"...and the child will be healed." -- A sermon for the 10th Sunday after Pentecost

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Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, August 17, 2014

Come Holy Spirit, and kindle in us the fire of your love.
Take our minds and think through them.
Take our lips and speak through them.
Take our souls, and set them on fire.
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"Like this Gospel story, 
this week started eight days ago 
with a mother’s wailing cry." 

OK, everybody take a deep breath.

I mean it. Take a deep breath.

And let it out.

Let’s try that again.

Everybody take a deep breath.

Let it out.

God is here.

God is here.

And that means right here, right now, in the middle of everything that has happened this past week, in the middle of everything that is happening all around us as we gather, this can be the eye of the storm. For this moment, right now, we can take a deep breath,

and let it out.

And feel the presence of God.

OK?

I could not believe my eyes when I opened my Bible this week and saw that we had this story of the Canaanite woman and Jesus. Because at a time when we desperately need healing, it is for my money the most remarkable healing story in all of scripture. Because it is the only story where Jesus is both the healer and the healed. It is a story not just about Jesus changing hearts but about Jesus’ heart being changed.

And in a week where we all need healing, and we all have hearts that need changing, I believe it has something to say to us.

Jesus is in a foreign land. He’s no longer in Galilee but he’s up north, in the Gentile district of Tyre and Sidon. To a faithful Jew, the people living in that region were unclean. People to be avoided, if they were to be acknowledged as people at all.

And Jesus and his disciples were faithful Jews. This is what they’d been taught ever since they were born. Both by word and experience.

Then all of a sudden here’s this Canaanite woman. And she starts shouting at Jesus. And what is she shouting? She is begging him to save her child. She’s pleading for the life of her child. And Jesus absolutely ignores her. And why not? He is a faithful Jew. And to a faithful Jew, a Canaanite – and particularly a Canaanite woman is a second-class person at best and less than human at worst. Ignoring people like her is how he was raised his whole life.

And the disciples, faithful Jews themselves, encourage Jesus. “Look the other way. Pretend you don’t hear her. Walk faster. She’s just one of ‘those people.’ She is no concern of ours.”

But this remarkable woman will not be quiet. She will not stop her pleading, because this is not just about her, this is about her child. And in fact she runs up to Jesus and gets in front of him, drops to her knees and blocks his path, literally stopping him in his tracks.

And she puts her hands up and pleads, Lord, save my child.

And Jesus looks down at her, and does he have compassion on her? No.

Does he say as he says to so many others, “My child, tell me what you want?” No.

Jesus looks down on her and to the shock of our ears, he calls her an animal. He calls her a dog.

But this amazing woman, who is pleading for the life of her child, like a tree standing by the water, she shall not be moved. She takes his insult and turns it right back on him. She knows who he is. She has called him “Lord, Son of David” and now she is reminding him who he really is, calling him to his best self.

“Even an animal,” she says, “Even a dog gets to eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

And when Jesus heard these words he was, maybe for the only time in his life, brought up short.

And I have to believe he took a deep breath.

And let it out.

And realized that God was there, right there in front of him.

I have to believe he paused for a while to let her words sink in, to let them convict him and convert him, because his next words were so different from his last.

“Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish." And her child was healed instantly.

This is a healing story, not just of the woman and her daughter but of Jesus. And what Jesus was healed of because of the persistence and the love of the mother, because of Jesus having ears to hear and eyes to see, because of Jesus’ ability to be moved and changed by seeing the deep humanity of the sister kneeling before her, what Jesus was healed of … was prejudice.

Let me say that again. Jesus was healed of his prejudice. And if Jesus can have prejudice and Jesus can be healed of his prejudice. Then so … can … we.

Prejudices are likes noses. We all have them, they filter the air we breathe, and while to other people our prejudices might be as plain as the nose on our face, to us we can only truly see them if we take a good honest look in the mirror.

And yet there are moments that cause us to take that look in the mirror – if we have eyes to see. Moments that invite us to realize that the air we have been breathing has been filtered in ways that warp how we experience and impact the world. Moments that invite us into that deeply Christian practice of self-examination, confession, repentance and amendment of life.

Those moments are moments of great potential and moments of great risk. Because they invite us to listen deeply to a voice that offers us a different reality, a voice that tells us a story very different from the one we have been told and have told ourselves, maybe even from birth. Moments that invite us, like Jesus, not just to hear that voice but to be changed by it and to change the world because of it.

To take a deep breath.

Let it out.

And realize that God is right here in the space between those false divisions of the me and the you, the us and the them.

We are in the midst of a moment like this. An extended moment where we are invited to hear different voices, different and crucial experiences of truth, and hearing them to be changed by them and like Jesus be called all to our best selves, to be convicted and converted ambassadors of Christ, reconcilers and healers.

Like this Gospel story, this week started eight days ago with a mother’s wailing cry. It is a cry that has been joined in chorus by mothers and fathers, daughters and sons. It is the cry of Black St. Louis, the cry of Black America pleading and shouting “Save our children.”

It is the cry of mothers tired of taking that deep breath when their boys leave the house and not letting it out until they arrive back home. Tired of using their breath to have the conversation they all must have with their sons about how to act when a police officer is around, knowing that a misstep could leave them in handcuffs or lying in the street. Tired of having themselves and their children stopped and searched and treated like criminals in ways that I and my children never, ever have or will have to endure.

And it is a cry those of us who look like me have ignored for far too long. It is a voice that White America has been ignoring far too long.

And those who are crying, like the Canaanite woman, right now, they are planting themselves in front of this city and this nation as she did in front of Jesus with their hands up and they are saying “We will be ignored no more. You will save our children. And we will not be moved, we are not going away, and we are not shutting up until you do.”

And for White America. For those of us who look like me. This is our “What would Jesus do?” moment. And we know what Jesus would do because we have just heard what Jesus did.

What would Jesus do when a woman whom he victimized with his prejudice, when a woman he has treated like a second-class citizen … when a woman he has treated like a dog is kneeling before him and pleading for the life of her child?

How do we live as people of Christ in this moment? We do as Jesus did.

We take a deep breath.

And we let it out.

And we realize that we are walking on holy ground. We realize that this moment, painful as it is, tragic as it is, frightening as it is, is deeply sacred. We realize that God is right here standing in the breach and bridging the gap between all our us’s and all our them’s, staring at our prejudices as plain as the nose on our face and inviting us to look in the mirror at them, too. And we look at this amazing woman with great admiration, and with equal parts joy and pain, through self-examination, confession, repentance and amendment of life we find a way to say:

“Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.”

Last week, I said that we were born to walk on water. That we can do impossible things. That we were born to walk on water but we have to get out of the boat. Well it’s one week later and we have a foot out of that boat now, but now it’s time to put both feet out on the water. And Jesus is showing us how to do it.

And unlike the Gospel reading, this child is not going to be healed instantly. But if all of us work together, with God’s help, she will be healed.

All of us working together, with God’s help, can close the gap of educational opportunity in St. Louis.

All of us working together, with God’s help, can mentor young black men and women in St. Louis.

All of us, working together, with God's help, can confess and remove the prejudice in our hiring practices, our investment practices and our social choices.

And yes, all of us, working together, with God’s help, can with the power of our voice and the power of our vote stand up against racial profiling in our police forces – and at the same time listen deeply to the voices of our police officers, because they have a cry as well.

Our police officers have a cry of every day going out into streets where there are ungodly numbers of guns everywhere. Trying to protect and serve in a nation that refuses to regulate guns any more than it regulates catching fish. Putting their lives on the line every day and not knowing which door they open or corner they turn is going to have them looking down a barrel or facing the emptying of a clip.

Their cry is not justification for the slaying of Michael Brown. It is not justification for racial profiling. But it is a cry all of us need to hear as well. A cry that echoes out of every squadroom lined with pictures of police officers who also ended their lives on the streets.

The police and the justice system needs to hear the cries of the people and the people need to hear the cries of the police and the justice system, and we as followers of Jesus are the ones to stand in the breach between and even as we are being convicted and converted ourselves, help everyone on every side have their Jesus moment of conviction and conversion, of truth and reconciliation. We as the church are the ones to follow the example of our friend and neighbor Pastor Rodney Francis at Washington Tabernacle Missionary Baptist Church and get the guns off our streets and away from our children.

The cry is ringing out from St. Louis around the world. The mothers are crying “Save my child,” and it is time for us to hear that cry and let it change our hearts and with changed hearts together lead this change in the world.

St. Louis, this is our moment. And we know that this is not a child that will be healed instantly. The tasks are many, the obstacles are large and the journey will be long. But we are the Body of Christ and, with God’s help, together we will get the job done.

This is the moment God is providing. And like Jesus, we can walk on water and do impossible things.

Like Jesus, we – all of us -- can at long last see and hear the woman with her hands up before us pleading for the life of her child.

Like Jesus, we – all of us -- can use this moment to examine our own role not just in the killing of Michael Brown but in the outrage that has erupted in its wake.

And like Jesus, we – all of us – can be moved and changed by seeing the deep humanity of the sister kneeling before us.

We can be brought up short

and we can take a deep breath.

and we can let it out.

And we can realize that God is right here.

And together as a changed people, as ambassadors of Christ, as ministers of truth nd reconiliation, black and white, rich and poor, city and county, standing together we can look this amazing woman in the eyes and say “Woman, great is your faith. Let it be done for you as you wish.”

And the child will be healed.

Amen.

"We were born to walk on water ... but we have to step out of the boat" - a sermon for the 9th Sunday after Pentecost

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

Come Holy Spirit, and kindle in us the fire of your love.
Take our minds and think through them.
Take our lips and speak through them.
Take our souls, and set them on fire.

Louis Head, stepfather of shooting victim Michael Brown,
sobs at the memorial set up at the site of the shooting.
Photo by Steve Giegerich, St. Louis Post-Dispatch.

Yesterday afternoon, 18-year-old Michael Brown was shot and killed by police in Ferguson. We don't know all the facts of the case, but witnesses say that he was unarmed and had his hands in the air when he was shot multiple times by a police officer. His grandmother went out looking for him and found his body in the street.

We do not have all the facts of this case, but we do have facts. We have the fact that there are too many guns on our streets and too many mothers and grandmothers mourning their children. We have the fact that there are deep divides of race and class in our city and region and nation and world. And that these divides continue to bring us nothing but misery. We have the fact that for far too many black children and families, the police are not the ones you run to for protection but are ones you flee from in fear.

We do not all have the facts of this case, and it is so important that a thorough investigation be held and that the facts of this case be brought to light, and that justice be served in sunlight and not in secret. But we do know that this is all-too-familiar. We do know that this is not an isolated incident in this city or in this country. We know that Michael Brown now joins the list of our sons cut down that includes D’Andre Berghgardt, Jesus Huerta, Jonathan Ferrell and countless other young men of color who have been, all of them unarmed, killed by police just in the past year.

I stand before you this morning maybe as you do, with a heavy heart and a troubled spirit.

I weep for Michael Brown, for his parents, his grandparents, his community and his friends.

I weep for the police officer, and I wonder what caused him to pull that trigger again and again, I weep for the cost that is exacted on his or her soul for taking another human life.

I weep for my friend, mayor James Knowles of Ferguson, trying to hold his community together in a time of great tragedy.

I weep and I sigh and I shake my head ,and I am tempted to despair.

I'm tempted to despair because this keeps happening, and I don't know how to make it stop.

I'm tempted to despair because the divides among us are so deep and so wide, and they seem impossible to bridge, they seem at times like this like they may swallow us up.

I am tempted to despair because if a whole generation of young black men, part of that generation that is supposed to be our hope and our future, is learning not to trust the people whom we as a community lift up and charge to protect and to serve, is learning not to trust and in fact to fear the ones who are charged with keeping the peace and ensuring justice, what hope do we have?

And as I look around and I see not just that storm clouds are gathering but that this storm is in full force and has been for a long time, in my despair, I am tempted to shout out, "Jesus, where are you! Jesus, why don't you do something?"

And then I hear this morning's Gospel reading. And I see Jesus calmly walking towards us. With the storm whipping all around us and the storm whipping all around him. And I know he is there. And I know he has some words for us.

This morning’s Gospel is one of the most powerful images we have of the life of following Jesus. Of why we gather here every week. Of who we are to be as the church.

It is scary. It is the opposite of safe. It is a morass of courage and hesitation, failure and success. It is our mission if we choose to accept it, it is our only hope in times like these, times of trouble and despair,

…and it will be our salvation.

Jesus has gone off to pray and the disciples are in a boat heading away from him across a stormy sea. The Gospel tells us that “the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them.”

Battered, with the wind against them. Sounds familiar.

And early in the morning, Jesus comes walking toward them on the sea. The disciples are terrified, and the first thing they imagine is he is a ghost – because certainly no human being could walk on water. But Jesus says what he always says, “It’s OK. It’s me. Don’t be afraid.”

But still the disciples aren’t convinced. So Peter speaks up. This person or whatever it is says he is Jesus, but Peter needs more, he needs to see some ID, so Peter answers him:

“Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.”

Think about that for a second. The proof Peter needed that this was Jesus wasn’t Jesus doing something but Jesus ordering Peter to do something, something that had never been done before. Something risky and scary and dangerous and to the eyes of anyone watching absolutely insane – stepping out of the boat in the midst of a storm and walking across the water.

But Peter knew. Peter knew Jesus well enough to know that the real Jesus would never just leave them in the boat tossed around by the storm. The real Jesus wouldn’t just make life easier by calming the seas and making everything nice and comfortable. The real Jesus knew that we are born to walk on water. That we can do impossible things.

Peter knew that if this was really Jesus, he would tell him to step out of the boat.

And Jesus says: “Come.” And Peter steps out of the boat.

Far too often we read this as a story of failure. We remember Peter taking his eyes off Jesus and looking at the wind whipping round and becoming frightened and beginning to sink.

We forget this sentence: “So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus.”

Peter did it. He risked and he trusted and despite all the evidence from the dawn of humanity to the contrary, he did something absolutely crazy and impossible. He stepped out of a boat in a storm onto the sea and he did what no human being who wasn’t named Jesus had ever done before. Peter walked on water.

Peter proved it can be done.

That we were born to walk on water.

We can do impossible things.

We were born to walk on water but we have to step out of the boat.

And yes, he took his eyes off Jesus and began to sink, but look what happened when he did. He cried out to Jesus “Lord, save me!” and that’s exactly what Jesus did. And Jesus chastisement of Peter is not for failing – he didn’t say “Peter, you bonehead, don’t you know how to do this?” No. Jesus gently chastises Peter not for failing but for not trusting that he could succeed.

This Gospel story is one of the most powerful images we have of the life of following Jesus, of who we are to be as the church. Remember, this is the same Peter that Jesus calls “the rock on which I will build my church.” The foundation of the church is not and never has been people who play it safe. The foundation of the church is and always will be people who know that we were born to walk on water, and that we can do impossible things and that Jesus always, always will lead us there and meet us there but we have to step out of the boat.

Because Jesus doesn’t command us to do the easy and the expected. And Jesus certainly doesn’t command us to cling to the sides of our boats, tossed about by the waves and despairing of the storm. Jesus commands us to do what seems impossible. – to walk out on the waters into the very heart of the storm.

He does not promise that it won’t be scary. In fact, we can pretty much guarantee that it will be scary. He does not promise us that we will always succeed. But he does promise us that if we keep our eyes on him we will not perish. He does promise us that in him, nothing is impossible, but we have to step out of the boat.

And stepping out of the boat means doing two things that are hard for us, but which we have done before and we can do again if we do them together and if we do them with our eyes locked on Jesus.

We have to risk and we have to trust.

First, we have to risk.

We have tremendous assets here at Christ Church Cathedral, individually, as a community and as an institution. We have a reputation in the St. Louis community that is nearly two centuries old, beautiful buildings that we cherish and love, we have eight and a half million dollars in endowment and a budget of more than $900,000 a year that it takes to keep this place running even at the most basic level. We have the gifts and talents of every person in this room and others who aren’t here this morning. We have the precious gift, each of us, of our time, our passions and our faith.

Stepping out of the boat means being willing to put it all on the line for the sake of Christ and this world he loves so much. To dedicate all of it not to serving ourselves but in love and service to the world. To not shrink from the storms like we find ourselves in this morning but to claim a vision that is even bigger and bolder than the winds and the waves, a vision that doesn’t cower from the storm but that ventures out into the waves. To claim that vision and put it all on the line for it. It is the only way that great things happen. And great things are what Jesus knows we are born to do.

How do we risk? Where do we get the courage to put it all on the line when the voices in the crowd and the little voices in our head are saying “this is crazy!”

We trust. We trust not that success is guaranteed but that no matter what happens, success or failure, Jesus will be there for us when we cry out and will keep our head above the waves. Trust that all we really need -- God’s love for us and belief in our goodness and worthiness – is never at risk and will never go away.

We trust one another, stepping out of the boat not individually but together, as sisters and brothers in Christ. Trusting that just as Jesus has our hand and has our back, we have each other’s hands and backs, too.

And my sisters and brothers, St. Louis is waiting. St. Louis is waiting for someone to do something extraordinary. Someone who is willing to step out of the boat and show us who we truly can be, who we truly are, show us the greatness of which we are truly capable. Show us that this storm, of whom Michael Brown is only the latest victim, is not more powerful than God and God’s people.

St. Louis is waiting. Waiting for us. Each of us and all of us. To risk and to trust. To show that love is greater than fear. To listen deeply and speak plainly. To demand justice and to build bridges over divides that are deep and wide.

This morning, the storm seems too big and the challenge seems impossible. But we were born to walk on water. We can do impossible things. And this city and region needs us not to fall back into despair or in our privilege turn our gaze to something else but to step up and step out and not be more victims of the storm but instead be walkers on the waves.

It is scary. It is the opposite of safe. But it is our mission if we choose to accept it, it is our only hope in times like these, times of trouble and despair,

…and it will be our salvation.

At 3 pm today, I will be standing on the steps of the Ferguson Police Department as local clergy gather this community in prayer, and I ask you to come there too so we can stand together. We will be praying for peace, for justice, for our children, our communities and our police departments. We will be praying because prayer is the foundation of all that is good and bold and courageous. We will be praying because, in the words of Rabbi Ferdinand Isserman,

“Prayer invites God to let God’s presence suffuse our spirits, to let God’s will prevail in our lives. Prayer cannot bring water to parched fields, nor mend a broken bridge, nor rebuild a ruined city; but prayer can water an arid soul, mend a broken heart and rebuild a weakened will.”

I hope we can stand together this afternoon not as a final act that absolves us of further action but as a beginning, a first toe out of the boat onto the water. Asking Jesus to command us to venture out into this storm with him and meet him there. Reminding us that we need to keep our eyes on him lest we sink beneath the waves. Proclaiming that as powerful as this storm of race and class and violence and fear is, it is no match for the power of our God, that we were not created to cower in fear of the stormy sea.

We were born to walk on water.

We can do impossible things.

We were born to walk on water
…and it’s time to step out of the boat. Amen.

"And all ate and were filled." -- A sermon for the Eighth Sunday After Pentecost

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Preached by the Rev. Canon John Kilgore at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, August 3, 2014

‘And all ate and were filled.’ Satiety. What a great feeling having a meal and feeling full. Fulfilled. Think about some wonderful meals you have had and the memories surrounding them… Memorable meals. Savor those memories for a bit. We will come back to this.

When I think about special and memorable meals a couple come immediately to mind. First would be the retirement luncheon that Ray Clouse and I gave for Bishop Rockwell. My bishop, who launched me on my journey toward priesthood and who has remained a good friend since, was just about to leave St. Louis. We hosted a group of eight for a Saturday luncheon. Ray prepared a gorgeous and sumptuous feast. I don’t remember exactly the menu but I do remember lunch on the porch at Riverwoods overlooking the Missouri River with a beautiful table — lovely tablecloth and napkins, crystal, china, fine wines, and a very special bottle of dessert wine. A lovely prayer of thanksgiving and a long leisurely outdoor meal with spectacular weather, gorgeous vistas, lovely conversation and great conviviality. When I think of that day and the joy we all experienced it warms my heart and I smile. And it was all prepared and offered in a spirit of loving and giving, and saying thanks.

And when I think of other meals, the ones that come to mind, actually a series of them, are Sunday dinners at Grandma Kilgore’s house. A very different kind of meal from the one I just described. Grandma and Grandpa Kilgore were lovely, sweet, salt of the earth people. Their parents immigrated from Ireland and Scotland during the potato famine of the early 1800’s. They grew up in lead mining villages in southwest Missouri and had very little in the way of material possessions. But loving and warm and caring they were. And Grandma Kilgore fixed the best Sunday dinners. My brother and I and our three cousins had countless Sunday dinners around Grandma and Grandpa Kilgore’s fairly spartan appearing dinner table. And occasionally when ‘all the family’ were together they would set up a second table, a card table in another room. As there were only four seats at ‘the kid’s table’ and there were five grandkids, I, as the oldest grandchild, got to eat at the ‘adults’ table’.

 But what I remember about those meals was the food. Grandma Kilgore’s fried chicken and mashed potatoes were absolutely the best! She kept a coffee can on the back of the stove with bacon fat in it. I don’t know what she did to make it so tasty but I can still see that chicken popping and crackling on the stove in that large skillet full of grease. And mashed potatoes! She boiled five pounds of potatoes and had one of those S-shaped wire devices that she hand mashed the potatoes with. No electric mixer. Lots of work. Oh, but they were good. Lots of butter and salt. She never used enough salt and the first thing said at the table after the prayer was always ‘pass the salt’. And the family legend is that my first words at her dinner table as a toddler were, ‘Pass the salt…’ as I had heard my dad and uncle say that at the beginning of every meal. But once you got the salt on, what a feast. And Grandpa was a gardener. The strawberries out of his garden with freshly hand whipped cream, again, no electric mixer, were scrumptious.

Two meals, very different but both replete with wonderful memories. Memorable meals. Meals that fed the body, and the mind, and the heart, and the soul. Meals that nourished. Different as those memories are, there are some common threads. Food lovingly prepared to love, honor, and cherish those we care for; wonderful table fellowship and conversation; people lovingly gathered together; and prayer to start it off.

Yes, prayer to start it off. Times have changed and the statistics of families that regularly have meals together are dramatically different from what I grew up with. In my family of four on a daily basis we always sat down to dinner at the table, seated my mother before the men sat, put our napkins in our laps and ‘said grace.’ We always said a prayer before the meal.

In our gospel reading today, Jesus gave a meal. It was quite a repast and didn’t even require any prep - no picking strawberries, no mashing potatoes, no setting the table, washing crystal or china. But a very successful meal. ‘And all ate and were filled…’ the gospel says. And there were twelve baskets left over. This really was quite an event and made an impression on the people. It was one of those memorable meals. People obviously told the story over and over for seventy years and then when the gospel got written, the story was written down. This is the only one of Jesus’ miracles that appears in all four gospels. It obviously made quite an impression on the disciples. And on the people. When asked to recount memorable meals, those there that day would certainly have thought of that story.

Jesus was big on meals. So many of the stories about Jesus revolve around meals: the dinner at the wedding in Cana, in the house of Mary and Martha, the healing of Jairus’ daughter (give her something to eat, he said after she was revived), parables about meals, his appearance on the road to Emmaus, of course the Last Supper, and others.

There was something special about the way Jesus did meals, about the way he brought people together, about the fellowship. And there was genius behind his use of meals. The feeding of the five thousand with five loaves and two fish isn’t so much about the miracle of expanding the atoms and molecules of the fishes and loaves many-fold, but rather it is about the linking together of the spiritual, the holy, the mystical, with our physical needs. Body and soul. And making it memorable. Jesus knew the importance of giving sustenance to our bodies. He knew we need to eat. He also knew the importance of sustenance for our souls. Doesn’t the Lord’s Prayer, which he taught us, say, ‘Give us this day our daily bread,’ just before it says something about ‘forgive us…and lead us not into temptation’? So he tied the two together. Sustenance of our bodies and souls, linked. We have to eat several times a day. How novel to link our eating with a prompt to remind us to think of God, and to give thanks. Beginning a meal with a prayer. Always.

In seminary we priests are taught that there is a threefold action in that great meal, the Holy Eucharist. The bread is taken, blessed, then broken. Jesus did the same. In Israel in his time food was a holy thing and it was required for the head of the household to say a prayer over the food every time one ate. And they would put their arms up in what we call the orans posture. Jesus prayed that way. It was a pious custom that Jesus would have been well acquainted with and followed. Rabbis in those days maintained that a meal without prayer was a meal accursed.

Special meals. Memorable meals. I wonder how many of us, when I suggested we recall some special meals at the beginning of this sermon, thought about a eucharistic meal? Perhaps we should remember some special times of Holy Communion. Do you remember the first time you took communion? Do you remember the last time you took communion? Do you remember some really special times you have taken communion? Perhaps in the hospital, or at a funeral or wedding. Special meals. Memorable meals. Every meal with Jesus is a special and memorable meal.

In talking about communion Thomas Aquinas says the Eucharist is called communion because ‘through it we communicate with Christ…and through it we communicate and are united with one another.’ That’s what Jesus did then with the loaves and fishes, and that’s what Jesus still does today every time we are around this table. It is him and us [point up and down]…and us and us… [point side to side]. It is vertical and horizontal. You don’t come to Holy Communion for that tiny sip of wine or that small morsel of bread; they wouldn’t sustain your physical body very long. You come because there is something more, something holy, something mystical, something special. Something memorable. This is the memorable meal we are to recall.

‘All ate and were filled.’ Yes they were. And yes they are.

Amen.

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.