"You know about Jesus? That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!" - a sermon for the 7th Sunday after Pentecost

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OK, I want you to do something for me. I want you to repeat after me.

I want you to just say the name “Jesus.”  

Jesus.

Say it again: Jesus  

Jesus.

One more time: Jesus.

 Jesus.

OK ... did you notice something? The building didn’t collapse. The sky didn’t fall. And you didn’t clutch your heart and die.

Episcopalians can say the name of Jesus.

Now here’s the thing … we Episcopalians don’t like to do this much. Now, full disclosure, we’re probably OK doing it in here … but when we get outside the immediate orbit of our churches, saying the name of Jesus is something we tend to shy away from.

In fact if you ask most Episcopalians what our favorite quote is from a saint, most of us will go right to St. Francis. “Preach the Gospel at all times, use words if necessary.”

 And we tend to stretch that “if necessary” to mean “only as an absolutely last resort!”

There’s something about us when it comes to talking about Jesus. Why do we have a problem with it?

Well, I think it’s two things.

The first is we Episcopalians are worried about offending people. We’re very conscious of decorum. You ever hear the list of things you’re not supposed to talk about at parties – money, sex, politics … and religion. The reason you’re not supposed to talk about those things is that they’re all about identity. They’re about who we are and what matters most to us. And when we start walking on that ground, things get real and people can get offended and hurt … so it’s better just to steer clear and keep the conversation safe.

The second thing we worry about is guilt by association. We’ve had enough experience of people using the name of Jesus to condemn and to beat people over the head that we’re afraid if we use it people will think we’re doing the same thing. And we don’t want people to think that about us.

So we end up being a people who can say Jesus in here … but not out there. We end up being really comfortable being a people gathered. But not as comfortable being a people sent.

And yet we can’t get away from this morning’s Gospel. We are a people sent. We are sent out into this world. And actually that’s part of not only our Christian DNA but our Anglican DNA. It was an Anglican Archbishop of Canterbury, William Temple, who said “the church is the only society that exists for the benefit of those who are not members.”

We are a people sent. But we are sent in a very specific way. And it’s got five steps.

*Take nothing with you.
*Hang with the people
*Break some bread
*Give some love
*Say “You know about Jesus? That’s what I’m talking about.”

Let’s take each of those one by one.

 First, take nothing with you. Jesus sends the 70 out and says I am sending you out as sheep among wolves. This is not going to be easy stuff. But you don’t need to worry about a thing. Every little thing’s gonna be all right.

And it’s not going to be all right because we’ve got all the right stuff. It’s gonna be all right because we’ve got the power of God. And all we need to do is to trust in that power. Trust in the power of God to guide us to the right places, to give us the right words to say, even to make sure we get enough to eat. We don’t need to take anything with us because we’ve got all we need. We’ve got God. Trust in the Lord.

Second, hang with the people. Don’t wait for people to come to us. Go where they are. Enter their lives. Bust out of our comfort zones and go to places we might not normally go. Meet different kinds of people in new places. Go where the people are. And when we get there, break bread with them.

And that means build relationship. When we break bread with people, when we share a meal, there is a bond that forms. Breaking bread with the people means learning their names and learning their stories… and letting them know our names and letting them know our stories.

Breaking bread with the people means sharing life with one another, learning about where one anothers' joys and pains are. It means doing for one another what Jesus did for us … entered our lives and walked our walk with us.

Breaking bread with people means getting out there and being a part of the life of this city. Not just as tourists. It means being part of the life of this city the way Jesus was a part of life. It means diving into the city and sharing people’s lives and learning about them from the inside out. It means becoming a part of the community. Becoming a part of the us that is our neighborhood. Becoming a part of the us that is the world out there. But doing it with the eyes and ears of Jesus.

When we do that, when we become part of the us out there, when we do it with the eyes and ears of Jesus, we learn where the brokenness is. We learn where the love is needed. We learn where we’ve been in the ditch and need help finding a way out. We learn where the systems are that need transforming. And it is then that we bring the greatest gift we have. We bring the gift of love. And not just any love, but Jesus’ love.

We hang with the people. We break bread with the people. And then we give some love. Not some Hallmark kind of love that is about when you care just enough to scribble your name on a card. But some Jesus kind of love. Love that is about investing ourselves, giving of ourselves where that brokenness, where that poverty is.

This kind of love isn’t about having all the answers. It’s not about magically being able to fix every problem. But it is about going into the places where there is despair and bringing hope. It is about going into the places where there is darkness and bringing light. It is about going into the places where there is conflict and hatred and bringing reconciliation and love.

 It is about living the Gospel in the lives of the people. Not just in here, but out there. It’s about getting in the game.

Now all this stuff – trust in God, hang with the people, break the bread, give some love. All this is the stuff that St. Francis was talking about when he said “Preach the Gospel at all times” … but now comes the part where words become necessary. But because we’ve done all this stuff, the words are not empty.

Now that’s important, because that’s another thing we’re afraid of. We all know how empty words can be. We know it because we live in a world where people are trying to sell us things 24 hours a day. Talk is cheap. Anyone can say words. Whether it’s the words that try to sell us moisturizer or the sacred name of Jesus. Anyone can say words. And the words don’t mean anything unless they’re backed up with the real deal. But our words will be. They won’t be just words.

This is show and tell, with show coming first. But then we’ve got to tell. And we can. And we must.

We’ve already preached the Gospel at all times, but now comes the part where words really become necessary. We have to say the name of Jesus.

But because we’ve trusted in God, hung with the people, broken some bread and given some love, we’ve already shown people with our actions who Jesus is. And so all that’s left to do is to point it out.  To say the Kingdom of God has come near you.

So after doing all these things, we have to say the words. We have to say:

“You know about Jesus? Well, that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

“You know about Jesus? Well, that’s what I’m talkin’ 'bout.”

If we trust God, hang with the people, break some bread and give some love, we won’t have to have eloquent words preaching the Gospel. We won’t have to stand on a street corner asking people are they saved. People will know us already. They will know us by their relationships with us and they will know us by our love. And so all we’ll have to say is:

“You know about Jesus? Well, that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!”

You see, what “That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout” means is that you’re really just naming the self evident. You’ve already shown them what it is. Now you’re just pointing it out.

We will have already preached the Gospel with our lives, so all that will be left is for us to say -- “You know about Jesus? That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

We are not just a people gathered. We are a people sent. To meet people where they are. To share lives with each other. To be real with each other. To love healing into each other’s lives. And to say you know about Jesus? That’s what I’m talkin' 'bout!

We don’t need to be brilliant to do it. We don’t need to be wealthy to do it. We don’t need an official program or ministry of Christ Church Cathedral to do it. Jesus says “take nothing with you” so all we need to do it is to trust God.

So we’re going to get on with this service now. And we’re going to share our meal. And were’ going to lay our lives on that table with Jesus’ life and we’re going to get a new life in return that is a piece of each of us and a piece of Christ. And then Mark is going to say some words that I want us to take to heart as never before.

“Let us go forth in the name of Christ.”

And when we say, "Thanks be to God." That is like the starting gun at the beginning of a race. That is like the coach saying “go get ‘em” as her team takes the field. That means we are outta here. Not just to go back and go about our business until next Sunday at 10 am. We are outta here trusting God and taking nothing with us to

Hang with the people – enter their lives.

Break some bread – really get to know one another. Build relationship.

Find out where the brokenness is and give some of Jesus' love.

And finally, when we have preached the Gospel without words we will tell what we have shown.

We will not be afraid to say “The kingdom of God has come near you.”

We will not be afraid to say the word “Jesus.”

We will not be afraid, in fact we will say with great confidence and great joy:

“You know about Jesus? That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!”

A funeral homily for August Feehan -- by the Rev. Richard Baker

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Grant, O Lord, that my words may be Thy words and if my words be not Thy words, let thy people be clever enough to perceive the difference. Amen

Augusta Feehan is gone...and we have sorrow. We grieve...not for Gussie...but for ourselves and the loss we feel. An important part of us is gone...and our lives will not be the same again...worship at the Cathedral will not be the same again without her chair on Gospel side. But we are not gathered today to mourn and be bitter...Gussie would not have approved of that...We are gathered to recognize our loss...to give thanks for the pleasure of her company...and then to let go.

And what a pleasure her company could be! We all have great Gussie stories...and we intend for you to share them at the reception after this service.

She was a tireless advocate of the Holy Spirit, which she saw as an active force in the world, making things come out right, and she never missed the chance to announce, after some fortuitous event, “I tell you, honey, it’s the Holy Spirit!” She probably never realized that she fit that description as well -- an active force in the world, making things come out right...whether it was providing money for a young person’s education...or a music program...or lighting on the cathedral.

And what officiant at a cathedral wedding can forget the Holy Spirit (in the person of Augusta Feehan) doing combat with the mother of the bride to be sure things were done the right way -- or not done at all. I’m sure, however, that successive Deans have wished on occasion that the Holy Spirit would direct her along the path of greater cooperation. In both cases, she was making the world work better as she saw it.... she embodied that spirit.

We acknowledge today what a special force she was in our world and we give thanks for Gussie, the insights she gave us, the fun we had with her. I will savor forever her great line when asked why she didn’t eat many meals in the dining room of the residence on 18th Street: “Oh, honey, I can’t stand the organ recitals...you know, those old people reciting which of their organs isn’t working right today.”

I give special thanks for Jim McGregor’s special care and concern for her since he came to the Cathedral -- she and I shared the conviction that his ministrations gave her 15 extra years...and we all give thanks for those extra years of the pleasure of her company.

I want to share with you a poem by The Rev. David Fly, entitled ‘A Farewell to Gussie’

Only three years before our Gussie was born,
Orville and Wilbur were tooting a horn.
Their news was amazing and could really astound,
‘Cause they found a way to get off the ground!

A flying machine they sat in and soared
That even predated the Model T Ford.
I tell you all this because I’m amazed
At what Gussie saw in all of her days!

She flew higher than Wilbur and that other Wright kid,
And put on more miles than Ford ever did!
Rocket ships, radar, robots and such
Have all come along in her life – it’s so much!

In her 106 years she saw wars go to peaces,
And astronauts soar into vast outer reaches!
She knew flappers and beatniks and hippies and more,
The human parade has danced past her door.

And since she was born she’s streamed clouds of glory,
And I’m honored to tell just part of the story.
we’ll miss you, dear Gussie,We’ll miss seeing you,
What an amazing time you have lived through!

Those of us who have known you want you to know
That you’ve touched us all deeply . . . and so . . .
Today, we’re the ones who are tooting a horn
Giving thanks to God for the day you were born!

And now we must say goodbye...and let go of that part of our lives that we called Gussie. We do so confident that she has now seen her redeemer,...seen God with her own eyes...and sure that God has welcomed her to a special mansion among the many dwelling places in God’s house.

We let go of her hand knowing that God now has hold of her hand...and that God will never let go.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit...honey...

"Welcome to Samaria!" - a sermon for Pride Sunday Festival Eucharist

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A sermon preached by the Rev. Mark Kozielec at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, June 30, 2013 As our good friend Louie Crew—who founded Integrity almost forty years ago and has worked so long for justice for lesbian, gay, bi-sexual and transgendered people in the church and the world—as Louie would say at the start of many a homily on auspicious occasions such as these: “Welcome to Samaria!”

I wonder, however, if this notion of lesbian, gay, bi-sexual and transgendered people as on the outside, at the margins, worshipping at the wrong sanctuary—I wonder if this metaphor continues to be as strong as it was now that 13 states (including California!) and the District of Columbia recognize our right to marry—and as the Supreme Court clears the way for federal benefits for those state-recognized marriages. Halleluiah!

 I don’t know about you, but I wept on Wednesday morning. Never in my wildest imaginings did I expect such movement in my lifetime. So, I wonder, too, how much longer we can wrap ourselves in the mantle of marginalization now that our gay and lesbian sisters and brothers can openly and proudly serve in the military and that more than 140 of the Fortune 500 companies not only protect our rights of employment, but actively recruit us. And the Episcopal Church? (Well, look around.)

 Of course, amid all that we have to celebrate this morning (and indeed it is quite a bit), we know that we still have a long road to travel for full and equal rights and protection in this land of freedom and justice—especially in light of the Supreme Court’s evisceration of the Voting Rights Act, and especially in places like Missouri, where, I recently learned, I can be asked to leave a restaurant because I am gay. Who knew?

 Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered and questioning youth are still being bullied at school, kicked out of homes, and relentlessly abused by so-called “Christians.” LGBT folks continue to be dismissed from jobs, denied access to spousal health-care benefits, and banned from being adult leaders in the Boy Scouts (has anyone quite figured that one out yet?). Welcome to Samaria!

Even our gospel text this morning is not very charitable towards Samaritans. It isn’t until the next chapter in Luke that we hear the Parable of the Good Samaritan, in which Jesus uses extreme hyperbole—“A GOOD Samaritan??! Preposterous!”—to highlight that God’s love for creation knows no boundaries. Here, this morning, however, we have the centuries-in-grained prejudice against Samaritans to contend with—and with Jesus’ help, we will.

As we do, and reminded of Martin Luther King’s insistence that the arc of history is long, yet always bending towards justice, I am here today to remind each and every one of us—and especially those who identify as LGBT—that the arc of God’s action in creation is long, and it always bends towards love. Even outside a dusty, Podunk, backwater village in Samaria.

Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem. He sends some followers ahead to make arrangements for a place to rest and to keep Shabbat along the way. In a Samaritan village, his followers are told, “No thanks, no place for him here.” We might wonder, why the lack of hospitality? Perhaps our answer can be found in the author of Luke noting twice in three verses that Jesus’ “face was set toward Jerusalem.”

This does not simply mean that Jesus was on a jolly jaunt to Jerusalem—this was his final journey to Jerusalem, and his destination was the Temple, not only to worship, but to challenge and be challenged by the authorities there. For our gospel reading this morning we need to remember that for centuries there had been great enmity between Jews and Samaritans over where, exactly, the legitimate sanctuary of God was located.

Samaritans, originally part of the Northern Kingdom of Israel, thought it located there. Jews in Jerusalem, once part of the Southern Kingdom of Judah, insisted that Jerusalem was it. And since Samaritans would assume that Jesus and his followers would see Jerusalem as the only legitimate sight, Samaritans might easily wonder why they should prepare a feast for foreigners at a place that had been denigrated by Jerusalem Jews for centuries. Now, I don’t know about you, but I cannot help but notice at least a shadow of similarity here in our own ongoing discussions this year over where our own Pride festivities should be rightfully held. But I digress.

When James and John hear of the Samaritans’ disrespect of Jesus, thoroughly and utterly insulted, (“How dare those low-down Samaritans!”), they respond with, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?”

Well, my Samaritan sisters and brothers, that sure sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Let us recall for a moment how some religious leaders insist that “God hates fags,” and that Hurricane Katrina and Super-storm Sandy and perhaps a California brush fire or two can all be laid at the feet of LGBT folks. At least in the allegedly “Christian” thinking of the Phelps’ and Falwells and Robertsons among us.

Of course, Jesus, will have none of this. The author of Luke tells us that Jesus “turned and rebuked” James and John, and they made their way to another village. Now, here I get to do something that, as I preacher, I very, very, rarely do: quote from the text of the King James Bible. In that version, here is what transpires when James and John offer to immolate the Samaritans, that is missing from our version:

“[Jesus] turned, and rebuked them, and said, Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of. For the Son of man is not come to destroy men’s lives, but to save them. And they went to another village.” In other, non-King James words, “Don’t forget what spirit you are of, for the Son of Man hasn’t come to destroy the lives of human beings but to save them.”

Kind of makes me wonder what life would be like if the Phelps’ and Falwells and Robertsons of the world, who love to clobber others with select scripture verses, would read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest this simple verse from their King James Bibles.

Of course, our text from Luke is not the only one we might find a bit challenging on this Gay Pride Sunday morning. Wouldn’t it be easy to just ignore our snippet from Paul’s letter to the Galatians, especially when he writes:

“Live by the Spirit, I say, and do not gratify the desires of the flesh. For what the flesh desires is opposed to the Spirit, and what the Spirit desires is opposed to the flesh; for these are opposed to each other, to prevent you from doing what you want.” I wonder how that would preach later, outside, at the parade!

The separation of Spirit and Flesh? Sounds a lot like “love the sinner but hate the sin,” doesn’t it? Sounds like the Church of England’s “solution” to the “problem” of gay priests, who can be ordained, as long as they’re celibate; and can have a partner as long as there’s no physical consummation. On this day of celebration, let us continue to pray for our Mother Church.

Of course, Paul writes through the lens of his own context, a neo-Platonist-Jewish-Roman-male lens, if you will. And, as Paul is writing polemic here, it’s no wonder that our ears prick-up a few verses later when, at the beginning of that exhaustive list of all of that dirty-fleshy stuff, he employs the “f” word: “fornication.”

Yet, as much as it sounds like Paul is writing to the Galatians about preferences and proclivities, we need to remember that Paul’s main purpose is to counter the teachings of Jerusalem-based followers of Jesus, who continue to propound that all followers of Jesus need to be circumcised—they need to adhere to the most ancient of Jewish laws. Paul’s point is: If we are led by the Spirit, then we are no longer subject to the laws of the flesh. And what is that Spirit? Well, it’s the same spirit we hear Jesus tell us we are of today, and it’s summed up in a single, great commandment: To love God with all your being; and to love your neighbor as yourself.

Setting polemic aside, I wonder if Jesus would rebuke Paul and his screed against flesh and passion and desire. I wonder if Jesus would not so gently remind Paul of the great commandment—the one Paul himself quotes—and how contradictory hating the flesh but loving the spirit is in light of this commandment. I wonder if Jesus would remind Paul that the arc of God’s action in creation is long, always bending towards love. And that God’s love is justice in action.

As some of you here today know, my husband Chuck and I moved to St. Louis and the Diocese of Missouri just about a year ago, from the Diocese of New Hampshire. There, I was blessed to be ordained by, and serve with the now retired Bishop of New Hampshire, Gene Robinson.

Gene often employs a simple, yet profound, summary of theology that has found its way into many of my homilies over the years, and it’s in this one today. And that is that God loves you beyond your wildest imaginings. Gay, straight; young, old; black, white; and every shade and configuration in between: God loves you beyond your wildest imaginings.

Let us embrace and embody that love as we joyously celebrate today; and let us enact that love as tomorrow we continue the struggle for justice and liberation for all creation.

Indeed, my sisters and brothers, God loves each and every one of us beyond our wildest imaginings. Even Samaritans.

The Sound of SIlence -- A sermon for the Fifth Sunday After Pentecost

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A sermon preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, June 23, 2013

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Hello darkness, my old friend,
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.

 Next year it will be 50 years since Paul Simon wrote those words. The shots fired by Lee Harvey Oswald were still echoing in our nation’s ears. And Paul Simon sat in his bathroom in the dark with the water running and wrote this song.

Hello darkness, my old friend.

Any list of potential anthems for the Boomer Generation has to include the Sound of Silence. But like many of our old anthems, time makes them both ring true in new ways and also brings out a sense of irony in retrospect.

Paul Simon wrote the Sound of Silence as a warning. A warning about disconnection. A warning about technology. A warning about submission to groupthink and manipulation by government and corporate forces.

Now 50 years later, we see that much of what Paul Simon warned us of does ring true, but not in the way that he envisioned, and not without a lot of irony. And, like most things, it’s really complicated.

Disconnection. A half a billion people are on Twitter, 1.1 billion people on Facebook. And while that enables us to maintain relationships over space and time like never before, it also creates this tidal wave of surface contact among us that leaves us thirsting for real deep relationship.

Technology. We can Skype and FaceTime with people around the globe that we used to have to wait weeks and months to hear from by mail. But we also text, Tweet and watch YouTube videos while sitting across from one other in coffee shops.

Manipulation. We can read hundreds of millions of blogs and things like the Arab Spring can happen largely fueled by individual grassroots reporting, yet most of our information still comes from a handful of corporate interests whose primary concern is appealing to our basest instincts so they can sell us things.

But what Paul Simon didn’t envision in his ballad is that the primary ripple effect of the changes driven by technology would be pace and attention. We are busier and more distracted than ever before. There has been a 70% increase in work productivity over the past 25 years and that means what we all know … that those of us who are blessed enough to have jobs are working longer and harder.

And as the pace of email and Twitter becomes the expected pace of life, we have become more and more distractible and less and less able to hold our attention on any one thing. My generation and my kids’ generation and the generations to come are literally having different neural pathways cut in our brains and cultivating dopamine addictions craving the chemical hit our brain gives us when we get that tweet or email or the adrenaline rush when the next newest crisis hits … even if it is only a news alert about Kanye and Kim.

This week, we sat down as a family and watched Star Trek II, The Wrath of Khan, because we’d just seen Star Trek: Into Darkness and we wanted to show the kids the movie it was based on. Now this isn’t Citizen Kane, this is The Wrath of Khan. But there were ways it was difficult to watch – not just for the kids but for me – because the pace of the movie seemed so incredibly slow – and so incredibly different than what we have become used to.

What Paul Simon didn’t envision – and here’s where the irony is -- is that how these changes would manifest themselves wasn’t in the silence … but in activity and noise. It is not the sound of silence that grows like a cancer, it is the proliferation of noise and activity. The jumping from one crisis, one shiny thing, one dopamine hit to another. The marketing of drama and conflict and adrenaline. The demands of increased productivity and the normalizing of multitasking.

As it turns out, the sound of silence isn’t what we need to fear, it’s what we need the most. And it’s become not only more difficult for us to find but more difficult for us to bear.

The sound of silence is not a phrase that Paul Simon came up with in his bathroom 50 years ago. It’s much older than that. It comes from this morning’s reading from 1 Kings.

Elijah is in trouble. Last week, we heard how he gave King Ahab the bad news that he was going to pay for his actions in his wife Jezebel having Naboth killed so he could take control of his vineyard. And now Jezebel has put a price on Elijah’s head and Elijah is running for his life.

Elijah is in deep trouble. He needs God. But where is God to be found? An angel tells Elijah that God is coming and that all he has to do is to stand on the mountain and wait. So that is what he does.

And here is what happens next: “Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.”

Elijah heard the sound of silence. And when Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. And then, and only then, did God’s voice come to him and tell him what to do and where to go.

God was not in the wind or the earthquake or in the fire. What Elijah needed to enter into to find God was the sound of silence.

We are in deep need of God. Maybe we’re not running for our lives like Elijah was, but it sure feels like we are running and it sure feels like we are being tempted to be afraid at every turn. And so we look for God, we even cry out to God, and we sometimes wonder why God doesn’t answer.

And then we hear these words and remember.

God was not in the wind or the earthquake or the fire. What Elijah needed to enter into to find God was the sound of silence.

Now, here’s the thing about wind, earthquake and fire. They are smart things to pay attention to. They’re not a Sex and the City marathon or another guilty pleasure type distraction. They’re real. Not only that, if we’re standing on a mountain and a hurricane or an earthquake or a forest fire comes, common sense tells us that we’d not only should pay a little bit of attention to it, we’d better spring into action and focus all our attention on it because our life depends on it.

But Elijah does just the opposite. If Elijah had said, “AUUHGGGH! A windstorm! Quick, everyone take shelter!” or “Waaaaaaah, fire! OK, you get water, you chop down those trees to make a fire break.” If he had done what just about every one of us would have done in those situations, he would have been sucked into them and missed the voice of God that would save his life.

Instead, Elijah waits. He waits for the sound of silence. And because he does, he finds God and God finds him.

We are in deep need of God. Maybe we’re not running for our lives but it sure feels like we’re running and it sure feels like we’re being tempted to be afraid at every turn. And there are no shortages of windstorms, earthquakes and fires of every variety that very legitimately demand our attention and tempt us to spend our lives fearfully leaping from one crisis to the next.

And God is there, watching us, trying to talk to us, saying “hear my words that I might teach you. Take my arms that I might reach you.” But God’s words like silent raindrops fall and are swallowed up not by the sound of silence but by the deafening roar of the wind, the earthquake and the fire, the crisis du jour and the beeping smartphone and the list of things that are so important that they can’t wait because my job, my family, my career, my life hangs in the balance.

The winds, earthquakes and fires will never stop. They’ve been around since way before Elijah and they’ll be around way after we’re all gone and this building is dust. And we will continue to be tempted to put the urgent before the important and jump fearfully from one crisis to the next. 

But this morning we are reminded that our call is to be patient and wait. To understand that while there is urgency to the wind, earthquake and fire, that even more important is to seek the wisdom and presence and voice of God that we will not find in those places. To every day spend time in the sound of sheer silence. To cultivate and defend that time.

At first it might be hard not just to find but even more difficult to bear. Many of us will literally have to retrain our brains for this kind of listening and mindfulness. But if we are to follow Jesus and live the resurrection lives that will be saving for us, there is no other way.

We need God. But where is God to be met?

God is with us in the wind, the earthquake and the fire, but all too often God’s voice gets drowned out by them. God’s voice is still and small. And we have to still ourselves to hear it.

God’s voice is not in the wind. It is not in the earthquake. It is not in the fire.

It is whispered in the sounds of silence.

"What if we expected Jesus to show up and do something extraordinary?" - A sermon for the Third Sunday After Pentecost

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A sermon preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, June 9, 2013

What if we expected Jesus to show up and do something extraordinary?

My friend Michael is way healthier than I am. I’m convinced that some of that comes from living in Alaska. When you live in Alaska, you do lots of hiking and camping and fishing, and Michael and his family do those things. And so Michael always has this healthy glow about him. And it’s ironic, because Michael has been closer to death than anyone I know.

A few years ago, Michael started having some strange symptoms one night and his wife took him to the emergency room. The doctors made a diagnosis and gave him a shot of something that was supposed to clear it up … only they gave him the wrong shot and horrible things began to happen.

Very rapidly, the systems of Michael’s body began to shut down. The doctors scrambled to try to reverse it and couldn’t. They tried everything they knew. But Michael slipped into a coma, and they had to hook him up to machines to keep him alive.

Michael wasn’t even 40 years old. He was married with two schoolage kids. Just days before, you would have said he was one of the healthiest people you knew. And now the doctors were telling his wife, Nancy, there was nothing they could do. They were telling Nancy that she needed to prepare herself and her children for the fact that her husband, her kids’ father, that Michael was going to die.

Just days before, she was looking forward to raising children and growing old with the man she loved. And now she was facing life as a widow and her children were facing life without a father. Just days before they had been playing and laughing together. And now it was up to her to decide whether to take him off the machines and let him die.

One morning while Michael was in the hospital, his Bible study group came in to see him and pray for him. They stood around his bed as he lay there in a coma and they began to pray. And one of them started off the way we pray so many times – God we lift Michael to you and if it is your will we ask that you heal him. … and then he stopped … and he said:

No.

No. That’s not good enough.

Jesus we know you can heal him. We need Michael. His family needs him. His church needs him. So you just need to do it. You just need to heal him right now because this is wrong. And you know it’s wrong. And you can do something about it. So you need to just do it. You need to just heal him right now.

Within a few hours, Michael started to emerge from the coma. The doctors have no idea how or why. But Michael does. He says he doesn’t remember much from being in that coma, but he remembers that Bible study group being in that room. And he remembers them praying.

What if we expected Jesus to show up and do something extraordinary?

We come together each week and we hear stories like this morning’s Gospel story. A story of Jesus doing something extraordinary. And this story is one of the most incredible of all.
It’s a story of deep tragedy. It’s a funeral procession … which can be tragic enough … but the story tells us that this is a widow’s only son. So the mother is now not only in deep grief she is destitute. She has literally no one who will care for her. The die has not only been cast for her son being carried to his grave but for her as well.

And then along comes Jesus. And something extraordinary happens. He walks up to the widow and speaks to her, he touches the litter the pallbearers are carrying and then he speaks to the dead body … and the man sits up, alive.

Extraordinary. Absolutely extraordinary. Dead is dead. And here is this dead man, sitting up, talking, alive.

But something else extraordinary is happening in that scene.

The people make room for Jesus.

Think of the funerals that you have been to. What would happen if a strange person all of a sudden came up and accosted the grieving wife or mother and then walked up and grabbed on to the casket and started talking to the body.

I don’t know any funeral I’ve been to where that person wouldn’t have been intercepted and hustled away as quickly as possible. There’s a couple I’ve been to where I know a couple of big guys would have had him down like a calf at a rodeo.

But that’s not what happened. Jesus showed up and instead of walking more quickly or hustling him away or even body-checking him into the next province the people stopped. They made room for Jesus. They let him do what he needed to do.

And something extraordinary happened.

That’s what happened in that hospital room in Anchorage. The doctors were saying that Michael was going to die. It was inevitable. It was irreversible. They had done their best and that was all that was to be done. But that group of faithful people knew that they needed to just make some room for something else. They needed to make room for Jesus to enter in.

They needed to expect Jesus to show up and do something extraordinary.

And they did.

And he did.

What if we expect Jesus to show up and do something extraordinary?

Now I’ll be the first to say I don’t know how this works. I know that I have made room for Jesus before and I couldn’t tell you anything that happened. I have stood at the casket of a 21 year old girl and pleaded with Jesus to do for her what he did for that man in this morning’s Gospel story and even though I knew Jesus was there, she did not come back to life. And I also know that Jesus was there in that hospital room in Anchorage, and I know that my friend Michael is alive and that Jesus is why.

I don’t know how this works.

But I also don’t think it’s up to us to know how it works. It’s up to us to do what the people did in that funeral procession, to do what Michael’s Bible study group did in that hospital room and to do what I did standing at a funeral home in front of that young woman’s casket. It’s up to us to make room for Jesus. To not assume that what we can see and measure and predict is all there is. To know that there is a power greater than any other in the universe -- a power that can turn all our wisdom into foolishness and all our best laid plans to dust.

It is up to us to expect Jesus to show up and do something extraordinary. And when he does to not be surprised but certainly to be awed.

It is up to us not just in the great moments of crisis in our lives but in every moment of our lives to make room for Jesus. In every moment to look for his presence and to bid his presence. To know that we are not bound by the limits of our own wisdom and ingenuity. To know that life can come from death and even that which seems most lost can be saved. To know that Jesus can enter in and stop us and touch us, and wipe our tears and bring life from death.

To know that Jesus can show up and amazing things can happen – if we make room for him.

What if we expect Jesus to show up and do something extraordinary?

"I have a ... strategic plan!" -- said no inspirational orator, ever.

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A sermon preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, May 12, 2013

`In the last days it will be, God declares,
that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,
and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,
and your young men shall see visions,
and your old men shall dream dreams.

Fifty years ago this August, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in front of nearly a quarter of a million people. They were gathered there to be inspired. Because something in Dr. King’s message had touched something deep inside them. Because they felt history moving and they knew they just had to be a part of it.

And Dr. King looked out on that crowd, and the crowd fell hushed and the great man opened his mouth and said:

“I have a strategic plan.“

Wasn’t that what he said?

You know, King and the leaders of the civil rights movement did have a plan and it was strategic. They knew that the next step was lobbying Congress to ratify the 24th amendment that would eliminate poll taxes and other barriers to voting. They knew that once that was done they would mount massive voter registration drives and lobby the president and Congress to pass sweeping civil rights legislation.

They had a plan and it was strategic.

But that's not what he said. He didn't say, "I have a strategic plan" --  even though he did have one.

What did he say?

I have a dream.

Come on, say it louder!

I have a dream!

Yeah -- I have a dream!

Now, strategy is important. Tactics are important. Planning is important.

But those things do not touch us deep inside. Those things do not move history forward. Strategy, planning and tactics might get things done but they are not the reason we get things done.

The reason we are motivated to do great things is not because we make great plans

The reason we do great things is because God touches us. And we see visions. And we dream dreams.

We are wired for dreams. We are created in God’s image as people of awesome ideas, as people who long to be inspired, people who long to be part of something greater than ourselves. We are created in God’s image as people who aspire not for the perfect plan, but to prophesy and see visions and dream dreams.

We are created to dream because we are made in the image of a God who dreams. And God gives those dreams to us as gifts to share with God and with each other. And that is what this day is about.

Pentecost is to remember that we are dreamers with God.

In the words of Desmond Tutu, God says to us “I have a dream. Please help me to realize it. It is a dream of a world whose ugliness and squalor and poverty, its war and hostility, its greed and harsh competitiveness, its alienation and disharmony are changed into their glorious counterparts.

Where there will be more laughter, joy and peace, where there will be justice and goodness and compassion and love and caring and sharing.”

God says to us, “I have a dream that my children will know that they are members of one family, the human family, God’s family, my family.”

We are people of a dream. God’s dream. And God’s dream and ours is reconciliation. Of bringing together and making whole that which is divided and broken.

God’s dream and ours is for us is to be one. God’s dream and ours is a world where diversity doesn’t mean division but instead an opportunity to celebrate the many, many, many ways God can be expressed in the beauty of human life and all creation.

This morning we hear the Pentecost story from the Acts of the Apostles. And we hear some familiar things happen. We see the people touched by the spirit of God dreaming out loud. And we see other people confused by this .. and even thinking they are crazy or drunk. And then Peter says, no, they’re not crazy, they’re not drunk. This is what happens when God touches us. We don’t sit down and make a strategic plan, at least not at first. No.

We prophesy.

We see visions.

We dream dreams.

But there’s one other thing we notice from this Pentecost story. And that is that the group that was touched by the Spirit of God. The group of people that was given this gift of God’s word, of God’s dream to share and to live … was a very, very diverse group. It contained at least 15 different peoples from different races and cultures and languages and economic strata and political and theological viewpoints.

Think about that for a second.

God touched them all.

God gave each of them the gift of God’s spirit, invited each and all of them to share in God’s dream. And that meant that every single one of them had a piece of that dream that was integral to the dream of God being lived on earth … thy kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven.

We make a tragic and costly error when we believe that only people who look like us or believe like us or live like us or vote like us have exclusive claim to the spirit, word and dream of God. The truth of Pentecost is that God can and does touch all. And each is given a piece of that dream. And that all need one another. Because it’s not just any dream. It is the dream that we heard Jesus pray in last week’s Gospel before he went to the cross when he said, “that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me.”

You might have noticed something different when you walked into the Cathedral this morning. Something that has returned, perhaps?

The congregational banners that we took down a year and a half ago for the icons exhibition are back up. We’re putting them back up for a season – the season after Pentecost -- from now until the beginning of Advent. And during that season, we’re inviting the congregations of the diocese to dream with us a little.

To ask ourselves what it might look like to have this diocese truly live into Jesus’ dream of “that they may be one, as we are one” and what role this Cathedral as a gathering place for this diocese might play in that.

To dream how this space we share might represent the diversity of peoples of this diocese and our conviction that God gifts us all with a different piece of God’s dream.

To dream how in this society where we are characterized more by what divides us than what unites us. Where we are Fox News or MSNBC. Republican or Democrat. Rich or Poor. Black or White. And never the twain shall meet. To dream how this Cathedral might through our own embracing of God’s spirit resting on one another dream a different dream and offer a different vision for the world.

So for the next six months, I invite us to look at these banners and not think so much about whether we like how they look, but look at what they represent. And dream what it might be like to be a Cathedral where St. Peter’s, Ladue and Trinity, St. Louis gather at the same table and listen for God’s still small voice on the lips and lives of one another.

Dream what it might be like to be a Cathedral where All Saints, St. Louis and Trinity, Kirksville listen to one another’s stories and share their challenges and dreams.

Dream what it might be like to be a Cathedral that bears witness to a God whose dream can rest on all regardless of politics, race, gender, sexual orientation, or any of the other very real things that make us different from one another but need not separate us from one another.

We don’t have a plan for what will happen when we take the banners down at Advent. The plans will come. But for now, we have something more important and more lasting and more life-changing than any plan or strategy.

We have a dream.

Come! The drinks are on us!

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A sermon preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, May 12, 2013

The Spirit and the bride say, "Come."
And let everyone who hears say, "Come."
And let everyone who is thirsty come.
Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.

The drinks are on us.

The drinks are on us.

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Last week, Fletcher Harper walked us through the end times in the book of Revelation – both the popular notion of what it says and what it actually says.

He reminded us that the popular view – where Jesus MediVacs Christians off the earth into the clouds and then takes off with them into deep space where God lives and when they are sufficiently far away, God presses a button and blows up the earth – that that view isn’t even close to Biblical.

Then he walked us through the text of last week’s reading from Revelation and showed us that what the Bible really says about the end times is that God gives us a renewed and rejuvenated heaven, a renewed and rejuvenated earth. That the “end times” is not the earth exploding but a heavenly city right here. A city that does not battle or exploit the created order but emerges out of it, within which the natural world and all that it represents is integrated and there is a fullness and a mutuality and a peace between the city, the height of human civilization and the natural world.

That is our destiny. That is who we are to be. That is what we are to be about. A city. A new Jerusalem that like the psalmist sings is “a city that is at unity with itself.” A city where all people are restored to unity with God and each other in Christ, where Jesus’ prayer of “that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me” is reality.

A city whose streets are lined with trees bearing fruits whose “leaves are for the healing of the nations.”

A city of God. A city with waters of life and healing. Where

The Spirit and the bride say, "Come."
And let everyone who hears say, "Come."
And let everyone who is thirsty come.
Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.

The drinks are on us.

The drinks are on us.

Christ Church Cathedral has stood on this spot for nearly 150 years as a living sign of all creation’s destiny. That like every city, this city of St. Louis is a work in progress, and that we aspire to and in fact believe our destiny is that renewed, rejuvenated city of which the psalmist sings and God promises. And that the work we have been given to do is to help God in that work of renewal. To make this a city that makes glad God’s heart. To be a spring from which the river of life will flow and to plant the trees whose leaves will be for the healing of the nations.

And the role of a Cathedral in that cosmic process of urban renewal is to be the place to which God gathers and from which God’s voice booms out. Our role is to be a place from where that water of life springs, and sings

The Spirit and the bride say, "Come."
And let everyone who hears say, "Come."
And let everyone who is thirsty come.
Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.

It is to invite everyone in, to hold out the water of life and say

The drinks are on us.

The drinks are on us.

So what does this look like? It looks like any number of things. It looks like things of which we have not even conceived yet! It looks like ways of being the church, ways of being Christ Church Cathedral that are yet to be discovered and adventures yet to be embarked upon.

But it also looks like some things that we have seen. Places where we have looked out and seen the deep brokenness in our city and asked the question “what does the water of life look like there?” And then where we have said, “Let everyone who is thirsty, come. Take the water of life as a gift.” Where we have gone out there and invited people in here and said:

The drinks are on us.

Saying the drinks are on us looks like this past Wednesday night when 20 months after Becca Stevens brought women from the Magdalene program in Nashville into this Cathedral so we could hear their stories of coming from the depths of prostitution, violence and drug abuse into a community that bathed them and filled them with the water of life. It looks like 20 months later, 400 people filling this Cathedral – people not just from this Cathedral, not just from this diocese, but from all parts of this city coming together to dedicate their time and talent and money to open the door to Magdalene St. Louis and to be a part of opening that first house by the end of next year. Let everyone who is thirsty come.

Saying the drinks are on us looks like Dr. Huldah Blamoville looking out and seeing so many homeless and low-income people with undiagnosed medical conditions and putting together her own physicians group, Mound City Medical Society with the people from BJC and coming to Chapter with a proposal that last month they unanimously approved for once or twice a month on Saturday mornings the back of this Nave and the Chapel to be used for a referral clinic for our guests at Miss Carol’s Breakfast. Let everyone who is thirsty come.

Saying the drinks are on us is as simple as these doors being open every day for anyone to come in and sit and think and pray. To let anyone who wants to come slake their thirst for beauty and peace in this space and at the foot of that cross. Let everyone who is thirsty come.

Saying the drinks are on us looks like Debbie Nelson Linck and the “As If We Weren’t There” photo exhibit. It looks like Lena Loewenstine gathering new, younger members of the congregation taking church outside these doors to Gelateria Tavolini on a Tuesday night to talk about The Screwtape Letters. ->->->->
It looks like Hopey Gardner taking our Lenten challenge to see what new thing God might be doing and discovering a call to teach kids to read through the YMCA community literacy program and inviting anyone in this congregation to join her.

Saying the drinks are on us looks like us as a Cathedral seeing what Hopey saw … seeing children in our city starving for education and welcoming into our space an elementary school that can give that high quality of education to children across the racial and economic spectrum. It looks like our Sunday School teachers, children and parents working so hard to share the space they love, and Cathedral members getting trained to go door to door in low income neighborhoods telling them about Lafayette Preparatory Academy. Please come and join us. I’ve gotten the training. You can get it too. It’s a public school. It’s not proselytizing and yet when we are inviting people to send their children to this school in this place where they can thrive and grow, we really are doing nothing less than saying “let everyone who is thirsty come. Take the water of life as a gift.”

The drinks are on us.

When we embrace our destiny as a spring from which the waters of life run. When we cry out to a thirsty world, “Come! The drinks are on us!” we are living not just our ultimate destiny but God’s earliest dream for us. Fletcher told us last week that God giving us dominion over creation in Genesis was not about giving us license to control and exploit but a call to nurture and tend for the common good of all creation. Well, the same is true for us and this Cathedral. If we view this Cathedral as a resource for us to control and use only for ourselves, we are no better than those who pump pollution into our air and dump chemicals in our rivers.

I don’t care what any deed of title says. This Cathedral is not the property of this congregation or Chapter or even the Diocese of Missouri or even the national Episcopal Church. This Cathedral is a herald of the heavenly Jerusalem. And we have been given the great honor and opportunity to nurture it and tend it not for ourselves but for the renewing and rejuvenating of the entire city. It is sacred public space owned by God for use by all who thirst. It is to be a place to which God gathers and from which God’s voice booms out.

And it’s the best thing ever. Because that means we don’t just have to be one more old church building. One more failing nonprofit whom people used to use looking back wistfully at the past and staring ahead at the same financial projections as newspapers and bookstores.

No. We get to be a place from which the river of life springs. We get to look out and point others to the deepest thirst that is out there and say we’ve got something here for you. And with the Spirit and the bride, say, “Come.’ And let everyone who hears say, “come.” And let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.

Come. The drinks are on us!