Sermons

"... We have been loved since the foundation of the world. It is so important that we know this, But it is not always easy to come to know and fully trust What the world obscures…

In her song, “Mirrors,” Ysaye Barnwell of Sweet Honey in the Rock brings to voice the experience of a young black girl, Growing up poor, in a society whose images of beauty filled TV and advertising with pictures of pretty white women that looked nothing like her. Her Grandmother understood that for this child to know her beauty and the beauty of life…she needed something more than what the world of media and popular culture would show her.
Here are the words of the song:

“There were no mirrors in my Nana’s house, no mirrors in my Nana’s house.
And the beauty that I saw in everything was in her eyes (like the rising of the sun).
The world outside was a magical place.
I only knew love.
I never knew hate,
and the beauty in everything
was in her eyes (like the rising of the sun).
…was in her eyes.”

Ysaye Barnwell’s song reminds me That for many of us, it was our mothers or grandmothers who first taught us to know our value, who cherished our beauty, and taught us to see the beauty of the world even when other forces around us might have treated us with abuse or disrespect.  “You have a right to the tree of life!” the black grandmothers And poets taught their children; preaching John the Revealers message.
We all need this holy affirmation:
You, and I, like Christ—
Have been loved since the foundation of the world.

Macrina, a 4th Century Christian woman, wrote:
“The soul should know herself accurately and should behold the Original Beauty reflected in the mirror and figure of her own beauty. For truly herein consists the real assimilation to the divine—making our own life in some degree an image of the Supreme Being.”

The Genesis creation story gives us a picture of humanity Sculpted from the clay of the earth in the image of God and infused with the breath of the Holy Spirit:
This is our primordial beauty:
which like seed planted in the soil, watered by the river of life from which we are all invited to drink,  gives each of us the potential to grow and flower into a life that manifests the beauty of God:
a life of love, justice and compassion.

When I was a small child, it was my grandmother  who first taught me to see the beauty of the world through her eyes, and my beauty as well. ..."
 

Text: John 21:1-19

"... At a time when Christians argue over what sharing the Good News of the gospel looks like, sounds like, I hear these words from Jesus as they are offered to Peter and wonder: Out of our own lack of understanding, do we risk force-feeding a Gospel message? And what does a force-fed Gospel look like? When Judie, the administrative assistant in the church office read my sermon title, she said: “You’re preaching about a force-fed gospel? You better be careful, Ned, that’s the gospel that you choke on.” Amen. The gospel that you choke on. How many of us have been force-fed these words – told we must believe, or else?

Joe Biden, Vice President of the United States and Catholic, recently said, “If one more conservative tells me my faith is wrong, I’m going to stuff my rosary down their throat.” That’s a force-fed gospel of another kind, I suppose.

Jesus asked, “Do you love me?” Our answer to that question is in part our presence here, if we didn’t, we wouldn’t be sitting in these pews. But when he says, “Feed my sheep; tend my sheep,” what is it we offer in the form of nourishment?

Will you pray with me?

Creator God, what do you ask of us but to act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with you…? What do you ask of us but to feed your flock out of and because of our love for you? We ask for the strength and the sustenance that we ourselves need in order to do so. Forgive us when we fall short, when we leave some to hunger and allow others to over-indulge. Give us the wisdom and compassion to speak your truth in love and to offer our neighbor what sustenance they require. In Jesus name I pray. Amen.

“Hunger cries along a city street,” the choir sang a moment ago. What street might they be singing about in our own city? On which lonely street do you hear the cry of hunger in Seattle? Maybe on Aurora, just north of the bridge, where mothers emerge with their children each morning from those pay by the hour hotels? “Hunger cries on a city street.” Maybe closer – maybe right here down on the corner of Pike and Harvard in front of the QFC?

“Hunger cries on a city street.” How about down on Summit Avenue at the PSKS office – Peace for the Streets by Kids from the Streets – where our city’s homeless kids hunger for access to education?
“Hunger cries on a lonely city street.” Maybe hunger cries on your street… somewhere here in Seattle between 1st and 145th, and beyond – Hunger cries on a city street.
Jesus says to Peter and through Peter to us: feed them.

The question is: feed them what? ..."

Text: Luke 24:28-32

"... Roads. Americans love roads, build roads. Pave millions of miles of pristine country to get from here to there and back again. Some plan for months to select just which roads to follow into the country, how to avoid freeways and find…country roads.…Country roads, take me home. We can’t wait to get On the road again…Just can't wait to get on the road again.

Good things take place on roads. Traffic and accidents aside, road trips beckon to us, don’t they? Willie Nelson sang the life he loves is on the road making music with his friends. I doubt the two travelers on the road to Emmaus could say that. They were probably too numb even to grieve. The worst was horrible, and they can’t escape it. They leave the great city of Jerusalem the same Sunday morning they hear some women say they’d seen angels. Others saw the tomb and found it empty. What better thing to do but head out on the road to mull it over?

Cleopas and his companion talked quietly as they walked.

Later, one said, I was exhausted, disoriented. When Cleopas suggested we head out of town, I dragged myself upright and followed, a wretched excuse of a person. I couldn’t NOT dwell on Jesus praying in the olive grove with that last scene, his body being taken from the cross after dark, carried a short distance to a stone tomb.

We walked as if we too, were dead. We walked because we didn’t know what else to do. Jesus NOT in the tomb?! Scandalous. The women had seen an angel, they said. Cleopas and I were too numb to think. The steady pace helped. After a bit a stranger caught up with us and matched our stride. And in a few yards, he asked what we were talking about.

“What?! How could you have been in the City and not known what happened?” Cleopas exclaimed. The stranger said, “What happened?” ..."
 

Text: Luke 19:28-40

"... I have friends who carry assumptions about what my church must be like because we’re Baptist. Well, I have friends who carry assumptions about a lot of things; perhaps you do, too. There are times I get tired of my friends on facebook bullying me when they find out “just what kind of Baptist” I actually am. I post something about cherishing my Welcoming and Affirming church with a link to a new AWAB article about GLBTQ kids seeking acceptance. I get this string of positive responses and then someone inevitably interrupts the flow of positive energy. Someone will write something like, “Why do you take the easy way out of the Gospel, Ned? The Gospel is supposed to challenge you, and just saying that you love everyone means that you don’t face the real challenges posed by God’s inspired Word – you don’t talk about the ‘HARD STUFF’…”

Eventually these often spiraling conversations reach a point where I say, “Now, hold on. Let me stop you right there – let me interrupt the direction that I know this is going, because I reject the premise… I reject the premise that judgment is more difficult than love.”

Loving everyone is the EASY way out? Really? I’ll be the first to say that there are some folks – there are some individuals and definitely some groups that I’m pretty sure I don’t yet know how to love but – to use YOUR words – I am truly ‘CHALLENGED BY THE GOSPEL’ to do just that. When you ask yourself ‘What would Jesus do?’ if your first answer isn’t ‘love,’ than I think you might need to revisit your theology.
Radical love – truly radical love – the love that Jesus taught, can be an uneasy love because it interrupts our understanding of who our neighbor is, who our brothers and sisters are, who the poor are, who the meek are, who the kings and queens are, who the blessed are…

God says, “Let me stop you right there.” Divine interruption…

You know we have a new Pope? Well, not ‘we’ Baptists – could you imagine? As the crowd celebrated the announcement of his papacy and his arrival, he interrupted that celebration with a request for silence – sacred silence. Did any of you see this? And, then instead of beginning by using his new office to pray for the gathered and global Catholic community, he instead asked for their prayers – all of our prayers, really – prayers for his work, and clarity, and discernment. It was a dramatic move, and an interruption in assumed expectation. May his work be blessed and his love know no bounds.

Many – perhaps some of you – have celebrated the fact that he’s from the Jesuit tradition. The Jesuits would never have existed without dramatic interruption in one man’s life. Ignatius of Loyola – St. Ignatius – was just a man trying to work his way up the social hierarchy of Spanish society when, during a military skirmish at the castle where he was staying, a cannonball careened into his legs, shattering them. His ascent up the social rungs was interrupted by extended convalescence over months and months from the medical procedures performed on his broken body. Finding himself in solitude and unable to rise from his bed, he sought companionship in books – one a book of poetic prayers, and the other a life of Christ. He read the books in tandem and eventually, this experience led to two things, the first is what we call Ignatian Spirituality – a series of exercises inspired by Ignatius’ own experience of transformation during convalescence – and the other: the Jesuit order, which was instigated by Ignatius’ realization that Jesus worked with people on the ground, in the muck and daily toil of their lives. ..."
 

Text: John 12:1-8

"... I have had three revelations this week. One is that, if you want the full attention of the medical establishment, you have to use two magic words in the same sentence: “chest” and “pain.”

After several days of not feeling well and this lingering “pain in my chest,” I finally called my doctor to make an appointment. When I told the receptionist what my symptoms were, she said, “Oh no, you need to talk to the consulting nurse.” And the nurse sent me to urgent care. And urgent care sent me to Virginia Mason hospital where, after my first ever ambulance ride and several tests, they discovered that everything was just fine – except, of course, what it was that caused the “discomfort” in my chest in the first place.

Given the epidemic of heart disease in our country, I don’t take my doctor’s caution for granted.

I do wonder how this situation might be different if I were poor and without health insurance. What kind of attention would I get then?

And this little episode does, in fact, recommend changes in my life – heart condition or not.

That was the first revelation.

The second was that I don’t want to die – not that I was in any immediate danger; not that I want to be overly dramatic or that I will have any choice in the matter when the time comes; not that there might not be a time when death might come as a relief that I will want to die with as much dignity as possible.

But not right now.

Natalie Goldberg tells the story about Zen Master Suzuki Roshi’s dying:
He died of cancer in 1971. When Zen masters die [she says] we like to think they will say something very inspiring as they are about to bite the Big Emptiness, something like “Hi-ho Silver!” or “Remember to wake up” or “Life is everlasting.” Right before Suzuki Roshi’s death … an old friend, visited him [and] stood by the bedside; Suzuki looked up and said, “I don’t want to die.” That simple. He was who he was and said plainly what he felt in the moment.

The problem with death as a reference point for the pilgrimage of the soul is that, like a lot of things in the spiritual life, we think we should be something other than what we are. That spirituality is built on dishonesty with ourselves or others about life and death; about something that makes us super-human and “super-excited about croaking.”

When Joseph Sharp, the hospital chaplain, relates this story about the Zen Master, he writes:
And there it is. That simple. Self-honesty. It takes great effort to be self-honest in our dying. But we must, or we’ll be off on the wheel of denial and false excitement. We must learn to make the room within ourselves where we can realize the utter simplicity of saying what we feel – “I don’t want to die” – even as we die. We touch that honesty not in self-pity or anger, but in an open acceptance of the truth of who we are in that living moment.

Or, as May Sarton says in her reflections on turning 60:
I am not ready to die,
But I am learning to trust death
As I have trusted life.

Sometimes I think we tell the stories of Lent and Holy Week as if Jesus wanted to get himself killed – as if the enlightened spiritual path is some kind of death-wish. ..."

Text: Luke 15:11-32

"... Friends… Have you been sufficiently oriented on this Lenten journey? I ask because I know what the bulletin says, but… neither Patrick nor Cathy are me. And let’s be real clear: I am no Tim Phillips. Our prayers are with him this morning. Today, if we’re following our bulletins, perhaps we are experiencing some disorientation on this pilgrimage that we’re on together through this sacred season.

The irony is that since Lent began, we’ve been considering reference points – spiritual reference points – and today’s is ‘home.’ Home is our reference point. So, I admit, in the midst of my own disorientation, I have one question: Who brought the ruby slippers? We might need them by the end… the flying monkeys might be on their way…

Say it with me: There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home…

Dorothy’s journey through Oz was a pilgrimage of sorts, wasn’t it? Her journey – like any good pilgrimage – was not about the destination, even though her sights were always set on Emerald city. Instead the journey was really about the journey; her geographical reference point was the yellow brick road, yes, but the transformative experiences were housed in the relationships she developed along the way. The Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion were her companions and reference points of their own kind – as she certainly was for them, as well.

Life is full of yellow brick roads along which we have destinations in mind, and yet, we ourselves are changed in profound ways – in ways we least expect – and many times changed by the very people who travel with us. Am I right?

As I’ve mentioned a few times over the past month or so, my dad recently finished walking a five hundred mile trek across northern Spain, El Camino de Santiago, or simply: The Way.
He wrote a short reflection on the experience called “How did it go?” which he shared with the church that he attends in Maine, and I offer to you now. ..."

Text: Luke 13:29-35

"... I am not sure why Jesus addresses the question of suffering with a story about horticulture. The story itself is surprising. Why does a vine-dresser – one whose job is to care about grape vines – volunteer to care for a fig tree? Wouldn’t the vine-dresser be just as happy to have the old dead fig tree out of the way?

Perhaps Jesus is suggesting that, when suffering is upon us and we cry out for help, that help might come from unexpected people and places.

David Wolpe tells the story …
of a man who once stood before God, his heart breaking from the pain and injustice in the world. “Dear God,” he cried out, “look at all the suffering, the anguish and distress in the world. Why didn’t you send help?” God responded, “I did send help. I sent you.”

Sometimes I think the role we play in suffering – even when it isn’t necessarily our responsibility to do so – is to help grow something out of it.

I realize that any conversation about responsibility in the context of suffering is tricky.

Jesus makes a point of saying that trying to make the suffering of those Galileans who died at the hands of Pilate their own fault is, to keep to the horticulture metaphor, fruitless. Were these Galileans part of a riot that got them killed? If so, did they deserve it? Were they just innocent collateral damage in some Roman crackdown? When it comes to suffering at the hands of injustice, does it matter?

There is tragic, horrible human-made suffering for which people could – and should – be held accountable. But the question is: Is there anyone willing to help-- anyone willing to take the responsibility to grow something out of that suffering?

The great testimony of the South African reconciliation movement was the attempt to acknowledge the horrible suffering that had been caused at the hands of racial prejudice and violence but to do so in such a way that something new could grow out of that suffering for that nation and, perhaps, for the world.

Perhaps the real responsibility that comes from suffering is to move beyond blame – especially when the only power we think we can blame is God. ..."

Text: Luke 13:29-35

"... I have it on good authority that Garry Wills – the renowned author and classical scholar who was with us last Wednesday evening – was passing through the Sanctuary on his way out after signing books in the Chapel and he heard you, sopranos and altos, rehearsing this piece of music. And listening to you he said, “That’s how that music is supposed to sound.”

That’s high praise from a Pulitzer-prize winning author and lover of classical music. Whatever musical reference point Gary Wills has for this piece of music, apparently you are now one of them.

And like Gary Wills, we all carry around with us those reference points that tell us how things should sound or look or feel or be. They are the images and the music, the ideas and values, the places and people and experiences that help us navigate our lives with some sense of direction.

So, on this journey of Lent – on this pilgrimage of the soul – it is probably a good time to take note of our spiritual reference points.

I have to say first that if we are a little skeptical of this whole idea of pilgrimage in our own tradition, it may well be for good reason. The pilgrimages of the 11th century and following turned into Crusades that killed thousands of Jews, Muslims, and ‘heretical’ Christians (you can be sure that we would have made the list) along the way.

But, as you know, there are many religious traditions that make pilgrimage part of their spiritual practice.

For Muslims, there is the Hajj -- the pilgrimage that gathers millions of Muslims from hundreds of countries and ethnic groups to Mecca. And, even if a particular Muslim cannot make the trip, prayer is aimed in that direction every time the faithful come to pray. It is a reminder of their spiritual reference point.

You may have seen the stunning visual images of millions of Hindus making their way to the Ganges this year -- all kinds of people from all walks of life gathering together in a giant pilgrimage to the river that is, for them, a spiritual reference point.

Seeing those images, I couldn’t help but think of that old hymn in our own tradition, “Shall we gather at the river, where bright angel feet have trod; with its crystal tide forever, flowing by the throne of God … Soon we’ll reach the shining river, soon our pilgrimage will cease, soon our happy hearts will quiver with the melody of peace; Yes! We’ll gather at the river.”  ..."

Text: Luke 4:1-13

 "... Eve got a bum rap. Yes, the snake tempted her when he suggested she should eat of the forbidden tree. But when Eve offers Adam the fruit, Adam, without a word, simply accepts it. Eve wasn’t the tempter. The snake was! But when God asked what happened, Adam blamed her. And thereafter Eve and all women were vilified by early church fathers, many of whom with women in their homes. But from the church, came this declaration: “women are the devil’s gateway.” What tired old thinking.

Whose voice was it? Was God suggesting wisdom was dangerous? Or just a terrible responsibility. Was the snake the devil’s advocate? Was he, as 1st Peter describes him, like a roaring lion, walking about seeking whom he may devour? [1 Peter 5:8] We might think so if we remember the book of Job where God gives Satan permission to tempt Job. So isn’t it really God who sends us trials and temptations? God agrees to allow Satan to send Job illness and loss—and several tiresome friends who try to determine where he is at fault. A scary thought.

Do bad things happen to me because I am not good enough? We pray Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. We ask God not to tempt us. Not to test us with shipwreck which Paul experienced over and over. Yes, the tempter’s voice lures us into danger, but it can also move us to courage. Temptation can convert us to a deeper commitment to God, or lessen that commitment to doing what everyone else is doing. Temptation invites us to stay silent when others need to hear our opinion. And it gives us strength to raise our voice in protest against injustice. In other words, temptation urges us beyond safety and the sin of hiding (which is to shrink from being our whole selves) to authenticity and genuineness: right sometimes, wrong sometimes, whole and imperfect human beings.

Whose voice do you hear? From whom or what do we need deliverance? It’s self-doubt, isn’t it?. Fear of being wrong? Afraid to be vulnerable? Jesus was tempted by magic—turn these stones into bread. Rescue—throw yourself down from the parapet so the angels can save you. And power—bow down before me and all the kingdoms of the world will be yours. The very same things tempt us today. If I buy this car or watch, others will admire me. If I align with this person, I’ll be with the in-crowd. I’ll risk just this one investment, and when I reach a certain profit, I’ll quit. I can’t bring myself to be kind to him, but there’s a woman over there who looks easier to engage. ..."