Eleventh Sunday After Pentecost: August 24, 2014

Epistle and Gospel 

Romans 12:1-8  I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.

For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned. For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another. We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us: prophecy, in proportion to faith; ministry, in ministering; the teacher, in teaching; the exhorter, in exhortation; the giver, in generosity; the leader, in diligence; the compassionate, in cheerfulness.

Reflections:  St. Paul tells us how to live in Christ; he makes two important points. First, the body is a “living sacrifice,” holy and acceptable to God. Second, we are called to be transformed, which occurs by “the renewing of [our] minds.” How does he explain these two points?

            He begins by encouraging us to have a realistic self-understanding. To see ourselves “soberly” means not to think ourselves better than others, but to be humble. Interestingly, however, humility works both ways. We can be preoccupied with ourselves by thinking ourselves better than others. But we can be equally preoccupied with ourselves by feeling inferior. Either way, we are centered on ourselves.

            In contrast, St. Paul calls us to stop comparing ourselves to others. Whereas normally we live within this envelope of skin and its accompanying mind, Paul tells us that we are in fact not cut off from others, pitted in competition against them. Each of us is, rather, a unique and necessary element of a much greater, inclusive, and profound reality: Christ. And as physically incarnate, together we are Christ’s own body in the world.

It is this awareness that allows us to transcend our assumptions, attitudes, conditioning, personal history. It is this awareness that enables us to be radically open, that we may “discern what is the will of God.”

            To return to the Egyptian midwives, from our perspective, it is clear that they acted in ways that did not further their individual safety or status. Putting aside their fear for themselves, they were free to discern a “higher” calling.

Gospel: Matthew 16:13-20  Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” and they said, “Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.

Reflections: When Jesus asks who people think he is, he gets two answers. The first, the easy answer, is what other people think. The riskier answer is what comes straight from the heart. Courageous, impetuous Peter, unafraid that he might look foolish, dares to speak from his heart. Jesus’ response to Peter has long been held up as proof of the supreme authority of the Church of Peter (i.e., the Vatican). But that by no means exhausts the potential of Jesus’ pronouncement.

Looked at another way, we see that Jesus changes the name of Cyphas (an Aramaic name meaning “rock”) to Peter (a Greek name also meaning “rock”). We well might wonder what the point is. Perhaps Jesus draws attention to its meaning.

But let’s look at the context. Jesus first says that Peter is blessed because “Flesh and blood have not revealed this to you.” In other words, Peter’s insight came, not from the world around him, but from his own heart. Could this be the “rock” on which Jesus establishes his church: this inner voice of God?

The midwives didn’t look to pharaoh for truth; St. Paul calls us to a transformed mind, which gives us discernment. Perhaps, then, Jesus established his church, not on the external authority of an individual man, but on the deeper authority from which that individual man perceived God’s truth.

But that brings its own problems. For now the question becomes: how do we discern the difference between the voice of my own desires and neuroses, and the still, small, prophetic voice of God? What is more, this implies that institutions are not the voice of God in themselves, but serve God only when the people involved in them actively seek, discern, and attend to the genuine prophetic voice. Our role just to chill out and leave Peter to do Christ’s ministry, but to live engaged. Like Peter, to risk speaking out.

Eleventh Sunday After Pentecost, August 24, 2014

Hebrew Bible Reading: Exodus 1:8-2:10  

Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph. He said to his people, “Look, the Israelite people are more numerous and more powerful than we. Come, let us deal shrewdly with them, or they will increase and, in the event of war, join our enemies and fight against us and escape from the land.” Therefore they set taskmasters over them to oppress them with forced labor. They built supply cities, Pithom and Rameses, for Pharaoh. But the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied and spread, so that the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites. The Egyptians became ruthless in imposing tasks on the Israelites, and made their lives bitter with hard service in mortar and brick and in every kind of field labor. They were ruthless in all the tasks that they imposed on them.

The king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, one of whom was named Shiphrah and the other Puah, “When you act as midwives to the Hebrew women, and see them on the birthstool, if it is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, she shall live.” But the midwives feared God; they did not do as the king of Egypt commanded them, but they let the boys live. So the king of Egypt summoned the midwives and said to them, “Why have you done this, and allowed the boys to live?” The midwives said to Pharaoh, “Because the Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women; for they are vigorous and give birth before the midwife comes to them.” So God dealt well with the midwives; and the people multiplied and became very strong. And because the midwives feared God, he gave them families. Then Pharaoh commanded all his people, “Every boy that is born (to the Hebrews) you shall throw into the Nile, but you shall let every girl live.”

Now a man from the house of Levi went and married a Levite woman. The woman conceived and bore a son; and when she saw that he was a fine baby, she hid him three months. When she could hide him no longer she got a papyrus basket for him, and plastered it with bitumen and pitch; she put the child in it and placed it among the reeds on the bank of the river. His sister stood at a distance, to see what would happen to him.

The daughter of Pharaoh came down to bathe at the river, while her attendants walked beside the river. She saw the basket among the reeds and sent her maid to bring it. When she opened it, she saw the child. He was crying, and she took pity on him. “This must be one of the Hebrews’ children,” she said. Then his sister said to Pharaoh’s daughter, “Shall I go and get you a nurse from the Hebrew women to nurse the child for you?” Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Yes.” So the girl went and called the child’s mother. Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this child and nurse it for me, and I will give you your wages.” So the woman took the child and nursed it. When the child grew up, she brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter, and she took him as her son. She named him Moses, “because,” she said, “I drew him out of the water.”

Reflections:  Nothing has changed, has it? We—and people of every society—begin to feel uncomfortable about groups of people who don’t fit in—especially when the group starts to increase in size. Throughout history, and certainly American history, we’ve seen the story play out again and again.

The truth is, our status quo is threatened by growing numbers of people who are not like us. There’s a real danger of losing the benefits we enjoy, of seeing the dilution of our culture and our values. It’s natural, really, that persecution and oppression are the built-in response.

On the other hand, what does God ask of us? The text today clearly supports the midwives’ defiance of the pharaoh—a leader who “did not know Joseph,” who didn’t understand the important role this “different” people had played in the survival of his own culture. We see that God rewards the midwives’ resistance to his orders—for which they doubtless risked punishment. They overcame the instinct to self-preservation, showing compassion in their face-to-face encounters, instead.

It is easy to be frightened by abstract threats. Perhaps this is why it is so uncomfortable to look people who are really different from us in the eyes. We don’t want to engage them, and eye-to-eye contact goes straight to the soul. It cuts through the insulation we wrap tightly around our hearts.

But sometimes, as in the case of the women in this story, it seems to be precisely what God asks of us. What does this mean for you and me today? 

9th Sunday after Pentecost, August 10, 2014

The Collect

Grant to us, Lord, we pray, the spirit to think and do always those things that are right, that we, who cannot exist without you, may by you be enabled to live according to your will; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you
and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

9th Sunday after Pentecost, August 10, 2014

Epistle: Romans 10:5-15

Moses writes concerning the righteousness that comes from the law, that “the person who does these things will live by them.” But the righteousness that comes from faith says, “Do not say in your heart, ‘Who will ascend into heaven?’” (that is, to bring Christ down) “or ‘Who will descend into the abyss?’” (that is, to bring Christ up from the dead). But what does it say?

The word is near you,
on your lips and in your heart

(that is, the word of faith that we proclaim); because if you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For one believes with the heart and so is justified, and one confesses with the mouth and so is saved. The scripture says, “No one who believes in him will be put to shame.” For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; the same Lord is Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him. For, “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.”

But how are they to call on one in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him? And how are they to proclaim him unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!”

Reflections:  The proclamation, “There is no distinction between Jew and Greek . . .” in its time was a real shocker. Until then, the One God was understood as the God of the Jewish people. St. Paul’s to turn towards the Gentiles marked a conversion to new understanding of the scope of God’s love.

That aside, I want to focus here on why I rejected Christianity as a teenager. In high school, some of my well-meaning Christian friends tried to “save” me; they wanted me to accept Jesus, to accept a version of the gospel they believed. I, however, could not believe something just because someone else did. Much as I yearned for God, I was born a doubter (Doubting Thomas is surely my patron saint). The God they believed in violated my deep sense of the sacred. “If that’s the Christian God,” I thought, “Christianity must not be valid.” How much damage we can do in trying to do good. Fortunately, my friends’ take on God was not the last word.

10th Sunday After Pentecost, August 17, 2014

The Collect

Almighty God, you have given your only Son to be for us a sacrifice for sin, and also an example of godly life: Give us grace to receive thankfully the fruits of this redeeming work, and to follow daily in the blessed steps of his most holy life; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Reflections: Sacrifice and example. Christ didn’t live and die so we don’t have to. He invites us into his self-offering so that we might live in him in our daily lives by sharing in the redeeming work of sacrificial love. Entering into Christ we discover that holiness is not something apart from our lives. It is the very fabric.

10th Sunday After Pentecost, August 17, 2014

The Hebrew Bible Reading: Genesis 45:1-15

Then Joseph could no longer control himself before all those who stood by him, and he cried out, “Send everyone away from me.” So no one stayed with him when Joseph made himself known to his brothers. And he wept so loudly that the Egyptians heard it, and the household of Pharaoh heard it. Joseph said to his brothers, “I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?” But his brothers could not answer him, so dismayed were they at his presence.

Then Joseph said to his brothers, “Come closer to me.” And they came closer. He said, “I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. And now do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life. For the famine has been in the land these two years; and there are five more years in which there will be neither plowing nor harvest. God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors. So it was not you who sent me here, but God; he has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt. Hurry and go up to my father and say to him, ‘Thus says your son Joseph, God has made me lord of all Egypt; come down to me, do not delay. You shall settle in the land of Goshen, and you shall be near me, you and your children and your children’s children, as well as your flocks, your herds, and all that you have. I will provide for you there—since there are five more years of famine to come—so that you and your household, and all that you have, will not come to poverty.’ And now your eyes and the eyes of my brother Benjamin see that it is my own mouth that speaks to you. You must tell my father how greatly I am honored in Egypt, and all that you have seen. Hurry and bring my father down here.” Then he fell upon his brother Benjamin’s neck and wept, while Benjamin wept upon his neck. And he kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; and after that his brothers talked with him.

 

Reflections:  This reading might seem to imply that Joseph's brothers plotted against him because it was all part of the Divine Plan for getting Joseph into Egypt, and ultimately into a position to save his family in a future famine. Joseph himself implies this when he says, "So it was not you who sent me here, but God." No wonder St. Paul asks the rhetorical question, "Should we continue in sin so that grace may abound?" (Romans 6:1). This isn't a far step from trying to comfort people suffering some catastrophe by saying, "God let (or caused) it to happen to fulfill His Purpose."

On the surface, that may seem a simple solution for dealing with evil and suffering, but it actually raises more questions. How can we tell the difference between apparently evil events and those that merely appear evil from our human point of view? If God orchestrated Joseph’s brother’s evil acts, were they really guilty of sin? And how far did they—or do we—we really have free will?

       But these speculations may miss the rich complex of associations in the story. Let us focus, not on the brothers’ actions, but on how Joseph responds. He could have become resentful and murderous (which is what the brothers fear when they see him). But instead of nursing grievances—valid grievances—Joseph opens his heart to his brothers. By doing so, Joseph becomes a vehicle for God’s grace, not only towards his brothers, but towards thousands of generations of their descendants.

That said, we must be careful. To forgive does not mean to avoid confronting evil and injustice. For centuries the church has been guilty of reinforcing an oppressive status quo by insisting that the victim “forgive” the perpetrator (slavery and domestic violence come to mind). Forgiveness does not mean pretending that something didn’t happen, or forcing oneself to “believe”—yet again—that it won’t happen again. That cannot result in inner peace. Forgiveness means to find peace through letting go of the grudge or guilt that clouds our ability to act for justice out of love rather than anger and resentment.

 

10th Sunday After Pentecost, August 17, 2014The Epistle: Romans 11:1-2a; 29-32

I ask, then, has God rejected his people? By no means! I myself am an Israelite, a descendant of Abraham, a member of the tribe of Benjamin. God has not rejected his people whom he foreknew. Do you not know what the scripture says of Elijah, how he pleads with God against Israel?

For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable. Just as you were once disobedient to God but have now received mercy because of their disobedience, so they have now been disobedient in order that, by the mercy shown to you, they too may now receive mercy. For God has imprisoned all in disobedience so that he may be merciful to all.

Reflections: The context of this passage is St. Paul’s painful struggle to understand what it means that the Jewish people do not see Jesus as the long-awaited Messiah, but the Gentiles do accept him. The Jewish people had been given the “Law” by God, a sign of God’s love and special relationship with them. To be “under the Law” was a sign of grace that was not shared with Gentiles—everybody who was not Jewish.

          Paul argues that God does not reject his people—even though the Jews refuse accept Jesus as Messiah. In fact, their disobedience by rejecting God’s messiah is the door that opens God’s mercy to outsiders.
          This (to us) tortuous reasoning is characteristic of the rabbinical style of the time, and Paul was a master. Today, however, we do not share the same assumptions, and we use a different type of logic. As a consequence, Paul’s argument can sound bizarre—especially to those not brought up in the church.
            Does this mean that St. Paul’s message is irrelevant to the people of today? To quote the man himself, “By no means!” In fact, in a world reeling from the loss of its Center, it is even more important. But if we’re not familiar with the theological language of today, what words can we use? The message of Christ is too deep and rich for any words. That part of it that strikes your heart today—that’s it. And if there are not words for that, all the better: your life is your witness.

 

10th Sunday After Pentecost, August 17, 2014

The Gospel: Matthew 15:10-20; 21-28

(Then he called the crowd to him and said to them,) “Listen and understand: it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.” Then the disciples approached and said to him, “Do you know that the Pharisees took offense when they heard what you said?” He answered, “Every plant that my heavenly Father has not planted will be uprooted. Let them alone; they are blind guides of the blind. And if one blind person guides another, both will fall into a pit.” But Peter said to him, “Explain this parable to us.” Then he said, “Are you also still without understanding? Do you not see that whatever goes into the mouth enters the stomach, and goes out into the sewer? But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this is what defiles. For out of the heart come evil intentions, murder, adultery, fornication, theft, false witness, slander. These are what defile a person, but to eat with unwashed hands does not defile.”

          Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.

 Reflections: This is one of the teachings that sticks in my mind, partly because my default notion of “defilement” is something that happens to me. It is easy to feel demeaned or dirtied by what happens to us, as though the status we were born into—or events, or the actions of other people—make us who we are. But nothing can take from us the fact that we are children of God and brothers to Christ; St. Paul says that the calling of God “irrevocable.”

          Defilement, then, is not something imposed on us; defilement is what flows from our hearts. For that reason, Christian spiritual practice over millennia has centered on purifying the heart. So much of Jesus’ teachings are about the awakened and ready heart—not the content of our beliefs, the accuracy of our knowledge, or the perfection of our religious observance. This is why confession—corporate as well as private—is an important element in our liturgy, and why reconciliation is a sacrament.
          We might speculate on the state of this Canaanite mother’s heart as she approaches Jesus. Her love for her stricken daughter emboldens her to overcome natural reticence, to transgress rules that put her in “her place” as 1) a woman, and 2) a Gentile in relation to a Jewish (male) teacher and healer. Love gives her the courage to risk humiliation and rejection; it purifies her heart. And perhaps it is this that Jesus sees, but his disciples have not seen.
          This story, which recounts an event that occurred long before St. Paul became an apostle to the Gentiles, shows us that grace is not intended for, and refuses to be restricted to, a particular people or a particular circumstance. As the Rev. Hope Benko pointed out in her sermon, God’s boundless love acting through us flows beyond the immediate and out into the world.

 

9th Sunday after Pentecost, August 10, 2014

The Collect, Proper 14

Grant to us, Lord, we pray, the spirit to think and do always those things that are right, that we, who cannot exist without you, may by you be enabled to live according to your will; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you
and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Reflections: It’s easy to forget that it is not we, but we with God who can think and do “those things that are right.” Forgetting—which is inevitable—sets us up for a reality check in those moments when we act of ourselves, and are surprised and disappointed in ourselves.

9th Sunday after Pentecost, August 10, 2014

The Gospel: Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28

Jacob settled in the land where his father had lived as an alien, the land of Canaan. This is the story of the family of Jacob. Joseph, being seventeen years old, was shepherding the flock with his brothers; he was a helper to the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah, his father’s wives; and Joseph brought a bad report of them to their father. Now Israel loved Joseph more than any other of his children, because he was the son of his old age; and he had made him a long robe with sleeves. But when his brothers saw that their father loved him more than all his brothers, they hated him, and could not speak peaceably to him.

Now his brothers went to pasture their father’s flock near Shechem.  And Israel said to Joseph, “Are not your brothers pasturing the flock at Shechem? Come, I will send you to them.” He answered, “Here I am.”  So he said to him, “Go now, see if it is well with your brothers and with the flock; and bring word back to me.” So he sent him from the valley of Hebron.

He came to Shechem, and a man found him wandering in the fields; the man asked him, “What are you seeking?”  “I am seeking my brothers,” he said; “tell me, please, where they are pasturing the flock.”  The man said, “They have gone away, for I heard them say, ‘Let us go to Dothan.’” So Joseph went after his brothers, and found them at Dothan. They saw him from a distance, and before he came near to them, they conspired to kill him. They said to one another, “Here comes this dreamer.  Come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits; then we shall say that a wild animal has devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams.” But when Reuben heard it, he delivered him out of their hands, saying, “Let us not take his life.” Reuben said to them, “Shed no blood; throw him into this pit here in the wilderness, but lay no hand on him”—that he might rescue him out of their hand and restore him to his father. So when Joseph came to his brothers, they stripped him of his robe, the long robe with sleeves that he wore; and they took him and threw him into a pit. The pit was empty; there was no water in it.

Then they sat down to eat; and looking up they saw a caravan of Ishmaelites coming from Gilead, with their camels carrying gum, balm, and resin, on their way to carry it down to Egypt. Then Judah said to his brothers, “What profit is it if we kill our brother and conceal his blood? Come, let us sell him to the Ishmaelites, and not lay our hands on him, for he is our brother, our own flesh.” And his brothers agreed. When some Midianite traders passed by, they drew Joseph up, lifting him out of the pit, and sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver. And they took Joseph to Egypt.

Reflections: We remember that Joseph is the love child with his favorite wife Rachael and the “child of [Jacob’s] old age.” Although all the brothers were equally legitimate, Joseph was the heir of Jacob’s heart. Scholarship has led us to read the familiar “robe of many colors” as a “robe with long sleeves.” It is easy to imagine Joseph as the spoiled younger brother. Stories skipped over in the Sunday lectionary tell us of his fantasies and dreams that he was better than his brothers. Moreover, Joseph seems to be a tattletale. It is clear that Joseph’s brothers had every reason to envy and resent him.

How, then, can we account for the moderation counseled by this brothers Ruben and Judah? It is easy to condemn them as cowards for not opposing their brothers’ plans, but when we’re really honest about how difficult it is for us to challenge the majority opinion, perhaps we should ask, “Where does their courage come from?” 

9th Sunday after Pentecost, August 10, 2014

The Epistle: Romans 10:5-15

Moses writes concerning the righteousness that comes from the law, that “the person who does these things will live by them.” But the righteousness that comes from faith says, “Do not say in your heart, ‘Who will ascend into heaven?’” (that is, to bring Christ down) “or ‘Who will descend into the abyss?’” (that is, to bring Christ up from the dead). But what does it say?

The word is near you,
on your lips and in your heart

(that is, the word of faith that we proclaim); because if you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For one believes with the heart and so is justified, and one confesses with the mouth and so is saved. The scripture says, “No one who believes in him will be put to shame.” For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; the same Lord is Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him. For, “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.”

But how are they to call on one in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him? And how are they to proclaim him unless they are sent? As it is written, “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!”

Reflections:  The proclamation, “There is no distinction between Jew and Greek . . .” in its time was a real shocker. Until then, the One God was understood as the God of the Jewish people. St. Paul’s to turn towards the Gentiles marked a conversion to new understanding of the scope of God’s love.

That aside, I want to focus here on why I rejected Christianity as a teenager. In high school, some of my well-meaning Christian friends tried to “save” me; they wanted me to accept Jesus, to accept a version of the gospel they believed. I, however, could not believe something just because someone else did. Much as I yearned for God, I was born a doubter (Doubting Thomas is surely my patron saint). The God they believed in violated my deep sense of the sacred. “If that’s the Christian God,” I thought, “Christianity must not be valid.” How much damage we can do in trying to do good. Fortunately, my friends’ take on God was not the last word.

9th Sunday after Pentecost, August 10, 2014

Gospel: Matthew 14:22-33

Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”

Reflections: Inspiration and fear. Don’t we vacillate between them? Having leaped forward, we second guess ourselves and become afraid. But even in our mistakes, God is with us, drawing us forward into the Divine Embrace.

8th Sunday after Pentecost, August 3, 2014

The Collect, Proper 13

Let your continual mercy, O Lord, cleanse and defend your Church; and, because it cannot continue in safety without your help, protect and govern it always by your goodness; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Reflections: To the extent that it is an institution, the church (like each of us) is prone to sin—preoccupation with survival instead of mission. It is only through prayer, deep and continual connection to God that we can remain fixed on who God calls us to be rather than on what at the moment seems expedient. The relevance of this prayer is particularly evident in our parish family’s present time of transition. 

8th Sunday after Pentecost, August 3, 2014

Hebrew Bible: Genesis 32:22-31 

The same night he got up and took his two wives, his two maids, and his eleven children, and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. He took them and sent them across the stream, and likewise everything that he had. Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, “Let me go, for the day is breaking.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” So he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” Then the man said, “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.” Then Jacob asked him, “Please tell me your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” And there he blessed him. So Jacob called the place Peniel, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved.” The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip.

Reflections:  Today we hear another story of Jacob’s encounters with God. He had been running for his life because he had angered his brother. Jacob had slept rough in the wilderness. He had a dream: a ladder reaching to heaven. When he woke up, he realized that God was present with him even though he had not known it.

Here again, Jacob is in the wilderness; here again, he is alone, in the dark, and afraid; he can’t sleep. A line from one of last week’s hymns (615) speaks to this: “But the slow watches of the night not less to God belong.”

How often do we find ourselves in a similar situation? Devoured by anxiety, loneliness, fear? It feels far from the comfort of God. Perhaps we pray for God resolve our problems, to take them away. But we are not told that God fixed Jacob’s problems. If we have read further, we know that he finds ways to try to buy off his brother because he is still afraid to meet him.

If the story doesn't reassure us that God will take our troubles away, what does it tell us? For one thing, Jacob discovers God—and receives divine blessing--in the midst of the struggle. In this story, he doesn't find God by escaping the distressing realities of his life, but through engaging them.

8th Sunday after Pentecost, August 3, 2014

Psalm 17:1-7, 15

Hear my plea of innocence, O LORD; give heed to my cry; * listen to my prayer, which does not come from lying lips

Let my vindication come forth from your presence; * let your eyes be fixed on justice.

Weigh my heart, summon me by night, * melt me down; you will find no impurity in me.

I give no offense with my mouth as others do; * I have heeded the words of your lips.

My footsteps hold fast to the ways of your law; * in your paths my feet shall not stumble.

I call upon you, O God, for you will answer me; *incline your ear to me and hear my words.

Show me your marvelous loving-kindness, * O Savior of those who take refuge at your right hand from those who rise up against them.

Whose bellies you fill with your treasure, * who are well supplied with children and leave their wealth to their little ones.

Reflections: How easily we justify ourselves and condemn others before God. But where does Christ teach us to place our confidence, in our innocence, or in God’s mercy?

8th Sunday after Pentecost, August 3, 2014

Epistle: Romans 9:1-5

 I am speaking the truth in Christ—I am not lying; my conscience confirms it by the Holy Spirit— I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my own people, my kindred according to the flesh. They are Israelites, and to them belong the adoption, the glory, the covenants, the giving of the law, the worship, and the promises; to them belong the patriarchs, and from them, according to the flesh, comes the Messiah, who is over all, God blessed forever. Amen.

Reflections:  St. Paul, himself a stellar representative of his people, was rejected by the synagogues. Through his painful struggle with that rejection, he discerned as call to the gentiles. Nevertheless, he doesn’t write his people off as blind, mean, or ungrateful. Instead, he anguishes over them.

Don’t we all know this terrible suffering, to watch those we love make bad choices, and to anticipate—or even witness—the consequences of those choices? Or to stand helplessly by when the innocent are suffer for no reason at all? I wonder whether, in this, we might be sharing in the suffering of God in Christ.

8th Sunday After Pentecost, August 3, 2014

Gospel: Matthew 14:13-21

(Now when he heard that John had been beheaded,) Jesus withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick. When it was evening, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves.” Jesus said to them, “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.” They replied, “We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.” And he said, “Bring them here to me.” Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke the loaves, and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. And all ate and were filled; and they took up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full. And those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.

Reflections: We have heard this story innumerable times. It’s recounted in all four gospels, and a second version occurs in both Matthew and Mark. Our familiarity should be enough to prevent us from hearing it with new ears, or at least cause us to drop the needle of our mind into the usual grooves: the miracle of multiplication. But that’s not the only dimension of the story.

Two things I’ve noticed: First, the story begins with a Jesus who had been teaching and teaching; we can imagine that he’s worn out. Worse, he’s just got the news that his cousin and spiritual friend John the Baptist, has been executed by Herod. He needs some solitude to reflect and pray. But the public doesn’t allow it. They are hungry for more. But he doesn’t do the reasonable thing of sending them off. Moreover, he knows (as he tells them John 6) that they really want the wrong thing for the wrong reasons, which makes his behavior even less understandable. So it should be even more surprising that he doesn’t send them home for dinner at the end of the day.

I wonder if this is might be less a story about a miraculous multiplication than it is a story about the miracle of compassion. Just where does Jesus get the resources to respond to this crowd when he himself has been drained dry—and the need just won’t stop? We can take an easy out by saying, “Well after all, he is the Son of God . . . ,” but where does that leave us? We’re merely human. . . . But let’s think again. Since Jesus was not only fully divine but also fully human, the story might just show us something relevant to our lives.

We, too, face unexpected situations that demand our attention when we’re already tired, in a hurry, or have other plans. When that happens to me, I often feel frustrated and rushed; I automatically experience them as obstacles to be dealt with quickly so I can get on with my “real life.” My mind and heart are divided; I have to do one thing, but I’m actually thinking of—and wanting—something else. How could I possibly handle them very well? And that, of course, only drags further on my mood.

Over the years, however, I’ve learned something very surprising. I perceive such unexpected situations as problems. But I’ve discovered that the problem is not the situation. The problem is my resistance to it. To paraphrase Henri Nouwen in Reaching Out, I used to think interruptions get my work; then I realized that the interruptions are my work.

The gospel tells us that before Jesus cured the people, or taught them, or fed them, “He had compassion for them.” And here’s the other half of what I’ve learned: what gives me the energy to deal with unexpected demands is precisely the opposite of what I feel like doing. By moving my attention from my thwarted agenda and focusing it on the situation at hand, I discover that compassion is already flowing—into the situation and bringing me a deep sense of well-being. Perhaps that, even more than multiplying fish and bread, is the real miracle.