Learning to Step Aside

This post was originally yesterday's cover article for the parish newsletter at St. John's, Decatur. To read the rest of the newsletter, click here.

Last night, I had a completely vivid, completely eviscerating dream. Another congregation was preparing for a big service—the kind that requires lots of people and careful coordination—and I knew that they would need some help. I showed up, vestments in tow, ready to offer my services. Despite having organized that same complicated service several times before, I, for the most part, hung back and let others take the lead. Instead of offering suggestions, I merely asked questions to highlight the critical issues that would come up during the service. (How noble of me!) A few minutes before the service was scheduled to begin, I stepped into the room where the clergy were to vest. As I began to get dressed, more and more clergy came in. People I did not recognize were already vested and ready to participate in the service. Suddenly I realized that every necessary role had already been filled. The whole time I was worried that they would need my help, and I was ashamed to discover that in actuality I was the only one who was not needed.

Surprisingly enough, I woke up remarkably refreshed. Although it can be difficult to learn that I am not needed, I find a genuine peace when I am reminded that I am not responsible for solving the world’s problems. In fact, the less and less important I become the easier and easier it is handle whatever challenges life presents. As I become smaller, more room opens up for God to do his work. How remarkable that my own dreams could remind me of something I still need to learn!

In a world in which kindness is usually measured by the frequency and quality of thoughtful words and deeds, it can be difficult to remember that, more often than not, the most loving thing we can do for someone else is get out of the way. Whether we are dropping our infant off at the nursery or sending our child off to kindergarten or saying goodbye to our new college freshman, we must learn to let go. When our neighbor confides in us that her marriage is falling apart, she is not asking us to fix it. If our spouse blows the big deal at work, it is not our job to pick up the pieces. When the pastor’s phone rings at 8:30 p.m. on a Friday, usually the best thing for everyone is let it go to voicemail.

A common theme throughout the gospel is humanity’s resistance to our Lord’s call to selfless service. All three synoptic accounts recall the moment when two or more of the disciples discussed among themselves who would be the regarded as the greatest. Typically, I see that discussion as an exercise in vanity, but I wonder whether the disciples’ intentions might have been pure. Perhaps they were debating not who was the holiest among them but who had done the most to help others or who had given up the most to follow Jesus or who was prepared to risk the most in defense of his master. If so, their error was not one of self-aggrandizement but of misdirected zeal. Perhaps the gentleness with which Jesus rebuked them should inform our impression of the scene: “The kings of the Gentiles exercise lordship over them, and those in authority over them are called benefactors. But not so with you. Rather, let the greatest among you become as the youngest, and the leader as one who serves" (Luke 22:25-26).

As I learned waiting tables during my time in college, the best servers are the ones who are only around when needed. Although always available, they seem to disappear until they are called upon. They know that their reward, expressed as a gratuity, will not reflect their ability to invent reasons to help their customers but their availability to address the needs that present themselves. When Jesus likened the greatest among them to one who serves, he was not encouraging them to put on a superhero’s outfit and fly around saving the day. He was inviting them to hang back, to practice the art of availability, and to acknowledge that truly selfless service begins only when one discards his or her own need to serve others.

Sometimes people come to me with their own problems, but most of the time people approach me because they are worried about someone else. “What can I do about this person I love?” I am often asked. “They need some help, but I don’t know what to do.” My response? “Exactly—do nothing; just pray.” As last night’s dream reveals, they are words I must speak as much to myself as to anyone else. We want to fix the world. We want to help other people. We need to be helpful. When someone we love appears to be in trouble, it is far easier for us to do something than to do nothing. But whose needs are we really addressing when we rush in to help?

 
The greatest among us will become like the youngest and the leader as one who serves. Take a step back from your own need to help others. Pray that God would give you the wisdom to recognize the line between your needs and theirs. Look for ways to be available to those you love, but resist the temptation to jump in. Remember that God is calling you to a life of selfless service and that a life of selfless service begins when we let go of ourselves.

So Now What?

For the last few weeks, I've fallen into a pattern of sorts. On Monday, I wake up and read the gospel lesson and think, "Bread of Life again? What else can I possibly say about John 6?" Then, on Tuesday, I read the lessons again and calm down enough to figure out a direction to take. Well, it's Monday, and I'm hoping for new insights tomorrow because, right now, I'm still wondering where this is headed.

Although it might be because I'm worn out with John 6, today I find myself on the side of the Jews. "How can this man give us his flesh to eat?" they ask. Good point. How is that possible? What is Jesus' response? "Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you." Thanks, Jesus. We got that part. I'm asking how that works. How is it possible that we eat your flesh and drink your blood.

Trust me, I won't be offering a sermon on the history of Anglican Eucharistic theology. If our tradition has anything going for it, it's our history of not defining how the mysteries of Holy Communion work. When people ask me what we believe about the Eucharist, I usually give them the "neither Transubstantiation nor bare Memorialism but somewhere--anywhere--in between" answer. Yeah, I'm not happy with it either. And maybe that's the point. I think Jesus' strategy on this issue is worth observing.

The crowd hears his message and fails to understand it. They ask for clarity--for explanation--and, instead of providing it, Jesus doubles down and amps up the strangeness of his message. They want to understand what he means by "bread of life" and "eat my flesh," and Jesus responds by taking the image even further: "You must eat my flesh and drink my blood!" Yuck.

For me (and this blog), it's a familiar refrain, but faith isn't about figuring it out. We aren't supposed to understand what happens. We're supposed to open up--our mouths, yes, but more importantly our minds and our hearts--and receive. Jesus doesn't give any wiggle room. He doesn't water down the message. He won't let us off the hook. We ask for relief, and he won't give it. Yes, it is a hard truth to swallow (just wait until next week's gospel lesson). But, like many aspects of following Jesus, this is an accept it first, understand it later sort of thing.

Jesus and Nothing Else

August 9, 2015 – The 11^th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 14B

1 Kings 19:4-8; Ephesians 4:25-5:2; John 6:35, 41-51

© 2015 Evan D. Garner

Audio of this sermon is available here.

 

Over the last few months, we have had a lot of newcomers here at St. John’s. Some of them I am getting to know pretty well. Others seem remarkably friendly when they shake my hand on the way out the door. Among our newcomers are several people who have come to the Episcopal Church from other, more conservative denominations. As I hear from them about their experience of that transition, a familiar conversation keeps repeating itself. I ask what they think about the Episcopal Church, and they reply, “I really like it here. I feel at home at St. John’s, but it seems like something is missing. I’m still trying to figure out what Episcopalians believe.”

It’s a fair criticism. What exactly do Episcopalians believe? We pride ourselves on welcoming everyone. We define ourselves as the church that doesn’t tell you what to think but allows you to think for yourself. In our efforts to be hospitable, we have opened our theology as wide as our doors. “There’s room for everyone in here,” we say. We don’t pretend that we have a monopoly on all the right answers, and we trust that this is a place where you can find your own. But I worry that we’ve worked so hard on welcoming everyone to God’s table that we’ve forgotten to pay attention to what is being served. By placing so much emphasis on hospitality, we’ve lost our focus on the real reason for being here in the first place. In making sure that everyone has a seat at the table, we’ve neglected to tell them that sitting at the table means feasting on the Bread of Life.

There’s really no easy way around today’s gospel lesson. In this short passage, Jesus says some things that manage to make everyone upset. “I am the bread of life,” he said, “I have come down from heaven to give life to the world.” But he doesn’t stop there. “No one can come to me unless the Father draws him…Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died, but this is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die.” In other words, Jesus said, “I’m it. I’m the real deal. I’ve got something that no one else has ever been able to give you—not even Moses. It’s eternal life, and you can’t have it unless God brings you to me because I’m the only way you’re ever going to get it.” It’s that kind of “my way or the highway” language that we open-minded Episcopalians try to avoid at all costs. But it’s worse than that: those words aren’t coming from the mouth of a fundamentalist preacher but from the mouth of Jesus himself! How are we going to deal with this? Are we going to ignore these words and preach on a different lesson altogether? Or will we find a way to embrace that which makes us distinctly Christian—namely, Jesus.

We believe that we have good news for the whole world because we believe that God loves everyone. It doesn’t matter who you are or where you live or what you’ve done or what you believe or where you go to church or even if you go to church—God loves you exactly the same as everyone else. And we base that belief on the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. In his earthly ministry, Jesus demonstrated God’s love for everyone—sinner or saint, rich or poor, insider or reject. But the powers of this world—which is to say us and people like us—rejected that message of love and nailed it to the cross. Still, God’s love was bigger than our hate, and he raised his Son on the third day in order to free us from the consequences of own behavior—to set us free from fear, from punishment, and even from death itself. Because of Jesus Christ—and only because of Jesus Christ—we know that there is nothing we can do to alienate ourselves from God and God’s love. But is that the message that we are proclaiming to the world?

For the most part, we are nice, warm, and friendly people. And nice, warm, and friendly is a good start, but how far will that get us? We are an inviting, welcoming, and accepting congregation. And inviting, welcoming, and accepting is a good way to get people in the door, but then what? There a lots of people and places and organizations that will pat you on the back and tell you that you look pretty and pretend that your ideas are good ones, and most of them don’t make you show up on Sunday morning in order to hear it. We aren’t in the affirmation business. This isn’t about hospitality. People don’t come to church looking for a nice way to spend some time on the weekend. People come to church because they want food for their souls, and soul food is exactly what we have to give them.

Jesus said, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” That is very, very good news indeed. We have a savior who loves us exactly the way we are. We have a savior who shows us that God’s love has no limits. We have a savior who can set us free from guilt and shame and fear. We have a savior who can satisfy once and for all the deepest longings of our soul. You can’t get that anywhere else. So why would we focus on anything else?

 
Why are you here? Why did you come to church today? If you’re only here because you want to spend time with some nice, friendly people, you should go somewhere else. You can do better. There are nicer and friendlier people out there. And, if you’re only here because we we’re a welcoming, accepting place that takes all sorts of people, then, again, you should go somewhere else. I promise that there are plenty of organizations more welcoming and accepting than we are. There is only one reason to be here. There is only one reason to come to church—because you want to feed on the Bread of Life, the one who has come down from heaven to give life to the world. We are here because Jesus Christ came and lived and died and rose again so that we might have full, abundant, and never-ending life in the loving presence of God and God’s kingdom. We have come to hear the good news of the gospel. We have come looking to satisfying the eternal longing of our souls. Let this be the place where you can find it. Let that be the only thing that we are about.

Politics and Religion Do Mix

Today is the Feast of the Transfiguration—that moment when the face and clothes of Jesus, who was accompanied by Peter, James, and John, shone with the brightness of the sun. Described as the “culminating point of his public life” by the New Advent Catholic Encyclopedia, this mountain-top experience gave these disciples confirmation of Jesus’ full identity as God among us. In the bright shining, Jesus’ divinity was revealed, and his right place as the expectation, fulfillment, and completion of the law and prophets is confirmed by the presence of Moses and Elijah. Unlike all the other claims for messiahship, which had been made by would-be pretenders, Jesus was the real thing. He is the one pointed to by the law and prophets. And the voice of God the Father confirmed it all by declaring him as his beloved son.

Well, today is also the first presidential debate, and, as this election cycle kicks into high gear, I’m wondering something: if Jesus is the fulfillment of the law and prophets, which is to say the ultimate expression of the public life of God’s people, when will our public life look like God’s kingdom? Sure, I know that, in part, the answer is when Jesus comes back. But Jesus didn’t come to earth simply to tell us that someday things would be better—that someday things would be different. He came to earth to usher in God’s reign—to break through the human-dominated power structures in order that God’s ways would be established now. As followers of Jesus, we are agents of that kingdom. We called to be advocates for change. Like it or not, Jesus was a highly political figure, and, as his disciples, we are called to bring our faith into our politics.

“But politics and religion don’t mix,” you might say. “Our country is founded on the separation of church and state.” How naïve! As the Transfiguration reminds us, politics is the perfect place for religion. Where else should we express the values that we hold most dear? Many are already doing it, and they are dominating the political conversation. As I read in the Christian Century the other day, when we say “religion and politics don’t mix,” what we really mean is “their religion and my politics don’t mix.” Are the religious voices in American politics representative of your religion or your politics? Maybe it’s time for us to accept that our commitment to Jesus Christ and his gospel has implications for our public life. Maybe it’s time for us to insist that our understanding of God’s reign break through into our political life.

How will your faith and politics mix in this election cycle?

Better Is One Day In Your Courts

I’ve never seen it in person, but I’ve heard about cardiologists and emergency room physicians having “DNR” tattooed on their chest. The statistics show that, unlike in the movies or on television, most patients who go into cardiac arrest do not survive despite having their chests pounded upon or tubes stuck down their throats. And those who do survive don’t usually bounce back. When the heart stops beating, it has permanent effects on the brain and the rest of the body. The quality of life of a CPR survivor often isn’t so great. Many go on to suffer another heart attack. Almost all have their quality of life diminished in one way or another. Lots of those who see this reality up close day in and day out know in advance that they do not want a team of paramedics pounding on their chest, so they preempt the rigmarole, preferring to die when the time comes, and they have those three magic letters inscribed permanently on their chest.

Many of us, at one time or another, will face or have faced a tough medical decision that revolves around quality of life. Which is better? Which is worse? Would we rather live longer with the consequences of the treatment for the disease, or would we rather die sooner but with a greater quality of life for those last few weeks or months? Occasionally, those choices are easy ones, and physicians give us a clear direction. More often, however, it isn’t so simple.

In a sense, that is the sort of difficult calculus presented to us by Jesus in today’s gospel lesson (Mark 8:34-9:1). “Whoever would save his life would lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake and the sake of the gospel will save it,” Jesus said in words that are familiar to us. But it was the next line that really caught my attention today: “For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul?” There’s a quality of life consideration in there, but it’s the quality of the next life that Jesus is talking about.

Back when the gospel was being written—in the second half of the first century—being a Christian wasn’t easy. There was no place in official Roman society for followers of Jesus. Growing tensions between the first Christians and their Jewish counterparts had left the former with no place to worship and no protection as members of a religio licta—an officially sanctioned religion in the Empire. Thus, to be a Christian openly was to risk persecution. They could be thrown in jail. They could have their property taken away. They could be killed. Jesus’ words about losing one’s life for the sake of the gospel were a source of encouragement for those who put everything on the line to follow him. For us, though, they sound different.

No one threatens us for claiming to follow Jesus. In fact, here in the Bible Belt, one is more likely to be persecuted for not being a Christian. Still, though, the invitation to lose our lives for Jesus’ sake is real. And the consequences of not doing so—the loss of a kingdom life—is a reality we face. Those early Christians had to risk everything to follow Jesus, and we are called to do the same. What does “losing one’s life” mean in the 21^st century but to give up control? As disciples of Jesus, our lives do not belong to us. We belong to our master. All that we have belongs to God—our money, our house, our family, our lives, our time, our talents, our freedom. Everything that we have and every decision that we make and every second of every day should be dedicated to the work of the kingdom. If you claim to follow Jesus, you don’t get to have it your way anymore. Your way must be God’s way. And, if it isn’t, you can have no share in him.

That sounds pretty costly, doesn’t it? Who wants to sell all that he has and give it to the poor? Who wants to walk through the narrow gate? Who wants to lose his life? Those who follow Jesus do. Not because they’re crazy, and not because they have nothing to lose, and not because they want to impress others—but because the quality of the kingdom life that comes to those who yield everything to God is incomparable to even the richest, fullest, happiest life outside of the kingdom.

Ask yourself this, “Which would I rather have: a day belonging in God’s kingdom or a lifetime of my own design?” Start there—with the end in mine—and let the rest of your life fall into place.

Is Jesus Worth Believing In?

Is Jesus the "son of Joseph, whose mother and father we know?" Or is he the one who has "come down from heaven?" In Sunday's gospel lesson (John 6:35, 41-51) we read that that was a question on the minds of the crowd who was following him, trying to understand his confusing, other-worldly preaching. I'll suggest, however, that it's a question for today, too. Who is Jesus? Is he a purely historical figure--the archaeologically verifiable Jesus of Nazareth who was the focus of the Jesus Seminar and whose legend grew as the faithful shared increasingly exaggerated stories about their master? Or is he really and truly the Jesus of the gospel--the one who "was incarnate by the Holy Ghost of the Virgin Mary?"

As mainline denominations see declining attendance and declining relevance in popular culture, it may be tempting to conclude that the old hallmarks of our faith need to change. "Surely the 'nones' are fleeing organized religion because we hold onto ridiculous, unbelievable doctrines like the virgin birth and the physical resurrection," one might say. "Our church is a progressive, non-confessional approach to faith--we're the perfect antidote to old-time religion!" But Tom Petty's "You believe what you wanna believe" is no way to call people to discipleship in Jesus Christ. It is a dead end--in more ways than one--and I pray our church will recover its passion for a faith built on the life, death, and resurrection of the incarnate Son of God. Anything else is just fluff.

Jesus said to the people, "I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty." Jesus' teachings are remarkable. Love your enemy. Turn the other cheek. Sell all your possessions. Blessed are the poor. The meek shall inherit the earth. Whether Christian or not, those are principles worth holding on to. They are a good way for structuring one's life. But then what? What about everything else? What about what comes next--after this well-lived, polite, egalitarian existence? What will nourish the soul for the cosmic journey that has no end?

If Jesus was only a wise teacher--a carpenter's son from Galilee whose interpretation of the Jewish law and human nature have garnered him followers for two thousand years--we, his followers, are most of all to be pitied. I don't know about you, but I'm not in this for the merit badge. I'm not in it for my epitaph (with God's help). I'm looking for the kind of help that lasts. I'm looking for a lifeboat that carries me beyond the troubles of this life. I'm looking for a savior--not a guru.

Jesus said, "I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty." Never is an awfully long time. What could possible guarantee everlasting satisfaction like that? What sort of teaching (or teacher) could be so bold as to claim to provide never-ending nourishment? If we're not upholding a faith that offers that kind of sustenance, then we've abandoned the gospel in favor of "better living through philosophy." And that can only feed us until the bottom falls out.

I believe that the world needs a savior. I believe that the world wants a love that will not end. I believe that the "nones" want to be a part of something that matters--something that lasts longer than the latest diet or self-help fad. Of course we must adapt our presentation of the gospel to reflect contemporary culture's rejection of unquestionable belief. We can not present Christianity as a "take it or leave it" panacea to which we control access. But Jesus didn't present it that way either. We must invite the world to discover a savior who isn't interested in providing food for the stomach--which is to say relief for today--but who came down from heaven as the bread of life--which is to say the source of abundant, never-ending life.

Discipleship doesn't mean learning the teachings of Jesus and adopting them as a rule of life. That can only last until you screw it up--an inevitability. Following Jesus means letting go of our effort and clinging to his. Discipleship means following Jesus through the death of all that we have and all that we are and all that we have tried to do and clinging to the new life only he can give us. Jesus didn't come to give us a good life now. He came to bring us into God's kingdom. The only way to get beyond this life and discover the promise of the next is to understand that Jesus Christ is more than just a teacher. He is God-incarnate. In him God took upon himself all that is wrong with our life so that it and we might be transformed through his death and resurrection. If his life were just a model and his death were just a rallying cry, Christianity is worthless in the eternal sense. If our message is really the good news, it must start and end with the gospel.

Missing Verses (Again)

I'm having one of those weeks when I read and reread the gospel lesson for the coming Sunday multiple times but still get no where with it. No pithy insight. No heart-rending truth. Not even a handhold to which I can cling. I'm getting nothing.

We're about halfway through the Bread of Life discourse in John 6. We've had the feeding of the 5,000 sandwiched together with the walking on the water. We've had the part about food that does not perish, which gave me a reason to focus on faith vs. works. Next week, we'll read about Jesus' flesh being food for the world. And finally we'll hear Jesus take that difficult teaching straight to his disciples. But this week, in the middle, we've got a mess.

The gospel appointed for Sunday is John 6:35, 41-45. Verse 35 is the "I am the bread of life" statement by Jesus. Verses 41-45 sort of follow from that but without any clear connection. Here are the various themes I'm picking up in those verses:

• How can Jesus be from heaven if we know his earthly parents?
• No one can understand Jesus unless God induces that faith.
• Those whom God draws to Jesus will be raised up on the last day.
• Those who truly study God's word will discover Jesus as God's son.
• No one has seen the Father except the Son who is co-eternal with him.
• Eternal life comes to those who believe.
• Unlike the Israelites in the wilderness who ate manna, those who eat of the bread of life will not die.
• The bread of life that Jesus is speaking about is actually his flesh.

Seriously. All of that is in there. Go read it. How in the world is a preacher supposed to preach on the text? I could tell a funny story and talk about bread and how good Jesus is and essentially ignore the text itself, but that's not good exegetical homiletical practice. The answer, I suggest, is in recovering the missing verses--36 through 40.

 Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst. But I said to you that you have seen me and yet do not believe. All that the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never cast out. For I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will but the will of him who sent me. And this is the will of him who sent me, that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day. For this is the will of my Father, that everyone who looks on the Son and believes in him should have eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day.” (John 6:35-40 ESV)

Now the "Father draws them to me" bit makes more sense. Now the "come down from heaven" bit makes more sense. Now the "raise him up" bit makes more sense. Now the "believes and has eternal life" bit makes more sense. Now the preacher can tackle the text and preach on it.

After reading and rereading the lesson for Sunday and getting no where, I went back and read all of John 6 again. It was very helpful, and I highly recommend it. When I read it all together, it comes across as a coherent whole. Breaking it up the way we do makes it difficult to preach. Hearing it in a larger chunk makes it easier to understand. That's why I plan to add vv. 36-40 to Sunday's gospel lesson.

Now that I have that part figured out, I need to think about a sermon... More tomorrow.