Rebekah, Hobby Lobby and the Word of the Lord that will heal the village

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Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, July 6, 2014




“If you want to kill a village, rape the women. If you want to heal the village, you heal the women.” (Becca Stevens)

So did you hear the reading from Genesis this morning?

I know you listened to it, but did you really hear it? Did you hear what was going on there?

Let me recap:

Abraham sends his slave to go find a wife for his son, Isaac. He travels to a distant land and God guides him to Rebekah, drawing water at the well, The slave asks her for a drink then asks her not who she is but who she belongs to. Then he puts a ring on Rebekah’s nose, and bracelets on her arms.

Then our lectionary skips an important bit. That’s the part where the slave takes Rebecca to her brother, Laban, and negotiates the price he will pay him and his family for her. Then he takes Rebekah back to Isaac and we are told that “Isaac took Rebekah, she became his wife, he loved her and he was comforted after his mother’s death.”

We heard this story a few minutes ago. And after the reader was done, she said “The Word of the Lord” and we all said “Thanks be to God.”

What today we might call human trafficking – a woman literally sold from one family to another and taken away forever to be given as property to a man far away. And we say “The Word of the Lord” and “Thanks be to God.”

Are we even listening? Are we even paying attention?

“Yeah, but that was a long time ago,” we say. It’s like that story of the binding of Isaac, where Abraham literally ties his son up, lays him on an altar and stands with a knife over him ready to kill him before God intervenes. And we say “Yeah, but that was a long time ago. That’s the OLD Testament. We are much more civilized, much more progressive today.”

Rebekah being sold by Laban to Abraham to be given to Isaac? “That story has nothing to do with us.”

Or does it?

This week, the Supreme Court ruled that Hobby Lobby and other so-called “closely held” corporations were exempt from covering contraceptives for female employees if such coverage was contrary to their religious beliefs.

There was an immediate outcry, primarily but not exclusively, from women.

I am not a constitutional scholar and this pulpit is not a place for partisan debate.  But the outcry – that’s something different. Regardless of your opinion about the ruling as a constitutional matter, the outcry from women in its wake is a voice we must listen to – because it has everything to do with the reading we just heard from Genesis and our response of the Word of the Lord and Thanks Be To God.

That outcry has everything to do with us not being as far from the story of Rebekah and Isaac and not as close to the life Christ calls us into as many of us, particularly we men, might think and hope.

The truth is that for many women, regardless of the facts of the case or the specifics of the constitutional issues involved, this ruling feels like just one more instance of a bunch of men playing Abraham, Laban and Isaac – telling a woman that she has no power over her destiny, her employment and even her own body.

Feels and, in fact, is one more instance of a global culture that if not as hostile toward women as it was in the time of Genesis, is certainly hostile enough.

And if you think I’m exaggerating, consider this:

Globally, violence against women and girls remains epidemic.. “Dowry deaths” – when brides cannot meet the financial demand of her dowry – and “honor killings” -- when women are killed for bringing shame to their families; including killing as punishment for adultery or even for being the victim of rape -- are still regular occurrences in many countries.

But that’s the world. Certainly here in America we’re much more progressive. Well, right here at home, one in five young women experience intimate partner violence and St. Louis is a top 20 city for sex trafficking.

Who controls the world’s wealth? In the U.S., the median annual income for women working full time is 23 percent lower than for their male counterparts. And only 13 of the largest 500 corporations in the world have a female CEO.

Who makes the world’s laws? Globally, less than 20 percent of national legislators are women with the U.S. Congress in the lower half at 18.5%.

Who pastors our churches? In only a small fraction of Episcopal dioceses and an even smaller fraction of large Episcopal congregations and Cathedrals are women bishops, deans or rectors.

So when the Court ruled that Hobby Lobby could deny women contraceptive care – regardless of what the facts of the case are or whether it’s constitutional or statutory, many women reacted with weary rage.

Why? Because this has been going on since Rebekah, Laban and Isaac.

Why? Because when the plaintiff in the case uses their faith in Jesus as justification for denying health care to women, it sounds an awful lot like “The Word of the Lord” and “Thanks be to God.”

St. Francis said “Preach the Gospel at all times, use words if necessary.” But sometimes words are necessary. We can’t just be silent in the face of a world that continues to treat women as less than full images of God. We can’t just tell the story of Rebekah and Laban and Isaac and pretend we haven’t heard what we’ve heard and say “The Word of the Lord” and “Thanks be to God” and go on with the liturgy.

So where do we go from here? How can the Word of the Lord be redeemed? How can we tell our story in a way that lets us offer a full-throated “Thanks be to God?”

We need look no further than Rebekah herself.

Laurel Thatcher Ulrich famously noted “Well-behaved women seldom make history,” and Rebekah is no exception. Because there is a Rebekah that we don’t meet in this morning’s reading. A Rebekah who hears a Word of the Lord and acts upon it. A Rebekah who, thanks be to God, was not well behaved and who indeed did make history.

For Rebekah does not just quietly resign herself to the way things are. When she becomes pregnant with twins, they struggle within her. And Rebekah “inquires of the Lord” why her pregnancy was so difficult.

Rebekah inquires of the Lord. This is the first instance in the Bible of a woman approaching God asking for an explanation. To our ears it might not seem like anything, but then it was unheard of. It is bold and courageous. And when she does God gives her a message that will shape the rest of history. God says to Rebekah:

“Two nations are in your womb,
and two peoples born of you shall be divided;
one shall be stronger than the other,
the elder shall serve the younger.’ “

God doesn’t give this message to Abraham or to Isaac, he gives it to Rebekah, the bold mother of nations. And Rebekah takes this information and she continues, thank God, not to be well behaved. She orchestrates the deception of her husband that causes him to bless the younger son, Jacob, instead of the older son, Esau – thus fulfilling the word God had given to her that the elder shall serve the younger. Taking the power arrangement of the way things are and turning it completely on its head.

Yes, scripture gives us the story of Abraham and the slave, of Rebekah, Laban and Isaac – because that’s the way things were. But scripture also gives us the rest of the story of Rebekah to let us know that just because that’s the way things were doesn’t mean that’s the way things are supposed to stay. That power relationships, even ones that have been in place for thousands of years, should not be and in fact are not unchangeable. And that, just as with Mary Magdalene on Easter morning, regardless of what the men in power might think, if you want a Word from God to take root and bear fruit, give it to a woman.

There are legitimate constitutional and statutory questions about the extent of freedom of religion in this country. And reasonable and faithful people can and do disagree on limits and remedies.

But that is not what this decision and this week are about. What we should take from the week just past should have less to do with freedom of religion and the court’s decision and everything to do with the outcry in its wake. The truth is the story of Rebekah, Laban and Isaac is not as far from today’s reality as we might think, and the life Christ calls us into, a life of mutuality and traditional power relationships turned on their head is not as close at hand as many of us, particularly we men, might think and hope.

But there is hope. There is Good News. There is a Word ofo the Lord to which we can say “Thanks be to God.”

The subjugation of women that has gone on since before the time of Rebekah and Isaac is ancient and insidious. We have long known, as Becca Stevens says, “if you want to kill a village, rape the women.” But now we are learning something else. We are learning that, in Becca’s words, “if you want to heal the village, you heal the women.”

We are learning it through movements like the one Becca started and we are embracing of Magdalene and Thistle Farms, where women who have been bought and sold like Rebekah, also like Rebekah have against all odds taken power into their own hands and become transformative agents of the power of God.

We are learning it through nations like Rwanda. After the genocide, Rwanda passed a law mandating that at least 50% of the seats in parliament be held by women. They did this because they knew that if they were not only to survive but thrive as a nation they needed the gifts and talents of all Rwandans. Today, they are the only nation with a majority female legislature and they have one of the 12 fastest growing economies on the planet.

We are learning it through women everywhere who like Rebekah are boldly asking God “explain to me why this is so hard” and to whom God is giving Words of the Lord to bear that will change the world.

As a church, our call is not to push those voices down and tell them to just behave but to raise those voices up, to listen to the cries, to seek out and embrace the women who are not well behaved who will continue to make history. As a church, our call is to proclaim with one loud voice that any theology or interpretation of scripture that denies women rights or would treat women as anything less than full images of God must be rejected as contrary to Christ.

As a church, our call is to stop the raping of women that kills the village and to participate in the healing of women that saves the village.

And that is the Word of the Lord.

Let the church say, “Thanks be to God.”

Thanks be to God. Amen.

"Welcome" - a sermon for Pride Sunday

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Preached by the Rev. Mike Angell at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, June 29, 2014

Welcome.

Welcome.

If you sort of cringe when you hear welcome, from me, I understand. I only arrived to St. Louis in January. This is my first Sunday sermon at the Cathedral. Who am I to welcome you? I learned to be careful with the word “welcome” at my previous church in Washington, DC. On one of my first Sundays as a priest there, I said “Welcome to St John’s” to a distinguished looking lady, who turned and said to me, “thank you, but I’ve been worshipping here for 50 years, my husband was the former rector.” I learned to be careful with the word “welcome.”

The word “welcome” at church can also be cringe-worthy because doesn’t mean much. Welcome has become a cliché in many churches and not much more. Churches love to say they are welcoming. Every church likes to say “we are a welcoming community.” But by and large churches are terrible at welcome. Historically the Church has been really good at making people feel unwelcome. We’re good at labeling insiders and outsiders.

So if my saying “welcome” at church makes you uneasy, know that I am with you. And at the same time, I think Jesus really valued welcome. In this passage we have from Matthew’s gospel he uses the word a lot. What does he mean? Spoiler alert: I don’t think he is talking about ushers.

But before we explore that word “welcome,” there’s this other word Jesus repeats: “Reward.” I have to admit I’m interested when Jesus uses that word: reward. Apparently if we welcome, we get prizes. Jesus sounds a bit like Oprah here, “you get a car, and you get a car, and you get a car.” I asked the Dean if we could put a certificate for a car under everyone’s seat this morning. He seemed to think it was beyond the budget. Sorry about that.

So what is the reward we get for welcome? You’ll have to wait until the end of the sermon for that. To get to the reward, we have to talk about what welcome means.

What is this “welcome “that Jesus talks about?

Welcome really is one of the central themes of Jesus’ ministry, and I can’t spend all of the time that I want on welcome, because, frankly, I want to get out to the Pride Parade on time.

So here, in two points, are my thoughts on welcome.

Point one: Deep welcome transforms us. When we say “welcome” there is a power relationship at play. Think about it, the word “welcome” as we use it implies insiders and outsiders. “Welcome to my house.” “Welcome to our church.” Do you hear the dynamic? That power differential is what trips up churches. Churches are often “in crowds.” Historically the church has been a guardian of who is in and who is out. When we “welcome” without examining this history, this power dynamic, we can do violence. “Welcome” in the church has often meant, “you are welcome if you learn to act like us.” You are welcome if you talk like us, think like us, believe like us. You’re welcome if you stand up and sit down and sing and speak when we do. This has nothing to do with the kind of welcome Jesus is talking about.

The word we translate as “welcome” in Matthew is literally “to receive.” For Jesus,”to welcome” is not to try to make someone like you, it is to receive from them. Welcome is not about teaching the outsider when to stand and when to sit. To welcome like Jesus the “welcomer,” becomes the student of the welcomed. To welcome like Jesus is to invite the outsider into your life so deeply, to welcome them so profoundly, that we allow them to transform who we are.

To welcome, following Jesus, is to invert the power relationship. To make the insider the student of the outsider, to allow those who are welcomed to transform us.

We know this kind of welcome, but it is a rare gift. This kind of transformative welcome, welcoming someone into your life in a way that transforms you, this is a rare welcome, but we all know it. It happens to us on an individual level, a familial level, a church or community level, and on a society wide level. We know the welcome Jesus is talking about.

On the Individual level: We’re celebrating Alicia and Betsy today, a couple who have chosen to deeply welcome one another, to allow someone else into their individual life. Today we celebrate one of the church’s sacraments of welcome, of two people receiving one another, welcoming one another deeply. Alicia and Betsy are the sign and symbol of that beautiful gift, and that hard work of welcoming the other today. My husband Eli can tell you, it’s not easy to welcome someone into your life. Whether you are married or you have deep transformative friendships, you know that inviting someone into your life deeply causes you to learn, to grow, to change. This really isn’t easy, but it helps us to grow up. This is the individual way we practice the kind of welcome Jesus invites us to.

We also practice this welcome on the level of family. Eli and I just got back Friday from welcoming our new niece Claire into the world. My sister and her husband had a healthy baby girl on Monday. She is adorable, and she will change the very fabric of our family. Whoever she grows up to be, her personality, her passion, will cause all of us to learn. If she likes ballet, you can bet our family will start to like ballet. If she likes monster trucks, that would change our family too. Claire will transform us, and she has already transformed us. We all have to play new roles. Eli and I were transformed into uncles. My parents became grand-parents. Being open, vulnerable to this kind of change, that is the way we welcome as families, one of the ways we learn to welcome in the way Jesus invites us to welcome.

This Church also knows about what it means to practice this welcome as a community. I remember studying Christ Church Cathedral in seminary. When Dean Michael Allen proclaimed “This Church has AIDS” he, and you, took a bold step for the Episcopal Church. He said, along with St. Paul, if “one part of the body suffers, we all suffer.” The words and actions of this Cathedral showed deep welcome, transformative welcome. Christ Church Cathedral didn’t just tolerate the presence of people living with HIV. This community was transformed by the presence of those who were suffering. Welcoming people with HIV/AIDS changed who Christ Church was, for the better. This church became an example of compassion and of activism for the wider church and the wider world. That is what it means to practice Jesus’ welcome as a community.

We are also working to practice this kind of welcome as a Society: Did you hear about the mayor of St. Louis welcoming same sex couples to his office to marry them. Defying the State of Missouri he said, enough is enough. This welcome transforms our society. Those of us in same-sex marriages are often accused of wanting to change the definition of marriage. I’m here to confirm those fears. I think two people who are of the same gender marrying one another does redefine marriage for heterosexuals. It does challenge traditional marriage. Because when two people who are equal in terms of the power relationship of gender, when two people who are of the same gender marry each other, they are on equal footing. Two people of the same gender are equal partners. This messes with the inherited “power imbalance” our society has given opposite sex couples. Same-sex marriage causes us to reject the idea that one partner should have power over another. Welcoming same sex couples into marriage redefines marriage, transforms marriage, transforms us as a society.

That is what welcome does, at least in the teaching of Jesus. Welcome, real welcome, transforms us. Jesus doesn’t leave it there, which brings me to my second point about welcome: We meet God, by welcoming the other. “If you welcome in my name, you welcome me, and you welcome the one who sent me.”

In Jesus’ teaching, God is a god of welcome. Let me repeat that. The God of Jesus is a god of welcome. The God of Jesus is not a god of insiders and outsiders. God is the god of everyone. No exceptions. As South African Archbishop Desmond Tutu says, “All, All! All! Black, white…rich, poor, clever, not so clever, beautiful, not so beautiful…All is radical…gay, lesbian, so-called-straight, All!” God doesn’t pay attention to our categories of discrimination, the God of Jesus is a God who welcomes all.

And God has a passionate desire that we know that kind of welcome, the love of God at is available to ALL of us. God wants us to know love, and we learn that love by welcoming those our world considers outsiders. That is what it means to know God, to know and love the welcoming God. “Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me.” God wants to be known, and we know God better when we tear down the walls that divide us.

This is the reward Jesus is talking about. We learn to know this embarrassingly welcoming God when we go learn from those who our society considers outsiders. We know God when we cross the boundaries of race, religion, culture and class, gender and sexual orientation. When we welcome one another deeply, when we look for Christ in others and let those who we think of as “other” become our teacher, we will learn to know God better.

This is the reward, relationships that will transform us to be more like the God who is truly catholic, in the original sense of that word. God is universal. God welcomes us all, and invites us to welcome those different from us. This is the reward, and trust me, from what I know, it is way better than one of Oprah’s cars. When we learn to welcome one another, we taste a fraction of the love God has for us. When we overcome our prejudices and welcome the other as our teacher, we can glimpse the kingdom of the God who welcomes us all.

So, welcome.

"Law and Grace. Grace and Law." - A sermon for Pentecost Sunday.

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Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral at 10 am on Sunday, June 8, 2014

And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each.…All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, "What does this mean?"
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Law and grace. Grace and law.

Our life together in the Spirit of Christ is the place where these two things meet

…and do battle.

…and kiss

…and collide

Law and grace. Grace and law.

From the church’s birth it has been this way. And so it remains today.

The Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem is Christianity’s holiest site. It is built over the spots where since the second century, tradition has held that Jesus was crucified and died, his body anointed and buried, and from where he rose again.

For nearly two thousand years, millions of pilgrims have visited the Church. It has been torn down and burned, only to be rebuilt and torn down and burned and rebuilt again. During the Crusades, it was a place thousands killed and died for.

Even in recent centuries, which Christian group controls this holy site has been a matter of intense conflict. For most of the past 200 years, three primary groups have shared custody of the Church – the Orthodox, represented by the Greeks, the Armenian Apostolics and the Roman Catholics, represented by Franciscan monks.

This shared custody is governed by a law … an intricate set of rules called the status quo that regulates everything that happens in the common areas including the chapels of Jesus’ tomb. The status quo is so exacting, you can’t move a candlestick a millimeter without getting consent from all the communities.

The diverse custodians of the church take this law incredibly seriously. Ten years ago, when the Orthodox were having one of their liturgies, the door to the Franciscan Chapel was left open when it was supposed to be closed. The Orthodox took this as a sign of disrespect, and a fistfight broke out. For leaving a door open.

That’s how tightly controlled life inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is. It is a place of law. And my first reaction to it was sadness. Sadness that these groups of deeply faithful people, each dedicating their life to Christ -- albeit in radically different ways -- can’t just get along.

And yet, there’s a flip side to it. And that is despite the occasional flareup, the law of the status quo has allowed these diverse followers of Jesus peacefully to share custody of this holiest and most contentious of spaces for nearly 200 years.

We long for a day when we don’t need law. We long for a day when we live together in such pure mutual love, loving one another as Christ loved us, that law becomes unnecessary. But until that day, law has its purpose. Until that day, law provides the scaffolding for love.

And here’s the thing. The Church of the Holy Sepulchre is not just a place of law. It’s also a place of grace.

A week ago last Tuesday night, three of my fellow pilgrims and I entered the Church of the Holy Sepulchre at 9 pm and watched from the inside as the door was closed and locked behind us, sealing us and 8 others in until 5 the next morning.

As the sound of the door closing echoed throughout this now-empty space, a Franciscan monk gathered us around and said quietly:

There are three rules: No singing. No sleeping. No candles.

Then he lifted his head and said with a gentle smile:

“The church is yours.”

Think about that. In one of the most tightly controlled spaces in Christendom, where leaving a door open can trigger a fistfight, 15 total strangers were invited in and told words that the factions of the status quo could never say to one another:

“The church is yours.”

There was no vetting procedure to spend the night there. We didn’t even get Googled. How could they? They never even asked our names! We just showed up early that morning at the Franciscan sacristy and said, “we are four pilgrims from America, and we would like to spend the night in the Church.” And the brother looked at us and said, “OK. Come back before 9 tonight. I’ll remember you.”

I had a backpack on when I walked into that church. It had some water and a sweatshirt and various devotional items, but for all anyone knew it could have had explosives or cans of spray paint or even a fifth of scotch for a late night bender at the foot of the cross. They never checked. They never even asked.

In this place governed for centuries by intricate and severe laws that you break at the peril of international ecclesiastical incidents, we were the beneficiaries of deep and radical grace. And because of all of it … the law of the status quo and the grace of the invitation … that night, those of us who were there had an experience of Christ that at least in my life is unparalleled in its depth and power.

No singing. No sleeping. No candles.

The church is yours.

Law and grace. Grace and law.

As a Cathedral whose mission includes the charge “Embrace diversity joyfully,” we love the story of Pentecost. We love the diversity of people each hearing the Gospel in their own language. We love the Acts story because even though it is a story of cacophony … like when we read it in different languages this morning … the cacophony is short-lived, and having dipped our toes in its chaos, we quickly go back to just hearing our own language, comfortable in its familiarity.

But that’s not the story of Pentecost. Pentecost is not the story of God gathering a diversity of people and either molding them into one homogenous group or sending them off into their separate corners. It is God giving the amazing gift of the Spirit to each in our diversity, leaving that diversity intact. And even more than that, leaving us at close quarters with each other, not just dipping our toes in the chaos but challenged how to live together and share a common pilgrimage deep into the heart of Jesus.

It is an amazing and seemingly impossible task. And is there any wonder that faced with this, the reaction of the people was: “What does this mean?”

And we have been trying to answer that question ever since.

What does it mean for us to believe that God binds us together in all our diversity to find a way to live together in that place of holy chaos and cacophony?

What does it mean for us to believe that the gift of God’s Spirit is that none of us – rich or poor, black or white, young or old, gay or straight, insert your categories here – that none of us in our particularity has a corner on the market of the presence and wisdom of God but that we each are gifted with a piece not just for ourselves but for one another?

What does it mean and how do we do it? These are questions the church wrestled with from the day when tongues of fire descended to this very day in this very space. And like in that holiest of spaces at the foot of the cross and at the empty tomb, what we have come to realize is that until that day where we live the love of Christ so fully we don’t even have to ask the question, we do it through Law and Grace. Grace and law.

The Pentecost life. Our life together in the Spirit of Christ is the place where these two things meet

…and do battle.

…and kiss

…and collide

Law and grace. Grace and law.

Wherever God invites us into the Pentecost moment of embracing the diversity of God’s people, this is the tension we must hold. And if we are to be Pentecost people, we must lean into it and not shrink away from it.

Yes, law is important. Just like the Orthodox, the Armenians and the Romans we need agreed upon rules to govern and give structure to our common life. We need law as the scaffolding for love.

And yes, grace is important. That voice that invites the unknown stranger into this space so sacred to us and says: “the church is yours.” We need to allow for grace that gives us a glimpse of the love of Christ that will eventually render all our law unnecessary, even though we’re not there yet.

As the cacophony of children sounds out in our worship – beautiful to some and challenging to others – we must ask ourselves what is law and what is grace?

As new generations of Christ-seekers come through these doors, expressing faith in new ways and offering leadership into new lands – we must ask ourselves what is law and what is grace?

As violence in our streets, even a stabbing on our very own street, breeds fear of it spilling into this space. As we are all challenged by the diversity of race and class and hygiene and mental capacity of the people in this Cathedral Nave not only on Sundays but throughout the week –we must ask ourselves what is law and what is grace.

Where do we say, “These are the rules.” And where do we say “the church is yours.” Where do we achieve that balance so that this Church too can be a place where people have an experience of Christ that is unparalleled in its depth and power.

And just as important, who is the “we” who gets to decide? For that question is perhaps the most critical of all, because at its heart is the question of who owns this space? Who is this community really? Are we going to have insiders and outsiders? And if so, who is which?

These are the questions that confront us as the church birthed on this day of cacophony and fire. Where do we negotiate boundaries but where do we also let grace abound? How do we live together as a community that believes that a portion of the Spirit has been given to each but that no one person or group has cornered the market? And who is the “we” who decides?

Pentecost ain’t just holding hands and singing kum ba yah. Embracing diversity is hard, hard work. It leaves us with many more questions than answers and, like the status quo, often leads us into solutions that for now fall short of God’s dreams for us yet are also beautiful in their dedication to continuing the shared struggle. The struggle of law and grace. Grace and Law. Meeting. Battling. Kissing. Colliding.

From the church’s birth it has been this way. And so it remains today. Amen.

"After what we have seen, how could we not" -- a sermon for the 7th sunday after Easter

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Preached by the Rev. Canon John Kilgore at Christ Church Cathedral at 8 and 10 am on Sunday, June 1, 2014

So now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed.

‘The glory that I had in your presence before the world existed.’ That’s a line in this gospel that is easy to get over looked. The bit that so often gets focused on is ‘All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them so that they may be one, as we are one.’ But let’s try to open it up a bit….
Have you seen the recent movie The Son of God? Or as they say, seen the play? Read the Book?!! You have read the book. You know the Book! You actually know the story!

I just watched it a couple of days ago, by happenstance, as I was contemplating this sermon. And it seems apt to talk about it a bit, since today’s gospel is John 17 and the movie is essentially the gospel of John. It actually is quite good; richly filmed with wonderful period costumes and desert landscapes, occasional water scenes as well, it is essentially snippets of Jesus’ life — broad brushstrokes and with a several second scene you know, are reminded of, the story. It is not a true narrative but rather snippets in the life of Jesus, essentially in order and telling the story of the life of the Son of God. And it is a story we can’t go wrong reviewing too often. The movie is interesting because it is essentially the gospel of John, from which our gospel passage comes today, and is told by John, in the first person singular narrative.

It begins with a disembodied voice, ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning.’ Sound familiar? Opening lines of gospel of John. And goes on to explain/remind us what that means. It goes on to say ‘He was there in Paradise with Adam and Eve [rich visual pictures give quick brushstrokes of the scenes in the garden]…He was there with Noah at the great flood [picture the ark and deep waters]…He was there with Abraham when he was chosen [standing on the mountaintop]…He was there when Moses led our people out of Egypt [walls of water on both sides]…In the struggle for the promised land he was always by our side…He was the light shining in the darkness…And then, He came into the world.’

There is then a scene of Jesus’ birth and the visit of the wise men. Then you hear, ‘The Word was made flesh and made His dwelling among us.’

Then the scene cuts back to an aged man with gray hair, sitting in a cave on an island, whom we have seen just briefly a time or two giving the above narrative. He is pondering and stirring the fire and he says:

‘I am John. I was one of his followers. After what I saw, how could I not be?’

This movie is interesting to consider because of the perspective it gives. ‘I am John. I was one of his followers. After what I saw, how could I not be?’ That line spoke deeply to me. When I was in seminary, the course in New Testament began with a historical documentation of the existence of Jesus.
The historical fact of Jesus’ life. An examination of the non-biblical references to a Jew named Jesus who was clearly documented to have lived at the time of the new governor Pontius Pilate in Roman-occupied Palestine. The 1st century Jewish politician, soldier, and historian, Josephus, is referenced as an external authority who made specific references to John the Baptist, Jesus of Nazareth, and Jesus’ brother James. We Anglicans with our three legged stool, appreciate scripture, reason and tradition. So beginning with an authoritative historical documentation of Jesus’ life appeals to our way of cerebrally considering the story. It is not just ‘Bible stuff’. There are several non-religious writings that testify to the fact that this guy named Jesus lived. Jesus existed and was written about, not just in the Bible. The New Testament course starts out with the historical fact of Jesus as a foundation and then builds onto that with the biblical narratives we have. And documents their writings.

And in the biblical narratives about Him we have several different versions of the story. And that’s good. For not everybody sees everything alike. Different people tell the same story differently. We have, as you know, four gospels. What are called the three synoptic gospels, Matthew, Mark and Luke have a great deal in common and essentially give the narrative of the life of Jesus, pretty much in chronological order. But they have their different ‘takes’ if you will. For example Matthew focuses on Jesus’ fulfillment of the Old Testament prophecies and his lineage of the house of David. You will remember that the gospel of Matthew begins with the genealogy of Jesus. And Matthew has the most references to the fulfillment of prophecy of any of the four gospels. Clearly he had a historical Jewish point of view and was writing to that constituency making the case that Jesus was the expected Messiah. Mark, on the other hand, thought to be the earliest written of the gospels and possibly a source for some of the material in Matthew and Luke, seems to be writing to a circle of Gentile readers and is concerned with the action of Jesus’ works, depicting Jesus, as the Oxford bible says, as ‘being almost continually active.’ Mark uses ‘immediately’, ‘at once’, or ‘then’, very often and gives the most references to the reaction of the crowds around Jesus - they were stunned, there was fear and amazement. Luke, like Mark, was also writing to a Gentile audience rather than Jewish and also doesn’t make all the references to fulfillment of prophecy. He, rather, focuses on the salvation of all, Jesus’ inclusiveness, availability to the gentiles, women, Samaritans, and others. Luke has more of our beloved parables than the others and, of course, the flowery language that we know so well ‘In those days there went out a decree from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered…’ as the beginning of Jesus’ birth narrative. Luke was the most educated of the gospel writers, based on his educated Greek language use and his methodical nature. He talks about writing an ‘orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed down to us…by eyewitnesses…I too decided, after investigating everything carefully from the very first, to write an orderly account for you…’ Clearly a thoughtful and insightful gospel from a well-educated individual.

And then we have the Gospel according to John, origin of today’s gospel reading and the basis of the film I mentioned. This gospel focuses on the mystery of Jesus, his divine origin, and grandeur. John, like the others, recounts the events of Jesus’ life, the miracles performed, but gives his own interpretation to them more than the other gospel writers, and highlights the tension between Jesus and the Jewish authorities. It really is only in John that we see Jesus interrupted by others during his discourses and engaging in debate with them. Remember the challenge about paying taxes and rendering unto Caesar what is Caesar’s. Typical John. And it is John that focuses on Jesus’ eternal origin and divine nature. And to illustrate he uses a number of symbolic terms to make Jesus real to us: bread, water, life, door, shepherd, as the Oxford Bible again points out.

It is easy for us to get wrapped up in a Bible passage, in particular details, in the reading for the day. In the use of particular words or phrases. In the differences among the gospels. But it is really good to look at the big picture. To consider all the gospels. All the Bible. And the context. An example of this is a couple of weeks ago I had to preach on Jesus saying, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life…No one comes to the Father but through me.’ That passage had always been a stumbling block. And in that sermon at St. Paul’s within the Walls in Rome, I made reference to Dean Kinman’s ‘Gnaw on This’ notes that the beginning of John’s gospel reminding us that Jesus was before the present opens up the possibility of His expression to other people in other times and situations, Muslims, Jews, and others. If Jesus was present before, His work didn’t just start with his birth, and didn’t end with his Resurrection and Ascension. We are a part of the story. Not the whole story. It is so important to look at the whole story, to take more than just one passage into account.

Which takes me back to the beginning of this movie, ‘In the beginning He was there…with Adam and Eve, and Noah, and Abraham and Sara, and Moses, and David, and Rahab, and Esther, and Job…. In the beginning He was there. But not just in the beginning. He was there along the timeline. And is… Throughout all these stories. And now, and in the future.

One interesting thing about watching this movie and seeing the stories brought to life on the screen was — I knew all the lines! I don’t think I have ever seen a movie where I could finish the lines of most of the movie, where I knew what the next words were coming out of someone’s mouth! Now I know there are devotees of The Rocky Horror Picture Show and The Wizard of Oz out there that know every line, can sing all the songs, know the dance routines, etc. But this was different. I didn’t know what parts of the story they were going to include (obviously in a 2 hour movie you can’t tell the whole story) but the parts they related I was, oh so familiar, with. And I could usually finish the sentences. It is a familiar story with familiar lines, but told from a different perspective. A perspective bigger than a single gospel.

And John really sets the stage, tells the story when he says, ‘‘I am John. I was one of his followers. After what I saw, how could I not be?’ Jesus tells doubting Thomas, ‘Blessed are you for seeing and believing. Even more blessed are those who believe but do not see.’

There is another interesting, and really revealing line in the movie, just as Jesus is being crucified and Pilate’s wife is warning him, again, not to have been involved because of her dream and she says ‘You will live to regret this,’ Pilate responds, ‘He was hardly the first Jew to be killed.’ To which she replies, ‘He was different, He was chosen by the gods.’ And Pilate says, ‘He thought he was. He’ll be forgotten in a week…’ John didn’t think so. Peter didn’t think so. The other disciples didn’t think so. They gave their lives telling of Him. How very wrong Pontius Pilate was. For here we are two thousand years later still remembering Him! And so much more than just remembering. Doing what He told us to do.

The movie ends with John on the island of Patmos, living out his days in exile as the only disciple left. And Jesus appears to John talking about the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end. Opening up the story with very wide bookends. Before time, during time, after time. The Book of Revelations. And Jesus says, ‘I am coming.’

But there is one other scene in the movie that is very important. Just after Jesus’ ascension, the disciples are gathered on the hillside and Jesus is suddenly vanished and Peter says to the other disciples, ‘My brothers, my sisters, we have work to do!’ And the narrative goes on to say that with Peter as their leader they spread the word of Jesus throughout the world, shining the light on all creation. And here we are, results of that.

And that is what we are called to be, to do, with our gospel lives. Yes, our gospel lives, as I like to call them. Our lives of work telling the story. But not just with words. You know that St. Francis said, preach the gospel always, sometime use words. Our gospel lives. Our Jesus lives. How we live and show the gospel to the world is paramount. Seeing this movie reminds me that that is what we are called to do. And it is helpful to have the whole story. For it is when we have the whole story, In the beginning, the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end, and Jesus in the midst of all of it, that it really makes sense. Jesus was in the beginning and with Adam and Eve and Abraham and Sara and Moses and John on Patmos, and with us, and with those who come after us. John really summarizes it best when he says, ‘I am John. I was one of his followers. After what I saw, how could I not be?’ And then Peter puts us to work — ‘my brothers, my sisters, we have work to do.’ After what John saw, what we have seen, how could we not.

Amen.

"In troubling times, a call to trust" - a sermon for the fifth Sunday of Easter

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Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral at 8 am on Sunday, May 18, 2014

“Do not let your hearts be troubled.”

That’s how Jesus begins this morning’s Gospel reading. Do not let your hearts be troubled.

It’s not just the beginning of this morning’s Gospel, it’s the beginning of the end. It’s the beginning of Jesus’ last words to his disciples.

Last words are important. One of the most profound things that came out of September 11 was the voice mail messages that people left from Flight 93 that ended up crashing in Shanksville, PA. They knew they were saying the last words they would ever say to the people they loved the most. And so they all said the most important thing. All the ones I heard said the same thing.

I love you.

And this is where Jesus is right now. It’s the night before he dies. He is about to be betrayed and taken into custody. The clock is ticking and he doesn’t have a lot of time to tell his closest dearest friends, the ones who have shared his life with him, the most important thing.

And his words are his voice mail message, his I love you to us:

Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God. Trust also in me.

Those are profound words for this week for us at Christ Church Cathedral.

Don’t let your hearts be trouble. Trust in God. Trust in Jesus.

Wednesday morning, a man was stabbed to death across the street from where we are sitting right now. Both the man who was killed and the man whom we believed killed him were people we knew. People who frequented this building, both during the week as we open our doors and on Saturday morning for Miss Carol’s Breakfast.

This murder is deeply troubling. It raises serious questions. It is cause for us to continue to examine our own security procedures to make sure we are being vigilant and protecting the safety of all God’s children who enter this space. It is cause for us to question the way mental health and homeless services are delivered downtown and whether serious changes need to be made. It is cause for us to examine our own outreach to people struggling with homelessness and to ask whether what we are doing and how we are doing it truly is the most effective way we can work toward a better quality and dignity of life for all.

The murder this week brings back to us all too clearly the murder 11 years ago of Carol Bledsoe. It reminds us that even though urban areas don’t have the corner of the market on violent crime – after all the Newtown and Columbine school shootings happened in supposedly safe suburban communities – that part of the gift God gives us being a downtown Cathedral is there is a rawness to our life here. We count among us people who are struggling every day just to get by, sisters and brothers who have untreated or poorly treated mental illness, sisters and brothers who show us how much work we have to do as we strive for a more just society.

On what I call the “wise as serpents/innocent as doves” spectrum, there is much about this week that calls us to be wise as serpents. To ask pointed questions and examine policies carefully.

But there is also perhaps no more important time for us to hear the words of Jesus this morning.

Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God. Trust also in me.

This is not a time for fear. This is not a time for reactivity. This is not a time for our faith to be shaken.

Though this week’s events have revealed a brokenness that we have always known is there in powerful ways, the fact remains that we are a downtown Cathedral. We are in fact the oldest neighbor in this neighborhood, having been here nearly 150 years … longer than the library, longer than the Missouri Pacific Building. Longer, I believe, than any building in this area.

This is our neighborhood. And Jesus has not called us here to close our doors and hide inside. Jesus has not called us here to shrink back in fear. Jesus has called us here to be his body on earth. And that means Jesus has called us here to stand tall and not fear. To remember that we have the power of God and the power of his son, our savior, Jesus Christ behind us.

God has called us here and says “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God. Trust also in me.”

That is not a power that allows us to ignore risk. But it is a power that allows us to, wise as serpents, stand in the midst of risk and bring hope, stand in the midst of brokenness and bring healing, stand in the midst of division and bring reconciliation. To do for the world what Jesus had just finished doing for his disciples prior to saying these words … washing their feet, and serving them with love and humility.

That this week’s murder happened practically literally on our doorstep is an invitation to us, a challenge even. It is an invitation and challenge to be the voice in the midst of the cacophony of voices downtown reacting to this event saying the words we hear Jesus saying this morning.

Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe. Trust.
This week’s murder is an invitation and challenge to us to show downtown what a Cathedral is all about – a gathering place for the whole community to come together across their differences and lay their lives on the table for the common good. To make this a city that makes glad God’s heart. A city where our baptismal promise to respect the dignity of every human being is lived out in every action, in every person, in every standard we set for one another.

Jesus doesn’t promise us that everything will be all right. And Jesus certainly doesn’t promise us that the road will be easy. But Jesus does promise us that he will be with us always to the end of the age.

We have many challenges before us. And we will face them, together. And Jesus will be with us.

Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God. Trust in Jesus. Amen.

"See You Later" -- A sermon by the Ven. Robert Franken on 4 Easter 2014

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Preached by the Ven. Robert Franken at Christ Church Cathedral on Flower Sunday, May 11, 2014

See you later!

A good friend, who I only get to see occasionally, recently told me that he never uses "good bye" or even farewell, but rather "see you."

It is a great point and especially poignant in this Easter season and on this day when Nancy and I take our leave from you. Three weeks ago we all celebrated Easter, highlighting a fundamental tenant of our faith - death is a transition and not an end. So in short, even if we never see each other again in this life, if the resurrection we celebrate is real, we will see each other again. Although we would hope, God-willing, to see you before then.

Click here for the rest of the sermon.

"The universe wants to be noticed" -- a sermon for Flower Sunday by the Rev. Pamela Dolan

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Preached by the Rev. Pamela DOlan at Christ Church Cathedral on Flower Sunday, May 4, 2014

“I believe the universe wants to be noticed. I think the universe is improbably biased toward consciousness, that it rewards intelligence in part because the universe enjoys its elegance being observed. And who am I, living in the middle of history, to tell the universe that it--or my observation of it--is temporary?”

This quote from The Fault in Our Stars, a novel by John Green about two teenagers with cancer, seems to me evidence of a shift in our culture. There is a profound ethical imperative that arises from the simple act of noticing. At least since the Industrial Revolution, the emphasis in Western Civilization has been on doing, on discovering, on achievement and productivity and efficiency. Today, many of us feel called in a different direction. Our calling is not necessarily to the contemplative life, not in the traditional sense. But it is a calling to attention, to witness, to a level of observation that leads to wonder, to celebration, and to compassion.

Think about the collect for today. It makes a single, simple request. It asks God “to open the eyes of our faith, that we may behold Christ in all his redeeming work.” Why is that so important? What is it we’re missing here? Not to be too simplistic about this, but the world is all around us. Seriously. We don’t have to GO anywhere to behold God’s redeeming work; we don’t have to DO anything, or get special training. It’s the ground under our feet, the air that we breathe, it’s the sun that warms our backs and the rain that waters our gardens. I do know that I am stating the obvious, but that’s the point. Our culture has complicated our relationship to the environment so much that most of us need regular reminders that THIS IS God’s redeeming work, this world, these bodies, this complex, intricate, beautiful, fragile ecosystem that makes our very existence possible. Creation itself is God’s redeeming work, from the vast expanse of interstellar space to the tiniest microorganism living somewhere under the ocean depths, and we are a part of it.

So why is it so hard to see this? Why do we need God to open our eyes? Can’t we do it ourselves? You have heard many of the answers before. We are very busy people. We are detached from our surroundings by automobiles and interstate highways and shopping malls. We are distracted by our smart phones and celebrity gossip and video games and so on and so on. Today I would like to add to this list the oldest reason in the world: we are afraid. We are afraid to look at the world with eyes of faith and see what is really happening to it. But the universe wants to be noticed. And not just in the places of beauty, where all is sweetness and light. How would you feel if you loved someone and they would only look at you on your good days, when your hair was perfect and you had one an outfit that made you look like you had just lost ten pounds? What if the person you loved turned away when you were sick? What if she couldn’t stand to look at you when you were hurt, or suffering, or facing a crisis?

When we are afraid of something, often our first impulse is to close our eyes. It can be hard to look, really look, at a child with cancer, because that child is hurting and broken and might die. If we look at her, we might love her, and if we love her, we have to face the possibility of losing her, and how can any of us stand to have our hearts broken in advance? And so, dear friends, I believe that is where we are in terms of our relationship with our planet today. We are afraid to look. We are afraid of that heart-stopping moment when the blood will freeze in our veins as we realize that it’s too late to save her. It hurts too much to see how the world is suffering, how terribly degraded the environment is, how much death and destruction is all around us. I don’t want to see one more picture of a polar bear clinging to a dwindling piece of ice. I don’t want to read one more statistic about how many species of plants and animals have disappeared from the face of the earth forever. I don’t want to look at one more story about the ice caps, the rain forests, the honeybees, air pollution, or the ozone layer. I cannot face one more depiction of killer storms, raging wildfires, fatal tidal waves, or deadly droughts. And please don’t get me started on how the people who are hurt most by what we’re doing to the environment are the poor, those who already have no voice and very little protection in the world. Dear Lord, deliver us!

And the worst of it is, we know have no one else to blame. Nobody did this to us. We have raped, plundered, and pillaged the very system that God put in place to nurture and sustain us. Think again about the words of today’s Psalm: “The cords of death have entangled me; the grip of the grave took hold of me; I came to grief and sorrow.” I can hear the earth saying those exact words. I can hear the earth crying out. This beautiful, fragile planet is hanging from a cross, and it is a cross of our own construction. We are still pounding in the nails. No wonder we bury our heads in our hands. No wonder we are afraid to look.

And yet, the universe wants to be noticed. When we close our eyes, when we avert our gaze, we miss so much. We miss the redbud blossoms that burst directly out of their tree trunks, too impatient to find a place on the branches above. We miss the way dirt smells after a late afternoon thunderstorm has passed through town. We miss the way a seedling unfolds leaf by curling leaf. We miss the lacy texture under our fingertips of lichen on a rocky surface. When we fail to notice, to observe, to witness, we miss all this evidence of life and abundance. We miss that there are patches of land in nearly every one of our towns, suburbs, subdivisions, and even church properties that can easily grow food and. We miss that rooftops can be green, that rainwater can be collected and used, that a compost bucket is a way to turn garbage into gold.

Some of you have heard that my parish, Good Shepherd, has started a garden. We call it Shepherd Farm. It is a community garden, but only sort of. We call it a community garden because we want it to involve the whole community. But it is not the kind of garden where every individual is assigned a plot and then they get to take home whatever they grow. Those kinds of gardens are wonderful, but we are doing something a little different. We are asking everyone to come help till and tend, and then whatever we all grow we will all harvest, and then we will give it all away to feed whoever needs it. This summer, we plan to give our whole harvest to the Peace Meal at St John’s in Tower Grove. We hope to be able to expand the garden every year, and as our yields increase, perhaps we can expand the number of partners who can receive what we grow.

Now let me tell you, we didn’t start Shepherd Farm because I am really into gardening and I could lead the way forward boldly, with my sheep following in my every footstep. Actually, it’s almost the exact opposite. I know almost nothing about gardening, and I am learning step-by-step, inch-by-inch, from my parishioners and from experts near and far.

Brennan Manning once wrote, “In every encounter we either give life or we drain it. There is no neutral exchange. We enhance human dignity, or we diminish it. We [must] define ourselves by our response to human need.” This is as true for congregations as it is for individuals. When a parish has resources and does not use those resources, whatever they may be, to meet the needs of the world, that is not a neutral exchange.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not here to tell you that the best or only way to change the world is to grow a garden. And frankly there are people who are much better positioned to talk about the spiritual benefits of gardening; people who have been doing this all their lives, people who know what it means to pray in the dirt. Those are the people who can tell you from experience about the benefits of slowing down, of paying attention, and of putting absolute trust in a process outside your control. I’m new to all this. I don’t even know if what we’re doing is going to work. This is truly an act of faith. We have more than enough land for a substantial garden, even a farm, but we don’t have everything we need. We don’t have enough money or enough people…yet. But by starting out this way, we are creating a situation of intentional interdependence. We’re going to need other people to show up and pitch in if it’s going to grow.

And truly, deciding on a garden was not a random act. We started Shepherd Farm because our eyes were opened to a simple reality: we have land. Our land is a gift from God and we are called to use the gifts God has given us to make a difference in the world. Shepherd Farm started with the eyes of our faith being opened. Our little corner of the universe was crying out for attention, and we took notice. Also, given our congregation’s history, there is little that is more precious to us than our property, the ground under our feet. And that is exactly why it is so necessary to share it, to work hard at making it productive and then to give away all that it produces. We are literally giving back the first fruits of what God has given us.

Finally, I have to tell you that what I love so much about this is that it’s not a business model. It’s a Gospel model. The disciples were on a road together when they encountered Jesus. They were at table together when they recognized Christ in their midst. It was when Jesus took bread, blessed, and broke it, and gave it to them, that their eyes were opened. It is no coincidence that the bread that we share at Communion is both the fruit of the earth and the work of human hands. It is no coincidence that the earth has to break itself open to share its bounty with us, and from that bounty comes the bread and wine that become the Body and Blood of Christ.

And still, the universe wants to be noticed. Call it the book of nature, or the environment, or creation, but the physical world is where God’s goodness and love are first made known to us. God is the fountain of life and the source of all goodness, and God gave the whole world into our care. The whole thing. You cannot care about human beings who are suffering and not care about the environment, because it is all one. We are all in this together.

So: How can we care for creation and one another? It starts with opening our eyes. It continues with kneeling in the dirt, and getting our hands dirty. And it ends around a table, where all are welcome and all are fed. Amen.