd who couldn’t even say a complete sentence without stuttering. God said “Hey you, Moses. You who is so sure you are nothing special. You who is standing there wondering if you are going crazy because you’re hearing a voice come out of a burning bush. You will stand in front of Pharaoh, and you will tell the most powerful person in the world what to do. You will stand before Pharaoh and you will say ‘Pharaoh, let my people go!’” <br />
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And when Pharaoh turns all his worldly authority on you. When Pharaoh says, “Who the hell are you? Who gives you the authority to even presume to stand before me?” Well that’s when you say, “Pharaoh, I have authority that you on your throne in your grand palace cannot even touch. Pharaoh, my authority comes from one so great I dare not even utter her name.<br />
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“The great I AM is who sends me with this message to you.”<br />
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And Moses did it. And the great I AM delivered. And the people were set free.<br />
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If only that were the end of the story. Wouldn't that be wonderful?<br />
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But that was not the end of the story. Because sin endures and slavery re-emerges. <br />
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It’s centuries later, the people of Israel were again bound in slavery. Only this time they were prisoners in their own land. The Roman Empire had colonized them and terrorized them. And once again, God was watching. And God looked down on them and once again God took a side. And this God became human in Jesus not as a prince in a family of royalty but in a child born to a family forced to leave their home at the whim of an occupying government. <br />
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And in this morning’s Gospel, we hear that child, that Jesus, all grown up, standing as Moses did before the throne, but this time not as God’s messenger but as God herself. And like Moses before him, Jesus challenges Pilate saying, “Your authority means nothing to me. My kingdom is not of this world, and I will not be bound by its rules.”<br />
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“I am here to testify to the truth. And the truth is that which is cast down is being raised up. That which has grown old is being made new. Those who are enslaved will be set free. And this world, this world which is so far from what it should be, so far from the dream of God for God’s people, this world will be restored to the vision that birthed it in creation, and you may break this body but there is nothing you can do to stop it.”<br />
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Jesus sealed his earthly fate with those words. Pilate washed his hands and sent Jesus to his execution. But God’s passion for liberation could not be stopped, and the Jesus movement could not be killed. And the Jesus movement helped bring down the mightiest empire the world had ever known. <br />
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If only that were the end of the story.<br />
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But sin endures and slavery re-emerges.<br />
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And the window above us reminds us that centuries later, when a perversion of the Jesus movement supported the kidnapping of black bodies and bringing them to this country where our economy was built on the labor tortured out of them, God once again took a side. And the true Jesus movement, planted in the hearts of leaders like Harriet Tubman, Frederick Douglass and Abraham Lincoln once again stood up for liberation, and once again God’s children who were enslaved were set free.<br />
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And so we come to today. We sit beneath these windows and we hear the story of Jesus standing before Pilate, and we are reminded that God indeed is inconveniently and maddeningly consistent. That God unfailingly stands with those who are oppressed, God unfailingly stands with those who are enslaved, God unfailingly stands with those who are cast out and vulnerable and wounded and told their lives don’t matter, and God does it every single time.<br />
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Nearly 2,000 years later, WE are the Jesus Movement. And our history is written in scripture and etched in these windows and implanted on our hearts.<br />
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Nearly 2,000 years later, the torch is now passed to us. We are the heirs of Moses. We are the heirs of those who brought down Rome. We are the heirs of the great emancipators who stood up against what Frederick Douglass called “the corrupt, slaveholding, women-whipping, cradle-plundering, partial and hypocritical Christianity of this land.” Who stood up and said, “The Christianity of the slaveholder is not the Christianity of Christ.”<br />
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Who stood up and said, God is about liberation.<br />
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God is about setting people free.<br />
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And if we are about Jesus. We are too.<br />
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Nearly 2,000 years after Jesus stood before Pilate, the torch is now passed to us, the church, the Body of Christ. And like generation upon generation before us, we grasp that torch with trembling hand. We are weary. We do not relish standing before Pharaoh or Pilate. Like Moses who said with stuttering tongue, “surely not me.” Like Jesus in Gethsemane praying that the cup would pass from him, sometimes we wish that someone else will pick up that torch, someone else will step up and say the words and take the risk, someone else will stand in front of the throne. Like Harriet Tubman who feared for her life and Abraham Lincoln who feared for the Union, we stand in history’s gaze sometimes desperately wishing history would look somewhere else.<br />
<br />
But sin endures and slavery re-emerges. Taking new forms with each new generation. <br />
<br />
Sin endures and slavery re-emerges, and we are in the midst of slavery again today.<br />
<br />
It is the slavery of educational, economic and a multitude of other disparities that keep people of color bound in an America that may be post Jim Crow but far from post-racial. <br />
<br />
It is the slavery of women making 78 cents for every dollar men make – and much less for women of color – and that they make it amidst continual harassment, double-standards and threats of losing their livelihood should they stand up to demand justice. <br />
<br />
It is the slavery of pundits, politicians and people who echo “the corrupt, slaveholding, women-whipping, cradle-plundering, partial and hypocritical Christianity of this land” as in the cloak of Christ they deny hospitality to refugees fleeing oppression and war.<br />
<br />
It is the slavery of those among us who are trapped in homelessness in a world where you can’t get a job if you don’t have an address and you can’t get an address if you don’t have a job.<br />
<br />
But it’s even more than that.<br />
<br />
It is the slavery of body image, of believing beauty is tied to a cultural image of how we should look instead of beauty being living as the image of God in which we were made.<br />
<br />
It is the slavery of the American doctrine that life is an economic transaction and our only worth is based on what we can produce. <br />
<br />
It is the slavery of every voice we let oppress any child of God. Every voice that tells a child of God she is less than. Every voice that tells a child of God to sit down and shut up. It is the slavery of every voice that tells a child of God that her gift is less valuable, her dance is less delightful, her heart is less precious than another’s. <br />
<br />
It is every way that is that should not be. Every way the lie of our powerlessness convinces us cannot be changed. Every way estrangement overcomes unity, guilt threatens forgiveness and despair overshadows joy. <br />
<br />
And in the face of each and all of these, as the world tempts us to surrender, we come together and remember that God is about liberation.<br />
<br />
That God is about setting people free.<br />
<br />
And if we are about Jesus. We are too.<br />
<br />
That in the face of every enslavement each new generation creates, we as followers of Jesus get the best job in all creation. In the face of every enslavement, we get to be nothing less than liberators sent in the name of Jesus not just into the palaces of government but to the boardrooms and the bedrooms, the dinner tables and the office cubicles, the boarding houses and the investment houses to proclaim that God is still alive and God is still faithful. That the cry of the people on account of their taskmasters is heard, that the suffering is known, that deliverance is at hand and that we are the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Good News of getting free, the lobbyists for the poor, and the unfailing, inconvenient, maddening eternal presence of God with the oppressed in this moment in history. <br />
<br />
How the people of God have followed God’s path of liberation in the past is written in our scripture and etched in the windows of this Cathedral.<br />
<br />
How we the people of God, the Body of Christ will follow it today and in the days to come is this very hour being written on our hearts. The torch is being passed to us, and though our hand might be trembling Jesus is there to steady our hand, to stand by our side and in the moment of truth to give us the words to say.<br />
<br />
Because God is about liberation.<br />
<br />
God is about setting people free.<br />
<br />
And because we are about Jesus. We are too. Amen.</div>
Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-89800646542650797782015-11-08T09:31:00.000-08:002015-11-08T09:31:00.093-08:00"You need to fail spectacularly at something important." - a sermon for the 24th Sunday after Pentecost<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, November 8, 2015</i></span></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i><br /></i></span></b></div>
“You need to fail spectacularly at something important.” <br />
<br />
It’s been 20 years since my seminary spiritual director, Vicki Sirota, said those words to me. They come back to me nearly every day of my life. <br />
<br />
And they terrify me as much today as they did then.<br />
<br />
“You need to fail spectacularly at something important.”<br />
<br />
You want to know a secret about me? Failure terrifies me. I even know why. Because the thing I believe so deeply about each and every one of you – that you are made in God’s image, that you are beautiful and good and that you are infinitely loved. That thing that is so easy for me to see about each and every one of you … I struggle to trust it about myself. <br />
<br />
Instead, way too often, I believe that my goodness, my lovability is tied to what I can produce, what I can accomplish. Instead, there’s this big piece of me that even as I urge you to believe in God’s love for you that has not yet learned fully to trust in the grace and love of Jesus Christ. To trust that Jesus was talking to me, too, when he said to his disciples “and I will be with you always, even to the end of the age.” To trust that Paul was writing to me, too, when he assured that nothing could separate us from the love of God. To trust that God was talking to me, too when God said, “you are my beloved, in whom I am well pleased.”<br />
<br />
And so I think my goodness, my lovability is something that can be lost, and that if I screw up, if somehow my offering is not good enough, if I fail spectacularly at something important, I will have to come face to face with the fact that maybe I’m not good and lovable after all. Maybe all those things are for other people but not for me.<br />
<br />
I share this because I wonder if even a part of you feels the same way. Fears that your worthiness is rooted in something other than how God made you wonderful and beautiful and good. That no matter what you tell yourself in your brain, even a piece of you deep inside believes that it is what you produce, or whether other people like you or agree with you or think you are worthy that determines your beauty and goodness and lovability.<br />
<br />
So maybe it’s just me who feels this way, but my hunch is … not so much. My hunch is that many of us, maybe all of us, struggle with this. That this fear of failure and rejection that will just affirm all the voices of unlovability and unworthiness inside us is the lonely battle we fight inside every day of every week of every year. And it is a lonely battle that we fight in isolation because revealing it, revealing that which feels so much like weakness, would risk the very rejection we most fear. <br />
<br />
It’s why I look at this morning’s Gospel and I am in awe of the woman in the temple. I am simply in awe of her. I am in awe of her strength. I am in awe of her courage. I am in awe of her willingness to be vulnerable and honest about who she is and what she has to offer. <br />
<br />
Think about the scene. People are making gifts to the temple treasury – and the fact that Jesus can tell that “many rich people are putting in large sums” means this is not a sealed offering envelope where you can’t tell what’s inside. This is a public act for everyone to see. And if it’s a public act, you just know that people are making comparisons. They are seeing who is making the largest gift and they are making value judgments and equating it with goodness and faithfulness. And they are exchanging knowing glances and cutting whispers. <br />
<br />
And many rich people are putting in large sums. The standard for success and worthiness and faithfulness is being set. And I can just see the woman standing in line, looking at the measly two coins worth only a penny in her hand. And she knows that not only can she see that her gift does not come close to measuring up to the others but that as soon as she gets to the treasury everyone else will see it too. As soon as she gets to the treasury, everyone will see how much she falls short. <br />
<br />
The amazing thing about this story is that this woman, already looked at as less-than-human as a Jew by the colonizing Roman forces, already sentenced to second-class citizenship by her gender, already abandoned in the death of her husband. This amazing woman who is told in every aspect of life that she doesn’t measure up, is laying herself open for even more rejection and abuse. This amazing woman is about to take an incredible risk of vulnerability. The second she reveals her gift, she will be opening herself up to ridicule and scorn. Her gift is so small. How could this possibly be good enough? How could she possibly be good enough?<br />
<br />
And yet she does not turn away. She walks right up to the treasury, in the same line with people who look so much more impressive and who are so much more powerful than she. She walks right up to the treasury and puts in her two copper coins. Says, “This is me. This is the best I have to offer. This is everything I have. And I’m putting it out there in love. So think what you will. Say what you will. Do what you will.”<br />
<br />
Her two coins defiantly clink into the treasury and are swallowed up in the mass of other gifts as if they were not offered at all. Compared to the other gifts, her two coins are the very definition of insignificance – of failure. And for that second, all the eyes are on her before they are drawn away by offerings and people much more outwardly impressive. Before she too slips back into the insignificance and failure of anonymity.<br />
<br />
And in that moment, Jesus does single her out. Jesus singles her out not for ridicule but for praise.<br />
<br />
“Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on."<br />
<br />
Jesus singles her out for not just praise but exaltation because she gave out of her poverty. And in that one act Jesus turns her from object of ridicule to model of discipleship.<br />
<br />
Giving out of poverty is not just about money. It's about having the courage to act out of our vulnerability, out of our fear, out of our weakness, not just our strength.<br />
<br />
Giving out of poverty is risking failing spectacularly at something important. It is daring to walk up to the person whose spouse has just died or who has just received a cancer diagnosis or who is sinking into depression and just be with them even though you feel absolutely inadequate, have no idea what to say and are terrified that anything you do say will just make it worse.<br />
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Giving out of poverty is about joyfully lifting your voice in song when you fear you cannot hold a tune. It is getting out on the dance floor when you have no clue what you’re doing. <br />
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Giving out of poverty is about standing up for what you believe in against important people with eloquent arguments, sharp tongues and powerful friends. <br />
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Giving out of poverty is about daring to trust that our goodness is not based on the approval of others, our success in their eyes or what we can produce, accomplish or even in the failure we can avoid. Giving out of poverty is about taking the leap of faith to trust that even if we fail, even if we fail spectacularly, even if we fail spectacularly and everyone points and stares and whispers cutting words under their breath that not only our gift but we ourselves are treasured as beloved and good by the God who danced the day we were born and has never and will never stop.<br />
<br />
Vicki told me that what I needed to do most is fail spectacularly at something important because it is when we do that – when we are totally bereft of any other outward approval … when by every metric of success the world deems important that we have absolutely fallen flat on our faces … when our measly two coin offerings disappear as if they were never there leaving the crowd to wonder if we even put anything in at all. It is when there is no one else’s approval to seek or cling to that maybe, just maybe, we will realize that we don’t need any of that anyway. That just by being born, we are irrevocably good and irrevocably worthy. That no matter what, we are still God’s beloved child and that God simply delights in us. Delights in me. Delights in you.<br />
<br />
As I read this morning’s Gospel, I wonder. I wonder if the woman heard Jesus’ words. The Gospel reading doesn’t say. I want to go back to the Temple that day and when Jesus says those words, I want to run up to the woman and say “Did you hear that? Did you hear what Jesus Christ, the Son of God said about you? Did you hear what Jesus Christ, the Son of God said about how amazing you are, how your two coins was the best offering ever? Did you see the look of admiration in his eyes and delight in his voice.”<br />
<br />
“Did you see how he looked on you with such deep love?”<br />
<br />
I hope someone did that. Because if someone did that for that woman, I can’t see how it would have done anything but change her life forever. If she were to know what Jesus thought of her and her offering, I can’t imagine there is any risk she wouldn’t have been willing to take for the rest of her life, any love she would not be willing to offer. If she were to know what Jesus thought of her and her offering, I can’t imagine she would have been anything less than unstoppable and invincible the rest of her life. Because she has failed spectacularly in the eyes of the world and knew that Jesus loved her not only anyway but because of it. <br />
<br />
The Apostle Paul tells us that we are called together in Christ as a family of fools. We are people foolish enough to trust that perfect love can cast out fear and that being vulnerable unto humiliating death on the cross is the ultimate strength. We are people foolish enough to risk looking like absolute idiots and failures. We are foolish enough to believe that what we really need to do is not build our resumes, secure our respectability and keep people saying good things about us but put ourselves out there even if we fail spectacularly at something important.<br />
<br />
In Christ we are a family of fools and the woman in the temple is our patron saint. We believe that our voice, no matter how shaky and halting, makes a difference. We believe that our labor, no matter how unskilled, makes a difference. We believe that our gift, no matter how small, makes a difference. We believe that the one hanging on the cross can bring down the empire. We believe in the impossible. And we stand together not in our strength but in our weakness, in our vulnerability. <br />
<br />
And if we each can’t hear that voice of Jesus singing to us a lullaby of love, then we amplify it for each other in those moments of courage. When we have the courage to offer our meager gift, to risk failing spectacularly at something important, we get to amplify Christ’s voice for each other. We get to go up to each other and say, “Did you hear that? Did you hear what Jesus Christ, the Son of God said about you? Did you hear what Jesus Christ, the Son of God said about how amazing you are, how your two coins was the best offering ever? Did you see the look of admiration in his eyes and delight in his voice.”<br />
<br />
“Did you see how he looked on you with such deep love?<br />
<br />
The point is we try. We keep giving. Even when we are unsure, especially when we are unsure, we keep trying. We keep giving. We keep reaching out in love even when we’re not sure what love looks like. Even when we don’t know what words to say. Even when we’re scared to death the words we say might be the wrong ones. Even when we’re scared to death that people might point and stare and laugh. <br />
<br />
We try. We keep giving. We keep loving. And through it all we try to trust and we help either other trust that our goodness, our lovability is not tied to what we can produce or what we can accomplish but to something much less fleeting and much more secure. To trust that Jesus was talking to us, too when he said to his disciples “and I will be with you always, even to the end of the age.” To trust that Paul was writing to us, too, when he assured that nothing could separate us from the love of God. To trust that God was talking to us, too when God said, “you are my beloved, in whom I am well pleased.” Amen.<br />
<br /></div>
Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1813642919033842011.post-64538987051728268692015-10-25T11:22:00.000-07:002015-10-25T11:22:43.761-07:00"Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you." -- a sermon for the 22nd Sunday after Pentecost<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20.79px;"><span style="color: purple;"><i>Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, October 25, 2015</i></span></b></div>
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Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.<br />
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Say that with me. Will you?<br />
<br />
Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.<br />
<br />
Again.<br />
<br />
Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.<br />
<br />
Again. Louder. <br />
<br />
Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.<br />
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Now turn to someone near you and say it.<br />
<br />
Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.<br />
<br />
Again.<br />
<br />
Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.<br />
<br />
Once more. <br />
<br />
Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.<br />
<br />
If there are ever words we needed to hear, it is these.<br />
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If there are ever words we needed to say, it is these.<br />
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And the good news is, we get to hear them.<br />
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The better news is, we get to say them.<br />
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And the best news is, they are some of the truest words ever spoken.<br />
<br />
We can take heart. <br />
<br />
We can get up. <br />
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Jesus is calling us.<br />
<br />
In this morning’s Gospel. In one story. In fewer than 10 sentences. Jesus gives us a model for our entire lives. <br />
<br />
Jesus and his disciples are leaving Jericho. And as they are leaving, they pass Bartimaeus, a blind beggar, sitting by the side of the road. And when Bartimaeus hears that it was Jesus passing by, he takes an incredible risk. Hoping beyond hope that this might be someone who could help him, he cries out “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.”<br />
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And what does he get for crying out? Nothing … and worse.<br />
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Some ignore him, either not hearing or pretending they didn’t hear. <br />
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Others turn to him and tell him to just shut up. <br />
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If there was ever any doubt in his mind that his life didn’t matter. If there was ever any doubt in his mind that his place was on the outside looking in, there it was. <br />
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Even Jesus doesn’t have any time for him. <br />
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Jesus has more important places to go and more important people to see. <br />
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Jesus is not about him.<br />
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Except Bartimaeus will not be denied.<br />
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He cries out all the more, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.” And the scripture says three words:<br />
<br />
Jesus stood still.<br />
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Jesus stops dead in his tracks. Stops everything that he was doing. Stops the entire crowd that is following him. Stops the entire movement that is headed toward Jerusalem. Why?<br />
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Because of the call of one blind beggar. <br />
<br />
Jesus stood still. <br />
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And then he says, “Call him here.”<br />
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And then the disciples say those words:<br />
<br />
Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.<br />
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These are no ordinary words. This is not “ahh … it’s alright, come on over.”<br />
<br />
Take heart. Take heart is the Greek<i> tharsei</i>. It means “Be bold.” It means “Have courage.” <br />
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It is the Greek version of the word Moses spoke to the people of Israel when they were pinned between the advancing Egyptian army and the seemingly uncrossable Red Sea. “Have courage. Stand firm and see the salvation of your God!” <br />
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“Take heart” is a clarion call of courage in a time of incredible crisis. It is a word of hope when all hope seems lost. <br />
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It is life where there seems no future but death.<br />
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And then “Get up.”<br />
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This isn’t just “on your feet.” <br />
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This is “Awaken!”<br />
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This is “Get woke and stay woke!”<br />
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This is the translation of the word Jesus spoke earlier in Mark’s Gospel to the little girl who had died. The one to whom he said “<i>talitha cumi</i>” which means, “little girl, get up.” <br />
Get up. <br />
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Get woke and stay woke. <br />
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Literally it means come back to life.<br />
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“Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.” Means you who are in the deepest despair. You for whom all seems lost. You who have been left to die. Wake up. Get woke and stay woke. Come back to life. Find life where you were sure there only was death.<br />
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Why? <br />
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Because Jesus is calling you.<br />
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Could there be a more glorious message?<br />
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Could there be a more glorious message to hear?<br />
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Could there be a more glorious message to shout?<br />
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And yet all of it would mean nothing if Jesus didn’t make good on the promise. And that’s why the best news of all. Better than hearing it. Better than saying it. The best news of all is what happens next.<br />
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Bartimaeus throws off his cloak. He throws off his cloak because Jesus has called him and he is no longer a beggar. He will no longer be identified and categorized and commodified by that label. He is Bartimaeus, which literally means “son of honor” … and having had courage and been awoken, he comes before Jesus and Jesus sees him for who he truly is – not blind, not a beggar, not an outcast, but a child of honor, created in the image of God, beautiful and sacred and powerful … yes, powerful. <br />
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And Jesus shows just how powerful. Because Jesus places Bartimaeus in the center of the community and says “What do you want me to do for you?”<br />
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If that question sounds familiar, it’s because we just heard it. We just heard it on the lips of James and John last week when they were not crying “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” but “Jesus, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” Only Bartimaeus is not looking for power and privilege and glory. Bartimaeus is not looking to be exalted over others, to sit on Jesus right or his left. Bartimaeus is looking for equity and justice. Bartimaeus is looking for that which has for a lifetime segregated him from a life of dignity finally to be healed. <br />
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And so Bartimaeus says, “My teacher, let me see again.” And not only does Bartimaeus see, the scripture says “he follows him on the way.” No longer an outsider and an outcast. No longer a “them” to the disciples’ “us,” Bartimaeus, child of honor, follows Jesus on the way to Jerusalem. On the way to the heart of power. On the way to the cross. <br />
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For the past two months, Jesus has been giving us this same message. <br />
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We have heard him say “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” Then the next week, we heard: “The Son of man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” Then we heard: “If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off… and if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off … And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out.” <br />
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And then the next week, Jesus moved from preaching to meddling because he started talking about money and said: “Go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”<br />
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And then last week, Jesus said: “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”<br />
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And now this morning, just before he enters Jerusalem, just in case we have – in the best tradition of the disciples – absolutely not understood a single thing he had been saying. Just in case we still think this Jerusalem trip will end on a throne at the palace instead of hanging on a cross, in fewer than 10 sentences Jesus’ Gospel gives us the very model for our lives as his disciples in the story of Bartimaeus.<br />
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Our job is not to cultivate wealth. <br />
Our job is not to cultivate power.<br />
Our job is not to cultivate respectability or goodwill or anything else this world values.<br />
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Our job – except no, it’s not out job. Our JOY is to seek out those among us who have been most cast aside, who are right now crying out for basic human dignity, equity and justice. <br />
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Our JOY is to hear those cries. <br />
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Our JOY is to hear those cries and stop what we are doing and to be the voice of hope that says you are not alone, that you are not shouting into an empty wind. That although the odds are stacked against you and the Egyptian army is at your back and all that lies in front of you is a seemingly uncrossable sea, that there is more than hope, there is the sure and certain hope of the resurrected Christ that even death on the cross could not stop.<br />
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Our JOY is to stop what we are doing and turn to those beautiful children of honor among us crying on the side of the road and say again and again:<br />
<br />
Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.<br />
Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.<br />
Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.<br />
<br />
And then our further joy is that we get to be the community that puts their needs at the center. That takes those who are most ignored and oppressed and says: “YOU get to set the agenda.” And then we get to listen deeply to the needs and concerns of those who have been listened to the least. And then our joy, our great joy is to use everything that Christ has given us to make that healing, make that equity, make that justice happen so that these beautiful children of honor can take their rightful place not as second- third- or fourth-class citizens but as fellow one-class travelers on the road we travel together.<br />
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And because this is what we get to care about. Because we get to care about being faithful to Jesus’ model of bringing the outcast into the center. Because we get to trust that we are all children of honor and that we already have the only thing that really matters and can never be taken away – the love of God given us in creation and confirmed in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Because of this, we are freed from caring about anything else but being faithful to that Jesus, being faithful to that call.<br />
<br />
And that means, we get to not worry. We get to not worry so much about our own survival. And we get to worry not so much about our $300,000 deficit and how we are going to maintain these buildings and all those other things that might cause us to shrink back in self-focus and in fear. And we get to worry not so much about what’s in it for us because in the love of God in Christ we already have what we need the most.<br />
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Because when we hear and when we say “Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.” All we have to be concerned about in that moment is hearing and bringing the healing, life-giving, bold, courageous, get woke and stay woke best news ever of justice and equity and life of Jesus Christ to life in the world and then being a part of making it happen. <br />
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This is who we are called to be as Christ Church Cathedral, and this is the road we are on together. We are on it with the work of the cross-class conversations ministry and the Cathedral housing partnership. We are on this road with the work of the pursuing racial justice ministry and opening this space up to and becoming a part of the movement for black lives.We are on this road with our support of the women of Magdalene St. Louis and with our longtime celebration of those among us who are lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender as beautiful children of honor in this place and in this world. <br />
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We are on this road by keeping this space open every day for anyone to enter and get some rest and pray and worship God in the beauty of holiness. We are on this road together whenever we sit with each other and become a safe place to share an experience of rejection and to shed a suffering tear. <br />
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We are on this road together simply by continuing to show up together and love one another as we struggle with what in the world does it mean to follow this remarkable and difficult and extraordinary call of Jesus when so many among us are lying by the side of the road crying out “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.” <br />
<br />
Next week, we will bring the pledges of our financial gifts to this Cathedral for the coming year and we will place them on this table. Our challenge is that what we give will not be motivated by what we get out of Christ Church Cathedral or a fear of what might happen to Christ Church Cathedral or even in gratitude for what God has done in our lives personally. <br />
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Our challenge is that in our prayers and in our conversations with those with whom we make decisions about money we will ask this question:<br />
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As we seek a deeper relationship with God and each other in Jesus Christ, are we as Christ Church Cathedral faithfully following the call of Jesus Christ? Are we following the call of Jesus Christ who bids us hear a world crying out for mercy by the side of the road and tell those who are most outcast among us: “Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you!” <br />
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That is the criteria by which we as Christ Church Cathedral are worthy of support. <br />
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That is the criteria by which we as Christ Church Cathedral are worthy of survival. <br />
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“Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.” <br />
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You who are in the deepest despair. <br />
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You for whom all seems lost. <br />
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You who have been left to die. <br />
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Wake up. <br />
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Get woke and stay woke. <br />
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Come back to life. <br />
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Find life where you were sure there only was death.<br />
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Why?<br />
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Because Jesus is calling you.<br />
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Could there be a more glorious message to hear?<br />
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Could there be a more glorious message to shout?<br />
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Could there be a more glorious life to live?<br />
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People of God. Children of honor. Let this be the song on our lips. <br />
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In here and out there.<br />
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For us and from us. <br />
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Today. Tomorrow. Always.<br />
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Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.<br />
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Amen.</div>
Mikehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13757132958255621438noreply@blogger.com0