"Go ahead ... worry!" -- a sermon for Thanksgiving Day.

Share

Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Thanksgiving Day, 2015

Jesus says, “Don’t worry about it!”

+

Don’t worry.

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:

Don’t worry.

When someone is telling us not to worry, a couple things are usually going on.

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.

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.

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.

It's not that there isn't genuine compassion there, but so much of the time the driving force is that feeling of discomfort.

And so the words come out.

Don’t worry.

It’s OK.

It’s going to be just fine.

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.

When I was working as a hospital chaplain one of the best pieces of advice I got was this:

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.

And because of this there are two things you should never do:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.”

Now that is something to be thankful for!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"God is about liberation ... and we are too." -- a sermon for Christ the King Sunday

Share

Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, November 22, 2015

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.

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.

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.

And that truth is this:

God is about liberation.

God is about setting people free.

And if we are followers Jesus. We are too.

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.

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:

“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.”

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!’”

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.

“The great I AM is who sends me with this message to you.”

And Moses did it. And the great I AM delivered. And the people were set free.

If only that were the end of the story. Wouldn't that be wonderful?

But that was not the end of the story. Because sin endures and slavery re-emerges.

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.

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.”

“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.”

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.

If only that were the end of the story.

But sin endures and slavery re-emerges.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

Who stood up and said, God is about liberation.

God is about setting people free.

And if we are about Jesus. We are too.

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.

But sin endures and slavery re-emerges. Taking new forms with each new generation.

Sin endures and slavery re-emerges, and we are in the midst of slavery again today.

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.

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.

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.

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.

But it’s even more than that.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

That God is about setting people free.

And if we are about Jesus. We are too.

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.

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.

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.

Because God is about liberation.

God is about setting people free.

And because we are about Jesus. We are too. Amen.

"You need to fail spectacularly at something important." - a sermon for the 24th Sunday after Pentecost

Share

Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, November 8, 2015

“You need to fail spectacularly at something important.”

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.

And they terrify me as much today as they did then.

“You need to fail spectacularly at something important.”

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.”

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.

And in that moment, Jesus does single her out. Jesus singles her out not for ridicule but for praise.

“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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

Giving out of poverty is about standing up for what you believe in against important people with eloquent arguments, sharp tongues and powerful friends.

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.

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.

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.”

“Did you see how he looked on you with such deep love?”

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.

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.

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.

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.”

“Did you see how he looked on you with such deep love?

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.

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.

"Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you." -- a sermon for the 22nd Sunday after Pentecost

Share

Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, October 25, 2015

Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.

Say that with me. Will you?

Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.

Again.

Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.

Again. Louder.

Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.

Now turn to someone near you and say it.

Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.

Again.

Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.

Once more.

Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.

If there are ever words we needed to hear, it is these.

If there are ever words we needed to say, it is these.

And the good news is, we get to hear them.

The better news is, we get to say them.

And the best news is, they are some of the truest words ever spoken.

We can take heart.

We can get up.

Jesus is calling us.

In this morning’s Gospel. In one story. In fewer than 10 sentences. Jesus gives us a model for our entire lives.

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.”

And what does he get for crying out? Nothing … and worse.

Some ignore him, either not hearing or pretending they didn’t hear.

Others turn to him and tell him to just shut up.

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.

Even Jesus doesn’t have any time for him.

Jesus has more important places to go and more important people to see.

Jesus is not about him.

Except Bartimaeus will not be denied.

He cries out all the more, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.” And the scripture says three words:

Jesus stood still.

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?

Because of the call of one blind beggar.

Jesus stood still.

And then he says, “Call him here.”

And then the disciples say those words:

Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.

These are no ordinary words. This is not “ahh … it’s alright, come on over.”

Take heart. Take heart is the Greek tharsei. It means “Be bold.” It means “Have courage.”

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!”

“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.

It is life where there seems no future but death.

And then “Get up.”

This isn’t just “on your feet.”

This is “Awaken!”

This is “Get woke and stay woke!”

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 “talitha cumi” which means, “little girl, get up.”
Get up.

Get woke and stay woke.

Literally it means come back to life.

“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.

Why?

Because Jesus is calling you.

Could there be a more glorious message?

Could there be a more glorious message to hear?

Could there be a more glorious message to shout?

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.

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.

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?”

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.

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.

For the past two months, Jesus has been giving us this same message.

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.”

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.”

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.”

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.

Our job is not to cultivate wealth.
Our job is not to cultivate power.
Our job is not to cultivate respectability or goodwill or anything else this world values.

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.

Our JOY is to hear those cries.

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.

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:

Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.
Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.
Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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:

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!”

That is the criteria by which we as Christ Church Cathedral are worthy of support.

That is the criteria by which we as Christ Church Cathedral are worthy of survival.

“Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.”

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.

Why?

Because Jesus is calling you.

Could there be a more glorious message to hear?

Could there be a more glorious message to shout?

Could there be a more glorious life to live?

People of God. Children of honor. Let this be the song on our lips.

In here and out there.

For us and from us.

Today. Tomorrow. Always.

Take heart. Get up. Jesus is calling you.

Amen.

"The Challenge of Being Large and in Charge."

Share

"The Challenge of Being Large and in Charge."

Preached by the Rev. Chester Hines at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, October 18, 2015

Our Father in Heaven, help us to be mindful that you call us to serve others. Amen.

Today’s gospel reminds me of two historic incidents in our country’s history.  The first occurred during the inaugural speech of President John F. Kennedy.  During that speech, he celebrated the freedom of America and he challenged all Americans, especially the youth of the country with these words: “And so, my fellow Americans: Ask not what your country can do for you—ask what you can do for your country.  These few words are a challenge as much today as they were fifty four years ago.  They inspired and moved a nation to step up and take on leadership roles; to become involved in the fabric of the community in which they lived.

I contrast that challenge of President Kennedy with another more tragic incident in our country’s history which is the shooting of President Ronald Reagan.  Our capitol and nation were shocked and stunned.  Vice President George Bush was not immediately available.  The White House was not clear on what was happening.  General Alexander Haig, who was at the White House, stepped in and confidently asserted to the press--"I’m in charge here!"  He thought he was providing crisis leadership.  What the country saw was a man hungry for power.

These two contrasts can help us to see how Christ worked and operated during His time.  He never stated that he was large and in charge.  He was never boastful or prideful with his leadership; as a matter of fact he moved to put others in positions of leadership and power.  Christ never characterized himself as a leader and didn’t have to because there was something about Jesus that made people know he was a leader.  

Jesus had just finished telling disciples that He is going to Jerusalem, to be betrayed, rejected and killed, v. 33-34.  But it appears, James and John, the sons of Zebedee are more concerned about moving up in the organization.  All they can see is their position on the totem pole.  They want more, they want to be higher than the others.  Jesus is about to die for sin and they are playing “who’s on first?” They had not grasped the idea that their leader, the Lord Jesus Christ, was headed to the cross. All they could see was the crown (and not the crown of thorns). They wanted the crown without the cross. They wanted the glory without the pain. They wanted the reward without having to pay the price.

The problem with the disciples is the same problem that many of us have today.  We want to finish first.  We want power, position and prestige.  We are filled with pride.  Our community, our city, our country is at great risk because of our pride.  We are at the first stages of the long political process of electing the country’s next president.  Listen to what the candidates are saying, it’s all about the “I”; I will do this, I will do that.  Very rarely do you hear from any candidate about the “we”; the concept of working together for and with one another what can be accomplished.  What would our nation look like if we served each other rather than taking from the masses to support the few?

Jesus knows and understands what his disciples are asking but he also understands they do not realize what they are requesting.  In his own way he asks them if they are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice; are you willing to take this cup from me?  In today’s vernacular I can hear Christ saying, oh, you want to be me; okay are you willing and ready to be punished and die on the cross for the sins of your fellow being?  Are you ready to take on this leadership role and all that comes with being a leader?   I can image Christ continuing on and telling James and John that God did not send me to be served but for me to serve others.  And coming forward to our life and times, God sent Jesus to teach us through our Christian faith that we are to serve others and follow his mandate in leading the people to God.  A true leader is not concerned about position and title for they are aware they can lead from any chair, any position, any place.  A true leader in the church serves God through Jesus Christ by doing, and saying and acting in the ways that Jesus Christ commanded.  A true leader moves and walks in the direction where they know they will be challenged by the community and societal and environmental forces.  They do this because they know that this is where you will find the greatest need and call for Christ’s intervention.  A true leader does not does not desire the chair next to Christ for they are working with all their heart, for Christ and not for human masters.  

There was a person who called a preacher and indicated he wanted to be a member of the church.  But, he had parameters regarding membership.  The person indicated they did not want to commit to coming to worship every week.  They would only study the Bible when they wanted or time permitted.  They did not want to visit the sick and shut-in; and they didn’t want to serve as a teacher of on any committees and certainly did not want to serve in any leadership positions.  The minister commended the person for their desire to become a member of the church but indicated that the type of church the person was looking for was located in another part of town.  The minister gave the address of the church to the aspiring church member and the person wrote it down and hung up. When the person arrived at that address, they came face to face with the result of their own attitude of not wanting to be involved. There stood an abandoned church.

In our community, in our city, in our nation, all around us people are trying to make a name for themselves.  In one way or another, we are all involved in this process.  There is the continuing jockeying for position and power.  If they could just meet this or that person of power and resource; if they could just make a presentation to this group of people; if they could just be invited to that organizational meeting.  If these things would happen then all the doors would open and everything they are attempting to accomplish would fall into place. But God tells us that everyone who exalts themselves will be brought low and everyone who humbles themselves with be raised up.  God blesses the person who serves where they are and who allows God to determine the course of their lives.

When parents have children, they learn what giving and service are all about. When that child is born you give and you give and you give. When that child grows, you give and you give and you give. Often, even after they reach adulthood, you continue to give and you give and you give, often receiving nothing in return.  The Lord wants us to know that the path to the top leads through the bottom. If you really want to reach the top, you must start out at the bottom. If you really want to be a leader, you must first learn how to serve.  

The idea is this: if we seek true recognition, if we want to be recognized and respected, we must give our life over to Christ and become selfless human beings. We must live our days serving others.  It means being willing to get none of the glory. It means being willing to do the most servile and menial of tasks with no thought of receiving recognition or thanks. If we want to come out on top, we must first start by humbling ourselves before Christ.  In all that we do, it should be for the glory of God.  

I leave you this morning with the parable of the pencil by Dennis Selfridge of the Mission Wesleyan Church.  The Pencil Maker took the pencil aside, just before putting him into the box. "There are five things you need to know," he told the pencil, "Before I send you out into the world. Always remember them and never forget, and you will become the best pencil you can be." "One: You will be able to do many great things, but only if you allow yourself to be held in someone’s hand." "Two: You will experience a painful sharpening from time to time, but you’ll need it to become a better pencil." "Three: I have made you so that I will be able to correct mistakes you might make." "Four: The most important part of you will always be what’s inside." "Five: On every surface you are used on, you must leave your mark. No matter what the condition, you must continue to write."

The pencil understood and promised to remember, and went into the box with purpose in its heart. Now remember the pencil is like you. Always remember it and never forget, and you will become the best person you can be. One: You will be able to do many great things, but only if you allow yourself to be held in God’s hand. And allow other human beings to access you for the many gifts you possess. Two: You will experience a painful sharpening from time to time, by going through various problems, but you’ll need it to become a stronger person. Three: God will be able to forgive mistakes you might make for God is a forgiving God and calls us to be a forgiving people.  Four: The most important part of you will always be what’s on the inside.  And Five: On every surface you walk through, you work to honor and glorify God.  In doing so, you may or may not leave a mark.   No matter what the situation, you must continue to let go of self and let God be the focus of every endeavor.

Let us proceed with our life on this earth having a meaningful purpose in our heart.  Christ in the world always seemed to be moving to greater and greater challenges.  And this is the path we have been given as Christians to be able to move to greater and greater challenge and continuously seek ways to serve others.  There are many places right here at Christ Church Cathedral for you to serve, are you serving in them? There are people all around us who need to know about Jesus, are you telling them? There are needs on every hand, are you seeking to meet them? Are you being a servant of God by selflessly serving others? If the Lord has touched your heart about your service, today would be a good day to start. Amen.

"Is it Lawful? Rules and the holy, hot mess of relationships."

Share

Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral at 8 am on Sunday, October 4, 2015

Is it lawful?

The Pharisees came, and to test Jesus they asked, “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?”

Is it lawful?

Does this count?

What about this?

I have a lot of sympathy for the Pharisees this morning. Sure, they are trying to trap Jesus, and that’s not very nice, but mostly they’re just looking for an out. They’re looking for a loophole. They’re looking for a way to get out of a terrible mess. That’s what happens when we are talking about divorce. That’s what happens when we ask “is it lawful?”

“Is it lawful?” is the question we ask when we want to know the rules. And the rules are there to give our lives structure. So we can know if we are in the right or in the wrong. So we can know who is good and who is bad. And we want to be in the right. And we want to be good. We want to be able to sleep at night and not be wracked with guilt. We want to know that it’s OK, that we’re OK … or alternately to know that there’s nothing we can do and we’re pretty much stuck.

“Is it lawful?” is the question we ask when we are looking for some order to come out of chaos – when we are praying for a situation in life that is impossibly messy to somehow become neat and tidy.

The Pharisees ask “Is it lawful?” and I feel them, I really do. Because I know so much of my life isn’t neat and tidy. So much of my life involves relationships that are complicated and messy – and that I am complicated and messy, too. And I want to be in the right. And I want to be good. And I don’t always know what that looks like. And so I ask:

Is it lawful?

Does this count?

What about this?

And I want Jesus just to tell me. Just tell me what to do so I can do it then I can either be happy or unhappy but at least I’ll be clear. At least I will know and then I can make my choice. Tell me, Jesus – is it lawful?

And what drives me crazy about Jesus is he is incapable of giving a straight answer. He can’t give the Pharisees what they want. He can’t give me what I want in this moment.

But what he gives is actually so much better.

The Pharisees, ask Jesus “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?” and Jesus turns the question back around on them. He asks them, the teachers of the law, what did Moses, the law-bearer say. Well Moses said yes. Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her.

Case closed. It’s lawful. Thank you Jesus.

But not so fast.

Because Jesus says “it is because of your hardness of heart that he wrote this commandment for you.” This law is an accommodation. This law – and in fact all law – is there because we have such a hard time living in the messiness. Because we need things neat and tidy and simple and life doesn’t work that way, so we have laws and rules to try to just help us get through the day … but don’t confuse obeying the laws, don’t confuse following all the rules and checking off all the boxes with what’s really important.

What’s really important is relationship. What’s really important is loving. And loving is really, really, really, really messy.

From the beginning of creation, Jesus says, God joins us together. Wholly. Intimately. Into one flesh.

That’s messy.

We are inextricably bound up with each other. And it is not neat and tidy. And it is confusing and it is wonderful and it is incredibly, incredibly hard. And we are so amazingly imperfect in our struggle with relationship with each other. And as much as we would love it all to fit into convenient little categories we are much too complicated for that.

And thank God, Jesus knows this.

And so Jesus says “I know it’s not that easy. It’s not about following the rules and you get to be good instead of bad. It is messy.”

Jesus knows the truth is we can’t love without pain. We can’t pledge to be in relationship with each other and not sometimes have those relationships fall apart. And a lot of times we aren’t exactly sure what being loving looks like and we just have to take our best, messiest most imperfect guess. And then a lot of times we know what being loving looks like and it’s just too hard or we’re just too tired or we’re just too hurt or it’s just too much to take anymore. And sometimes we’re just going to make mistakes and it’s going to be a great, big, awful, hot, holy mess. And that’s really, really scary.

And Jesus knows this. And so Jesus says “what God has joined together, let no one separate.” Jesus says, like it or not we are in it together. And it’s going to be really, really messy because love is really, really messy. And we can argue all we want about whether it’s lawful or not to divorce but the truth is that we are connected in ways that we do not have the power to sever. And because we are not God we are going to be imperfect, and frankly we are going to be a holy, hot mess in those relationships. And there is going to be pain. And sometimes it will be unbearable. And we will feel guilty. And we will just want Jesus to make it stop. We just want Jesus to tell us that we haven’t broken any rules, that we are good after all, that it’s OK and we can get some sleep.

We just want Jesus to tell us we can stop feeling so bad.

We’ve all been there, haven’t we? Maybe you’re there right now. Maybe there’s a relationship that is tearing you apart, that’s gotten out of control and that maybe doesn’t fit into neat categories anymore … or maybe you’re finding there are things going on inside you that don’t fit into neat categories anymore and it’s really, really scary and you don’t know where to go with it or what to do? Maybe? Can you maybe relate to that even just a little bit?

I know I can. I know in those moments I just want to know the rules. I just want order in the chaos and to know that I have a chance to be in the right. There’s something about our struggle in relationships that turns us into little children who just want to know the rules. And Jesus knows this. Because Jesus’ answer is not just to give us the rules and to praise or condemn us on how we do on the test, but to take us in his arms like children and lay his hands on us and bless us. To tell us that this messiness is what the kingdom of God looks like. To tell us that it’s not easy. And that it’s really, really messy. And that he is right there in the mess with us. And that he knows it’s hard. And that he loves us, oh that he loves us so much. And that we need to just keep trying. Just keep trying to love each other. Just keep trying to believe that God loves us. Just keep trying to remember that law is about perfection and that we will never, ever measure up and that’s OK because we don’t need to measure up to earn God’s love, to earn God’s blessing, to earn God’s delight in us.

All we have to do is hang in there and love the best we can, knowing that it is a great big mess. Knowing that rules and boundaries are a good thing because we need the help navigating our way through the mess, but that the rules are never an end to themselves but only a means to the true end of loving relationship – and no rule or boundary will never ever take the messiness of that away. And that, most important, whether our behavior is lawful or not … our worthiness and belovedness by God is never in question.

So what does that mean?

It means that sometimes we will divorce and sometimes we will stay together.

It means that we will shed tears and stay up night worrying.

It means sometimes we will be selfless and sometimes we will be selfish.

It means we are going to have moments of incredible glory and moments when we screw up in a epic fashion where it all flies apart so spectacularly that we can’t even conceive that it could ever be put back together again.

It means that we will absolutely not have it all together tied up neat and tidy with a bow.

It means that it will be really, really messy but that we will be in that mess together, and we will love each other through it. And we will trust that Jesus’ promise to love us through it all is the strongest thing of all.

AMEN.

Crossing a Room, Rededicating a Temple and the death of "Us vs. Them"

Share

Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, August 23, 2015

Solomon prayed: “Likewise when a foreigner, who is not of your people Israel … comes and prays toward this house, then hear in heaven your dwelling place, and do according to all that the foreigner calls to you, so that all the peoples of the earth may know your name and fear you, as do your people Israel.”

LJ was brave.

She didn’t climb a mountain or throw herself in front of a bullet. LJ was brave because she crossed the room.

Every time.

LJ was a student at the campus ministry I led in Columbia, Missouri in the early 90s. She had long hair with purple streaks in it at a time when more people would think that was weird than cool.

Except LJ was definitely cool.

In that group, she was one of those people that everyone liked. If she suggested doing something, that’s usually what we ended up doing, not because she strong-armed us but because when LJ talked about it, it just seemed like such a great idea. When LJ floated into a room, people moved toward her.

David was different. And there was no hiding it.

David had a profound hearing loss that required hearing aids in both ears. Because of that, his speech was different from everyone else’s. To my ears, it sounded slow and slurred. David had a quirky sense of humor that most of us didn’t get. When he came into a room, people looked and smiled and maybe said “hey” but nobody moved toward him.

Except for LJ. Every time.

Whenever David would come in, LJ would cross the room. She wouldn’t make a big deal about it, but she would make her way over to David, give him a big smile and a hug and listen and talk, and then bring him into other conversations.

I watched her time and time again. She never failed to cross that room.

And so one day, I took her aside and said: “LJ, you’re so good with David. How do you do that?”

For a split second, she looked at me like she didn’t understand the question. Then she just shrugged and said, “I know how it feels.”

I instantly knew what she meant. And I was instantly even more in awe of LJ than I had been before.

Because the truth was, I knew how it felt, too. I had been the guy at the school dance who used to serve the punch because it gave me something to do so I wouldn’t feel so isolated and alone and useless. I knew that feeling in the pit of my stomach of not being included. I knew the excruciating self-consciousness of knowing I didn’t fit in. Maybe you know what I’m talking about, too.

And maybe like me, you also know the fear.

I knew the fear.

I knew the fear of ever being that person again. The person who was on the outside looking in. The “them” instead of the “us.” And so once I found my tribe. Once I found that group where I was accepted, where people crossed the room to greet me, what I feared more than anything was being back out there again. And associating with people who were out there, who were different than the norm, who weren’t accepted, was risking ending up back out there with “them.” Risking ending up a “them” instead of an “us.”

Not only that, showing those pieces of myself that were different … that was risky, too. So while David couldn’t hide the ways he was different, I’d learned to hide mine well.

I looked at LJ, with her quizzical smile and purple streaked hair, and all I could think of was how brave she was to face that fear. But as we talked more, I realized for her it wasn’t courage. Maybe it was at the beginning but it wasn’t now. For her it was genuine compassion and joy.

Compassion that cuts to the heart of that word – com … passio … “suffering with.” Seeing someone else’s pain as holy ground on which they must not stand alone.

But even more than that it was joy. Joy because just as people had recognized in her, whatever made David different was not something to be hid behind a mask – even if he could – but a unique image of God that had his own beauty for anyone who took the time to truly see.

LJ didn’t cross the room because she had to or because it was the right thing to do. She crossed the room because she didn’t see David as a “them.” David was part of us – and she loved us.

In this morning’s reading from 1 Kings, we are at one of the biggest ribbon cutting ceremonies in history. It is the dedication of the Temple in Jerusalem. It’s not just a huge amazing building. After generations and generations of God’s presence being mobile with the people – captured and returned in battle and carted around from place to place, the ark of the covenant, God’s presence, finally had a permanent home. They were dedicating the holiest place on earth

And Solomon, the great King, stands before the people and prays to God. He prays that God will always keep a successor to David like him on the throne. He prays that God will hear and heed the prayers of the people of Israel. That God will continue that special relationship with his own people his own tribe. “God, look favorably on us.”

And then Solomon prays something remarkable, something unprecedented. Solomon prays:

“Likewise when a foreigner, who is not of your people Israel … comes and prays toward this house, then hear in heaven your dwelling place, and do according to all that the foreigner calls to you, so that all the peoples of the earth may know your name and fear you, as do your people Israel.”

Solomon asks God to expand that special relationship of hearing and heeding the hearts of the people from just being for the “us” of the people of Israel but to the “them” of the foreigners, all the people who are “not like us.”

Solomon asks God to treat those the people of Israel has always thought of as “them” … to treat them like “us.” To use this temple not to preserve the Kingdom of Israel but to restore the Garden of Eden, where all humankind was created in God’s image and beloved.

At the moment of the height of the power of the people of Israel and their belief of God’s exclusive favor toward them, Solomon is crossing the room and welcoming everyone in. That is Solomon’s vision for that Temple. And that is what we have heard as God’s vision for this Temple, too.

At Christ Church Cathedral we say we seek a deeper relationship with God and each other in Jesus Christ, and that we do this through embracing diversity joyfully. What LJ and Solomon teach us is that the only way that happens is when together we dismantle every last remnant of us vs. them. When together we recognize that all are a greater “we” and always have been.

That means those of us who have the power in this Cathedral community … those of us who for nearly 200 years have defined the culture, the worship, the budget and every other aspect of life here. That those of us get to share that power knowing that it will mean profound changes. Knowing as Solomon did that whenever we ask God to answer the prayers of foreigners, a lot of those prayers will be about changing us.

It means living a life of compassion, reaching across every barrier that could divide an “us” from a “them” and learning each other’s names and stories and sharing our sufferings and standing with one another in them.

For those of us who have power in this community right now because of our class or age or charisma or or race or social standing or length of time here, it means we get to have the same mind in us that was in Christ Jesus and not seeing that power as something to be grasped but emptying ourselves into the form of a servant and giving up that power and sharing it broadly.

It means dedicating a temple where everyone can see themselves at this altar leading the people of God – young and old, black and white, gay, lesbian, straight, bisexual, transgender, rich and poor and everywhere in between.

Perhaps most profoundly, it means changing the whole way we think together about mission – from the model of an “us” who have addresses in the directory helping out a “them” who have no addresses, an “us” who are older helping out a “them” who are younger … to instead asking what does it look like for all of us together to be a community of equity and justice. From mission being a series of programs to mission being building a community where all are fed, clothed, housed, educated and all live in safety, dignity and with a deep, abiding sense of God’s love.

And for those of us who walk into this space and are immediately self conscious of how different we are, those of us who in this space feel like a guest in someone else’s home … not a bad thing but not the same as being in a place we can call home ourselves. It means those of us who feel like foreigners in this place have prayers that are heard by God, too. In fact, Jesus teaches us time and again, the prayers of those who feel like foreigners are indispensable as the prophetic voice that makes the difference between a church being a concert hall and museum and being the home and launching pad of the living God.

This opportunity is nothing new for us. Just by coming here this morning some of us are crossing over one of our biggest us and them boundaries – coming into downtown St. Louis. Many of us found Christ Church Cathedral because we were rejected in other places, and certainly as Gentiles we are all those foreigners of whom Solomon speaks.

This is not charting a new course, this is rededicating ourselves to the historic mission of this incredible community. And together we are making wonderful, courageous first steps toward this vision of community. Small steps that make a huge difference as long as they aren’t our final steps.

Some of us have been crossing that room and breaking down us and them by offering everyone a name tag. Others of us have been crossing that room by leading and attending sessions in how to have cross-class conversations and trying out what we are learning. Others of us have been crossing that room in the other direction by being doggedly faithful week after week and even year after year in continuing to show up even though we still have quite a ways to go in treating everyone as an equal part of the Body of Christ.

These small steps are important and life-changing. And there are bigger steps and bigger opportunities approaching. We are facing huge challenges here at Christ Church Cathedral, deficits and deferred maintenance and an increasingly outdated Bishop Tuttle Building that call the future of these buildings into real question. How will we address this crisis and opportunity?

Our temptation will be in fear and familiarity to run to the methods that have worked in the past, methods that lean heavily on the prayers and wishes of those who already have money and power and social standing because we are trusting not in God but in that money, power and status to save us.

And yet if we join Solomon in his prayer of dedication we chart a course for a different and more joyous future.

If we join Solomon in his prayer, we get to use this incredible moment in history as a chance to rededicate this great temple as a place where there is no us and them, where the prayers of Israel and the prayers of Philistines are heard and answered without distinction.

If we join Solomon in his prayer, we get to bring to the table not just who we have in the past – not just the white men with big wallets and wonderful hearts who have sustained this Cathedral and this city in the past – but also people across every us and them divide we have and say “what are your prayers for this place, speak for God is listening.”

If we join Solomon in his prayer, together we can harness our fear of difference and rejection and giving up control and let God gather broadly and dream deeply through us, and if we do that, can you imagine the temple that will be restored and built anew on this corner of 13th and Locust?

Can you imagine the witness it will be to the nations?

Can you imagine the joy it will be for us all?

Like that great Temple that Solomon built, God is calling this Cathedral to be a house of prayer for all nations and people. God is calling us to gather in unity, knowing that true unity can only come with the suffering with of compassion and the dismantling of systems of inequity and injustice. God is calling us to show forth God’s power among all the people so that all may look at what is happening here and see and know the power of the love of the divine.

These are big visions worthy of a holy people. And we are a holy people – each of us and all of us.

These are big visions worthy of a holy people. And like all visions they start small. They start with a nametag. They start with a conversation.

They start by crossing the room. Amen.