That the World might be Saved

A sermon for the fourth Sunday in Lent, March 10, 2024

Christ Church Riverdale, Bronx, New York

God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.

As we journey through Lent, we recall that the whole thing is about the overwhelming mercy of God. Our salvation is not mostly about God and a little bit about good things that we do, and it is definitely not about God, plus making some good choices, and being nice, and pretty good-looking and saying a few of the right words, either. God sent his Son, Jesus Christ, into the world that the whole world might be saved through him. It is God’s mercy; God’s love for every one of us that makes life and hope possible.

The text for today’s sermon is the Gospel of John, chapter three, verse seventeen. Why didn’t I choose John 3:16, like those guys write on the signs they wave at the football games and anywhere they can get in front of a TV camera? Because if we stop at the end of John 3:16 without including the next verse, we misunderstand completely what Jesus is saying. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish, but may have eternal life. . . . Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

Some mistakenly think that John 3:16 is about believing, and earning eternal life through believing. That couldn’t be more wrong. We who believe know that God has come into the world to save this world, through his life, his overwhelming mercy brought to us in spending that life with us and for us, even to being lifted up on the cross. But when I say us, I don’t mean this congregation gathered here this morning, or some people who wave signs in front of cameras. I mean that God sent his Son into the world—that the whole world is saved by him.

The Gospel passage does talk about condemnation. Condemnation is real. Most of us have felt it, experienced it. Indeed, the question of God’s mercy and salvation wouldn’t be very meaningful to us, or at least not very compelling, if it were not for the reality of condemnation. What is that condemnation, where does it come from? The Gospel says this: “The light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come into the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed.” People condemn themselves and one another by turning from the light and running away from the truth.

The Old Testament lesson is a story from the fourth book of Moses, the Book of Numbers. It is another grumbling in the wilderness story—there are a lot of those, perhaps because people grumble a lot. Here is their complaint: “There is no food… and we hate this food that God has given us.” The food available for the Israelites back then probably did not compare with the grandest of feasts we may share with family and friends here in this prosperous corner of the Bronx, but God had been providing manna from heaven to sustain them all along.

Have you ever noticed that the people who complain the most and pity themselves the most are those who are used to having the most and being the most privileged? So in this story, God basically says, “Oh you don’t like the food? Try snakes.” For some reason they did not like the snakes either. Of course, in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus says, “Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for bread, will give a stone? Or if the child asks for a fish, will give a snake?” I don’t think my kids would have liked the snakes either. But somehow, in this story, the children of Israel end up knee-deep in snakes.

Somehow, a lot of people end up deep in trouble, deep in condemnation, and they don’t see that it is the result of their own self-pity and anger; or in accepting the hurt and anger of other people and letting that define them. While we do this, God has something else for us. God’s way is mercy, not condemnation. God’s way is constant love from the beginning and healing of our hurts.

And that’s where those snakes come in. God had Moses lift up a snake, and the people focused on something beyond their self-condemnation and they were healed, they were saved. And so our Gospel lesson begins: “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.” It is the mercy of God, the gift of God, that heals us, that heals this world.

We are invited to live in the light of Jesus—by living a life of welcome and acceptance, of generosity of spirit, of being merciful and leaving self-pity behind. We are called to proclaim God’s love for the entire world, to live together as a body building one another up, not as individuals competing against others for a reward they can’t have.

He sent forth his word and healed them; and saved them from the grave.

Let them give thanks to the Lord for his mercy; and the wonders he does for his children.

Let them offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving; And tell of his acts with shouts of joy.

Psalm 107:20-22

Make my joy complete

A sermon for the eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost, October 1, 2023

Trinity Episcopal Church of Morrisania, Bronx, New York

To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul; my God, I put my trust in you; let me not be humiliated, nor let my enemies triumph over me.

Our lessons this week are about living in God’s mercy. In the midst of a controversy challenging his authority, Jesus tells a parable about a situation that almost everyone has experienced. A father has two teenagers and he tells one of them to do something. The first says, “Nah. Don’t want to,” while the other one says, eagerly, “Sure thing! I’ll get that done right away!” But the one who was so eager to show what a good and cooperative kid he was blew off the task, while the sullen one decided to do the job anyway. Most of us lived one of the three roles in this story at one time or another. I think I’ve been in all three—at least I can tell you that my wife is certain that I often fail to do tasks that I’ve agreed to do.

What Jesus was doing in today’s story was pointing out that people classed as sinners by the self-righteous—“tax collectors and prostitutes”—actually did the will of God. In other words, the mercy of God, who forgives and blesses sinners despite their past, makes it possible for those sinners to do God’s will in the present. The mercy of God makes life possible, while getting mired in judgement and condemnation leads only to death.

From prison, Paul wrote to his friends in Philippi, “Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.” It was not about whether any of the Philippians had ever been selfish, but rather:

If then there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy, make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind.

Philippians 2:1-2

We live in order to be in Christ’s compassion and to do that compassion—that’s what makes joy complete. It is not some accumulation of achievements or prizes that show everyone how successful we are. It is living lives of generosity and compassion in Jesus. This lesson contains one of the most famous and beautiful passages in the Bible:

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross. Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

Philippians 2:5-11

There’s one line in here: “He did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited” that we sometimes skip over. The Greek word that’s translated “exploited” can mean a lot of things, but one way to read it is as a “prize,” or something that you win and hold onto. Jesus’ equality with God was not a prize—he wasn’t holding it up, so he could point to it and get everyone’s respect. Jesus’ equality with God was in his embodying God’s compassion and mercy through his actions. He was not the kid who said to God and everybody else, “See, I’m the best and the holiest.” Rather he was the one who brought mercy to sinners, who embodied compassion even in his dying for their sake. Holiness is in doing God’s mercy, not in collecting prizes and recognition.

The dwelling of God is among people

Last Sunday we had a meeting where difficult things were discussed and difficult realities faced. It impressed me, that in all the discussion, respect and concern for others was at the fore. While there was concern about the building and ideas explored for somehow finding a way to continue, the real concern was about the community, the people and the ministry that are Trinity Church. It is not the prize of a grand building or public recognition for worldly success, but compassion for God’s people, in this neighborhood, and for all those who rely on our prayers and fellowship.

We have a number of members for whom it is difficult to get out and about, and making changes and finding new worshiping communities and pastoral care is difficult for them. Over the coming months, together we will work to reach out to them—to be and to find ongoing Christian community with them. As St. Paul says:

If then there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy, make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind.

Philippians 2:1-2

We ARE the church as we do God’s will and embody God’s mercy.

To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul; my God, I put my trust in you;

     let me not be humiliated, nor let my enemies triumph over me.

Let none who look to you be put to shame;

     let the treacherous be disappointed in their schemes.

Show me your ways, O Lord,

     and teach me your paths.

Lead me in your truth and teach me,

     for you are the God of my salvation; in you have I trusted all the day long.

Remember, O Lord, your compassion and love,

     for they are from everlasting.

Psalm 25:1-5

As the heavens are high above the earth

A sermon for the sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, September 17, 2023

Trinity Episcopal Church of Morrisania, Bronx, New York

For as the heavens are high above the earth, so is his mercy great upon those who fear him.

In our lesson today from near the end of Genesis, Joseph’s brothers find themselves in a difficult position. You may remember that it was they who seized Joseph, threw him into a pit and sold him into slavery, and told their father that Joseph had been killed by a wild animal. And now, at the end of this story, Joseph had all the power of the great kingdom of Egypt at his disposal, his brothers were helpless and famished, and Joseph was grieving for his father and theirs. Now that Jacob was dead, they realized they were at Joseph’s mercy. Now they were worried. With reason. They did terrible things. Selfish and envious things. Anger and retribution would be justified.

Joseph’s brothers pleaded their case, making up some things about what their father had done that might or might not have been true. Basically, they were just begging and hoping for some sort of clemency from Joseph.  Joseph’s response, though, was not based on their arguments or their self-abasement. Joseph based his forgiveness of his brothers on God’s love. Joseph loved his brothers and all their wives and children, and extended protection to them because of the ongoing and everlasting love of God.

About three years ago, we came back to worship in person at Trinity for the first time in more than a year after we had to close the church doors because of the pandemic. It was a difficult time.  Yet God’s love provided for us. We prayed together and cared for one another even though we were physically apart, not unlike Joseph’s years of separation from his parents and his family while he was in Egypt and they were in the land of Canaan. It’s important to remember that it is God’s mercy that sustains us.

The LORD is full of compassion and mercy,

     slow to anger and of great kindness.

He will not always accuse us, nor will he keep his anger for ever.

He has not dealt with us according to our sins,

     nor rewarded us according to our wickedness.

Psalm 103:8-10

It’s also important to remember that Joseph’s suffering was not due to anything he did, whether good or bad. Many things happen in this world: natural disasters, diseases, and the bad things that people do to one another, that are not punishment from God. God gives life to mortals and loves us at all times—even when people commit sins “in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.”      

As human beings, we all do things, at some point, that cause harm to others, whether through malice or just thoughtlessness. But we are also united through God’s mercy for us, particularly when we have suffered. In the Gospel of Matthew, which we have been reading this year, Jesus criticizes those who are self-righteous, and holier-than-thou. Those who think they are always just are like that man in today’s Gospel story, who was forgiven a debt, big enough to buy a large estate, and immediately he grabs a friend who owes him something like a hundred bucks and has him thrown into prison over it. Society is torn apart when people indulge their anger at others, while failing to appreciate the mercy that they receive daily.

Joseph had suffered at the hands of his brothers. They were wrong. And maybe they were truly and deeply repentant and their offer to debase themselves and be Joseph’s slaves was sincere and unaffected. But it doesn’t matter. Joseph chose to forgive them, not because he judged that they were telling the truth, but because he was one with them in God’s mercy. The people of Israel were free and together as one people because Joseph forgave them and joined with them in God’s forgiveness.

God is merciful to us at all times. God cares for all his people, including those who hurt others. For what hope would there be for any of us, then? Which of us is as just or merciful as God? Our psalm says:

He redeems your life from the grave

     and crowns you with mercy and loving-kindness;

He satisfies you with good things,

     and your youth is renewed like an eagle’s.

The Lord executes righteousness

     And judgement for all who are oppressed.

Psalm 103:4-6

We should make no mistake. God’s mercy does not get anyone off the hook for injustice or hurting the weak. The man in the parable who begged to be forgiven that debt of ten thousand talents was liable to judgement when he showed neither repentance nor mercy. There are consequences to being bullies and self-satisfied exploiters of others.  But God’s mercy builds a compassionate people: people who know their own sin and limitations and the boundless love and mercy of God. God brings us together in his love. When we come together for Communion, we share in Christ’s own broken body.

God is merciful. All the time. We live in hope and in God’s goodness.

The LORD is full of compassion and mercy,

     slow to anger and of great kindness.

He will not always accuse us,

     nor will he keep his anger for ever.

He has not dealt with us according to our sins,

     nor rewarded us according to our wickedness.

For as the heavens are high above the earth,

     so is his mercy great upon those who fear him.

As far as the east is from the west,

     so far has he removed our sins from us.

As a father cares for his children,

     so does the LORD care for those who fear him.

Psalm 103:8-13

When another sins against you

A sermon for the fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost, September 10, 2023

Trinity Episcopal Church of Morrisania, Bronx, New York

If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone.

If you take today’s Gospel lesson by itself, in isolation, it looks like an outline of a dispute resolution manual for litigation in the church. It’s often approached that way, but I think that is a big mistake. This lesson is the middle of the eighteenth chapter of the Gospel of Matthew. In this chapter, Jesus’ disciples ask him the question, “who is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven?” and he responds by pointing out the humility of a small child. Not only is the child a model for us all, but “whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.”

This chapter is about God’s welcome and God’s mercy. Today’s lesson is sandwiched between the Parable of the Lost Sheep—where the shepherd leaves his flock to go search for the single missing sheep—and the Parable of the Unforgiving Servant—where the servant is pardoned of a great crime and a great debt but then turns around and brutally deals with another servant who owed him a small amount.

The context of today’s gospel is illustrations of God’s compassion and the life of compassion—of Jesus’ expectation of generosity of spirit and energy, and of the ugly consequences of selfishness and a lack of mercy. In case you’re not familiar with the story, the Parable of the Unforgiving Servant ends thus: “ ‘Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had mercy on you?’ And in anger his master handed him over to be tortured until he would pay his entire debt.”

So this passage is about life in the community of mercy and compassion. It’s about including the little ones who might be lost, overlooked or put to the side. When Jesus says, “If another member of the church sins against you…” he’s not giving instructions on how to find the sinners and put them to right; he’s not setting as a goal tossing out all the bad people who make life miserable—what Jesus is talking about here is living together in God’s mercy.

There’s a little book by Dietrich Bonhoeffer which I go back to, pretty frequently called Life Together.  It is about life in Christian community. Bonhoeffer writes:

Christian community is not an ideal, but a divine reality. Innumerable times a whole Christian community has broken down because it had sprung from a wish dream. The serious Christian, set down for the first time in a Christian community is likely to bring with him a very definite idea of what Christian life together should be and to try to realize it.  But God’s grace speedily shatters such dreams.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, p. 26

God’s grace—in other words, God has given us a gift of a community that’s filled with imperfect people, people definitely in need of God’s mercy, and it is the gift of God that our overly perfect expectations are shattered, leaving the real community in its place. There is no Christian who is not in need of compassion—from God, and from our sisters and our brothers.  Those who think their goal should be to be so perfect or self-sufficient as to not need compassion will find themselves frustrated, disappointed, embarrassed and unhappy. And if there is someone who thinks they have no need of forgiveness or compassion, that is a very serious problem indeed, for them or anyone whose lives are affected by them.

So when Jesus says, “… go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone,” it’s not about identifying who is in the wrong, who is the sinner, who is the bad person. It is not about that at all, it is a matter of honesty among the sinners in God’s community, of communicating clearly about hurts and offenses taken. Sometimes that communication is hard or frightening, and it takes another—someone outside the relationship, someone to help communication or provide support when getting truth told is a daunting prospect.  This passage frankly acknowledges that there might be situations where relationships are so badly damaged and trust so ruptured that reconciliation won’t take place. It is clear that such things happened in the churches we know about from the New Testament and historically in every age. But Jesus is not looking for a community where there will be no disagreements or hurts. Quite the opposite, Jesus creates a community where there will be hurts and breaches of trust, and in his presence they will be healed. We are called to be the mercy of Christ and it takes real work to live that honestly and compassionately.

The lectionary chops the lessons in some odd ways sometimes, and today is one of them. Today’s lesson is followed by the parable of the Unmerciful Servant—one who asserted his rights in a brutal and uncompassionate way—a warning to those who would cleave to the values of this world rather than the mercy of God’s Kingdom. But the ending of todays’ lesson is interrupted.  Here’s how the section ends in the Gospel of Matthew:

Again, Amen I say to you, if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name. I am among them. Then Peter came and said to him, “Lord, if another brother or sister sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.”

Matthew 18:19-20

You would uproot the Wheat

A sermon for the eighth Sunday after Pentecost, July 23, 2023

Trinity Episcopal Church of Morrisania, Bronx, New York

“In gathering the weeds, you would uproot the wheat along with them.”

Cheat Grass

So the scene is the same as last week’s gospel. Jesus is still out on the boat, talking to the same people he was talking to on the beach about seeds. As the story continues, the field is planted, and inexplicably, there is an abundance of weeds growing among the grain. The word for “weed” refers to something similar to what we called “cheat grass” where I grew up. It resembles grain, except it’s inedible for people and gives little sustenance to livestock. But you can’t easily see the difference between it and grain until it starts to blossom and grow its seed. By then it has developed a root system that is much more extensive and stronger than wheat.

The servants see the problem—weeds! Invasive weeds, taking up the soil and nutrients and water! Bad thing, we must do something! Just like everybody else, they see a problem, get anxious about it, and jump to a solution. The farmer, however, looks with the eye of experience. The weeds are going to reduce his yield, there is no doubt. But if these weeds are pulled up now, the grain will be removed at a greater rate than the weeds, and the yield will go down to zero. During this cycle, the number of weeds is the number of weeds, leaving them won’t result in more, so leave them. We will get the wheat that ripens—we will deal with the weeds when there is wheat to harvest. The fruit of the wheat field will nourish people, provide bread, be sold to supply for the needs of the farmer’s household. A superabundance of weeds is only one of the ordinary calamities that typically face farmers; that make a situation that promises easy abundance into difficulty and privation. The farmer waits and judges the ripeness of the wheat. At the right time the weeds are pulled out and separated from the nourishing crop. There is a big bonfire, getting rid of the nuisance and the waste. Then the remaining wheat is gathered—and there is food for all.

So why is this, as Jesus said, like the Kingdom of Heaven?  Note first of all that this is a real-world situation—we expect a beautiful, uniform field of wheat, growing perfectly, moving from green in the springtime, to golden at harvest—but what we get is disrupted by weeds and other occurrences, that are just not ideal. I’ve been reading a little book by Dietrich Bonhoeffer called Life Together.  It is about life in Christian community. Bonhoeffer writes:

Christian community is not an ideal, but a divine reality. Innumerable times a whole Christian community has broken down because it had sprung from a wish dream. The serious Christian, set down for the first time in a Christian community is likely to bring with him a very definite idea of what Christian life together should be and to try to realize it.  But God’s grace speedily shatters such dreams.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, p. 26

God’s grace—in other words, it is the gift of God that our community is filled with imperfect people, people definitely in need of God’s mercy and it is the gift of God that our overly perfect expectations are shattered, leaving the real community in its place. And the Kingdom of God happens in the real world, a world with difficulties and disappointments.  Indeed, some of those things that happen are evil, or are the result of evil.  So, we don’t just say that whatever happens is fine, or certainly not that it is the will of God. We stand up to evil for the sake of the good of others. But we don’t go around weeding out imperfections, as if every annoyance or imperfection was evil.

Those servants were very anxious about those weeds. That’s understandable—the weeds were going to reduce the yield and make them look like they weren’t doing their job properly. But acting on that anxiety could have been utter disaster, resulting in a long winter with little or no food available. In living with imperfection and disappointment the community grows and shares in God’s love. And when evil—that is to say those forces that hurt and destroy the children of God through selfishness, fear or hatred—when evil afflicts such a community, the love of that community gives it the courage and resilience to respond and repel the evil and to be a source of life for God’s children.         

This story is not about punishment or destruction. It is about the challenge of life in the real world. Life in Christ is life in hope—a community that shares life and finds life in the mercy that God has for each of us, for all of God’s children.

St. Paul is addressing this in this morning’s epistle:

When we cry, “Abba! Father!” It is that Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ—if, in fact we suffer with him that we may also be glorified with him.

Romans 8:15-17

That reference, to “Abba” may in fact be the earliest reference we have to the Lord’s Prayer—the prayer Jesus gave his disciples—we are disciples in being God’s children: “Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.” Paul did not address idyllic and perfect Christian communities, he wrote to churches who experienced conflict or suffering. And he continues:

We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now, and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we await our adoption, the redemption of our bodies.

We are God’s people, gathered here. Our hope is in the divine reality of a community gathered in diversity and imperfection, discovering God’s mercy together.

Let us pray:

Almighty God, the fountain of all wisdom, you know our necessities before we ask and our ignorance in asking: Have compassion on our weakness, and mercifully give us those things which for our unworthiness we dare not, and for our blindness we cannot ask; through the worthiness of you Son Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Book of Common Prayer, Collect for Proper 11

Mercy, not Sacrifice

A sermon for the second Sunday after Pentecost, June 11, 2023

Trinity Episcopal Church of Morrisania, Bronx, New York

As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax booth; and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up and followed him.

How do you become a great apostle? Well, if you go by St. Matthew, what you do is show up for dinner with Jesus. That’s it. Matthew was a tax collector. Tax collectors worked, more or less, as franchisees for the Romans. They were assigned an amount of money they had to pay the Romans and their income was whatever they were able to collect over that amount. So not only were they representatives of the military occupation of Judea, but they were regarded as greedy extortionists. Consequently, they were not popular people.

So in today’s Gospel, Matthew is at work as a tax collector and Jesus comes along and invites him to dinner. Jesus doesn’t put any stipulations on his invitation. He doesn’t say: “Give up tax collecting and then I’ll invite you to dinner.” And Jesus doesn’t say anything about Matthew being a different kind of tax collector than the others—one of the “good ones,” as people like to say.

In fact, today’s reading says there were many tax collectors and sinners eating with Jesus. Sharing a meal is not something you do with an enemy or someone you hate. This was especially true for Jews in Jesus’ time. And we see that when it says that the religious people came around and were outraged by Jesus’ actions. “Why are you sharing a meal with these awful people?”

Jesus never encouraged greed or extortion. But he never considered Matthew or the other tax collectors his enemies. That’s because Jesus was a healer:

“Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.”

Matthew 9:12-13

It’s all about the mercy of God—these people were human and Jesus treated them as human; in need of healing—sinners who might require rebuking, just as Jesus rebuked his closest friend, Peter. But above and before all else human.

Being religious, being faithful, is NOT about achieving a level of probity where you are beyond reproach and able to distinguish yourself from those who are not—being faithful is about trusting God, being healed by God’s love. Abram became Abraham by trusting God, following where God led him and worshiping God when he came to the place where he was meant to be. Likewise, Matthew, who followed Jesus and had supper with him, then became his follower, ultimately remaining faithful and writing the story of Jesus’ teachings, his crucifixion and resurrection.

The Gospel story today links Jesus’ meal with the tax collectors and sinners with two interwoven stories. One of the religious leaders, perhaps from the same group that criticized Jesus, came to him because his daughter was ill—it was not only the tax collectors that were sick and in need of healing. The religious leaders were not Jesus’ enemies either, he got right up and followed the man to his house. But in the middle of all this, a woman who had been bleeding for years reached out to him; she wanted to be made well. And when she touched the fringe of his garment, what did Jesus say to her? “Your faith has made you well.” Trusting in the mercy of God, she received God’s mercy. Jesus had mercy, not just for the well-to-do tax collectors, or synagogue leader, but to this poor woman on the street. Specifically, Jesus brought healing to all manner of real people in their real situations—not just some general good for people in the abstract—but the actual illness and infirmity of these people.

And he was delayed, healing that woman—and when they arrived at the house where the sick girl was, everyone was beginning the mourning rituals because they believed she was dead. How often do we blame and grieve and resent God because the things we want are delayed while someone else gets relief? Jesus, calmly, told them to stop it, the girl was sleeping, not dead. He went inside and helped her get up.

Jesus brings the mercy of God to all of us through healing—he heals our sinful actions and inclinations, our chronic suffering, and yes, even our sickness unto death—mostly by treating us as the valuable humans that we are. We’re not his enemies, even at our worst. We are not unimportant, even at our most discouraged. We are not hopeless, even when others have given up on us.

As St. Paul says about Abraham:

But he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God, being fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised. Therefore his faith “was reckoned to him as righteousness.”

Romans 4:20

We are healed and made righteous because God is merciful to us, and we can trust God. Our faith is in the one who heals, who loves us so completely that he dwelt with us, sharing his meals with sinners and tax collectors and us. We give God the glory, because all glory belongs to the one who created us, and loves us, and has mercy even when we can’t appreciate why we should have mercy.

Hear once again, the beginning of our psalm:

Rejoice in the Lord, you righteous; it is good for the just to sing praises.

Praise the Lord with the harp; play to him upon the psaltery and lyre.

Sing for him a new song; sound a fanfare with all your skill upon the trumpet.

For the word of the Lord is right, and all his works are sure.

He loves righteousness and justice;

 the loving-kindness of the Lord fills the whole earth.

Psalm 33:1-5

In him all the Fullness of God was pleased to Dwell

A sermon for the Last Sunday after Pentecost, November 20, 2022

Grace Church West Farms, Bronx, New York

“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

It is a pleasure to be invited to be here with you at Grace Church this morning as we celebrate Harvest with you. We join to give thanks to almighty God for the bounty of the earth, for the pause after the seasons of the work of planting, cultivating, and harvesting, for the ability ­to relax and enjoy the fruits of the harvest. As we reflect on God’s generosity, we share those fruits with our fellow human beings, so that all may prosper and rejoice. We all live in the generosity of God—that generosity of his only Son, who came to live among us and gave even his life for our benefit.

Today is the last Sunday of the church year. Next Sunday is the First Sunday of Advent, the beginning of the new year, our expectation of the coming of Christ into the world. This Sunday is often called the Feast of Christ the King and on it we celebrate the kingship of Christ.

What does our Gospel reading say today about Christ the King?

“When they came to the place that is called the Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals.”

That’s a very different kind of coronation than one might get at Westminster Abbey. He was picked up and tied to the cross by soldiers, and was helpless as they lifted him up to die of torture and suffocation. The sign said: “This is the King of the Jews.” I’m sure the Romans got a laugh out of that. And they taunted him, because he did not have the power that they’d normally expect from a king.

Yet Jesus was in control, but his kingship was never like that of earthly kings. He never looked to the power of the sword, or to some divine magic power to overcome the power of the world. The robber said, “Save yourself and us!” For that robber, like for many human beings, it’s all about how we can use power and escape the consequences of how we choose to live our lives.

But what did Jesus do when he was crucified? He prayed: “Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” He died as he lived, bringing the mercy of God to all people. And that included those who use violence to ingratiate themselves with the powerful, thinking that is the way to comfort and security. What those people didn’t see was that they were killing the King of Glory, the true king who can bring true comfort and security. Jesus was praying for the soldiers, the politicians, the religious leaders, the mob, and for the two criminals who died with him, on either side of him.  Even for the one who wallowed in self-pity, the one who lashed out at Jesus, “Are you not the Messiah?” … “Father forgive them.” The king is the king of mercy, whose courage allowed him not to save himself, but to be there to bring God’s mercy.

The other criminal had the courage to face the truth—“Do you not fear God?” “We indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds…”  The pain of crucifixion did not make the first one repent, and I doubt that it made the second one either more courageous or honest; yet right there he recognized the blamelessness and truth of Jesus.

Our reading from Colossians says of Jesus: “He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation … for in him all the fullness of God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things…” Reconciliation is often used as a cheap word. As if it simply means being nice and avoiding conflict. Reconciliation requires trust on both sides, and to achieve that requires honesty and humility in all parties. For Jesus, reconciliation is anything but cheap—he faced the violence and the hatred, and he was killed, tortured to death—there is no reconciliation without facing that truth; there is nothing cheap in accepting the truth and courageously owning up to it.

St. Paul continues: “And you who were once estranged and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, he has now reconciled in his fleshly body through death…”  The mercy of God and reconciliation in Christ are not cheap, both require repentance and courage to accept the truth. And the criminal who had the courage to accept the truth about himself also had the courage to say to the King: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Deeply acknowledging our own place in the violence and injustice in this world, as this man did, takes courage; the courage to be humble enough to accept those hard realities about ourselves. But reconciliation requires a further step—the man turned toward Jesus and his Kingdom—the Kingdom of life, of justice, of reconciliation—the Kingdom of the God who resurrected Jesus Christ from the dead.

And Jesus said to that man: “Amen, I tell you. Today you will be with me in Paradise.” In Paradise—the image is of a garden. God’s garden. The garden as it was before the humans seized a fruit before it was ready, thinking that they would have the power of gods, the power that is only God’s. The image of Paradise is an image of life as it should be, as it might be from the point of view of God, in Jesus who was a man from God’s own point of view. Jesus extends a welcome into that garden, to that man beside him on the cross, and to all of us who seek his Kingdom. The cost is high, but it is within the grasp of each of us. The cost is mercy, honesty, repentance, love, and the courage to persist in following Christ when the temptation is strong to join the scoffers.

Jesus is the king we follow in real life. It is fantasy to be like so many who want to follow grandeur and wealth and power. The only truth and the only value in this world worth holding to is the compassion and faithfulness of our king. Being realistic means living for others, especially when it’s difficult and requires sacrifice. We rejoice because God has done that, and is doing that, for us.

He is the head of the body, the church;

he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead,

so that he might come to have first place in everything.

For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell,

and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things,

whether on earth or in heaven,

by making peace through the blood of his cross.

Colossians 1:18-20

Come Down! I must stay at your house Today!

A sermon for the twenty first Sunday after Pentecost, October 30, 2022

Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today!

There are two things we know about Zacchaeus: he was rich and he was short.

He wasn’t just rich; he was a chief tax collector. There are quite a few references in the Gospels to tax collectors, but this is the only reference to a CHIEF tax collector. It’s like Zacchaeus was the regional manager of tax collectors. In those days, being a tax collector was a good way to make a lot of money, because it was a franchised operation, working for the occupying Roman government, but it was not a great way to make friends among the population, who had no fondness for taxes and really did not like people who made their money by collaborating with the Roman occupation. So with his money, Zacchaeus had a lot of privilege and with his position, he had protection, since the Romans would allow no one to mess with the way they governed.

Trinity Episcopal Church of Morrisania, Bronx, New York

But Zacchaeus was also short. That is to say, very noticeably not tall. This is important, because even though it may not be a good thing, it often affects how people see a person, and the kind of respect they give him. Of course, it’s unfair, just as the extra privilege accorded to the rich and powerful is likewise unfair.

The image is that here comes this well-known healer and prophet, Jesus, walking down the main street of the town— “who knows, maybe he’s the messiah or something, maybe he’ll restore righteousness to Israel, maybe he’ll take the place of John the Baptist and start baptizing people in the Jordan (which wasn’t far away from that town of Jericho), maybe he’ll pick up where John left off when he was arrested, and show Herod and those Romans a thing or two…” The crowds were out, expecting something … and this short guy, this sinner Zacchaeus was there wanting to see Jesus as well. But he was … not popular; a sinner; regional manager of the Tax Collecting Corporation … and besides he was short. So the gathered people turned their backs on him and closed ranks, and kept him from seeing the street. But, somehow, Zacchaeus really wanted to see this Jesus guy. Being resourceful and determined, Zacchaeus saw a sycamore tree down the road—the variety that grows in Palestine has big branches that spread out, starting pretty close to the ground—so he ran ahead and climbed up in the branches.

The crowd was expecting something special from Jesus, but they weren’t expecting what happened: “Zacchaeus come on down here! I have to stay at your house today!” Those were the words of the prophet Jesus, and Zacchaeus accepted them with joy; he scrambled down out of the tree and welcomed him. So they’re walking off toward Zacchaeus’ house and everybody has an opinion—it’s not just the Pharisees and other religious leaders this time. Everybody is saying that this Zacchaeus is obviously a sinner—look at all the money he makes, and besides

… he’s short.

Jesus, of course is a great disappointment, not living up to our expectations, hanging out with short people …

I mean …

… obvious sinners.

While people are grumbling, Zacchaeus stops and explains to Jesus how he lives: “Look, Lord, I give half my possessions to the poor, and if I may have defrauded someone, I make fourfold restitution.”

One of the problems with the lectionary is that sometimes parts of the Gospel story are skipped over. In my Greek New Testament, there is another story that runs parallel to this: the story of the rich ruler. The same basic story occurs in the Gospel of Mark and it was read last year, so it’s left out of this year’s cycle of readings. In that story a clearly devout and prominent man asks Jesus what he should do to inherit eternal life, Jesus lists off the essentials of the commandments, the man affirms that he has always followed those. But then Jesus says: “Just one more thing—sell what you have, give to the poor, and come follow me.” And the man goes away sorrowful, for he was very rich. In the Gospel of Luke, these two stories are only separated by Jesus’ prediction of his death and resurrection and the healing of the blind beggar, which is only one page in the Greek. Zacchaeus, who is also rich and powerful does not go away sorrowful, but welcomes Jesus with joy. Though no one notices or believes him, he dedicates himself and his property to the Kingdom of God. The Kingdom of God takes priority over everything.

The words in Greek are a clear formulaic introduction: That is the son of Man must DO something. Conclusion: Bringing in the kingdom of God is brought about by going into the house of the notorious sinner. So also is being crucified and rising from the dead bring in the kingdom of God

Jesus said: (to put it in a very literal translation): “Today, therefore, it is necessary that I remain in your house.” This is the same formula Jesus uses when he says: “It is necessary that the Son of man undergo great suffering, and be rejected … and be killed and on the third day be raised.” Essentially, Jesus is saying, in both these instances that doing something will bring in the Kingdom of God. Staying in a notorious sinner’s house brings in the Kingdom of God, just as being crucified and rising from the dead brings in the Kingdom of God.

In our story today, Zacchaeus is an ambiguous character with a complex life—not unlike many of us, I would wager—he has plenty of privilege, and yet he’s also marginalized and despised. He is in no more likely situation to respond to Jesus than the rich ruler, and he’s in no less difficult situation to take this man into his house than we are. Jesus sought out Zacchaeus and brought salvation to his house, just as he seeks us out, to bring his healing and his Gospel to our lives and the world of our city, state and country.

We are in the middle of an important election. Early voting started yesterday and election day is a week from Tuesday. You should all vote. I will. Elections never solve everything. But in this election the faction of our population who agree with those who condemned Jesus for having mercy on Zacchaeus are really asserting themselves and if they get their way will make it much more difficult for the voices of the compassionate and generous to be heard in this country. As my former student, the Rev. Senator Raphael Warnock said, “A vote is a kind of prayer for the kind of world you want to live in.”

Jesus comes to us, in whatever circumstances, bringing healing and the Kingdom of God. Like Zacchaeus, we are called to invite him into our homes to serve him and his people.

Let us pray once more, the collect for today:

Almighty and merciful God, it is only by your gift that your faithful people offer you true and laudable service; Grant that we may run without stumbling to obtain your heavenly promises; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Book of Common Prayer, p. 235 Collect for Proper 26

This man went down to his home justified

A sermon for the twentieth Sunday after Pentecost, October 23, 2022

Trinity Episcopal Church of Morrisania, Bronx, New York

“I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other…”

When we hear today’s parable about the Pharisee and the tax collector, praying in the temple, it’s enough to make us think, “Wow, I’m glad I’m not a Pharisee!”

So who were the Pharisees?

They were the devout. They were those who were regular in attendance at worship. They observed pious practices and sought to purify their lives in accord with the commands of scripture. (The most likely derivation of the word “Pharisee” is from the word for “pure”.)

The Pharisees pledged and paid their pledge. They attended parish meetings and volunteered for committees. They really cared about their religious faith.

They were just like us.

Christians sometimes miss that. As St. Luke introduces this parable: “Jesus told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt.”

Regarded others with contempt. There is nothing further from Christian values than to regard others with contempt. Any time that we baptize new Christians we all promise to “respect the dignity of every human being.” Without that respect, there is no growth in a Christian church, no matter what anyone says. It is tempting to regard others with contempt, particularly in the current political climate of our country.  So how is it with the Pharisee in this parable? He says, “God, I thank you…” That part is good—all good is from God and we should always live our lives as thanksgiving and give voice to God in thanks as much as possible. He continues, “… that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers …”

Hmmm. He is NOT like other people. And he makes a long list in ways he’s not like other people. Included in that list are behaviors that most of us agree are bad behaviors such as theft, unrighteousness and adultery. So that makes the Pharisee irreproachable—because he’s not a thief, unrighteous, or an adulterer.

Fair enough, but now, the parable tells us that the Pharisee mentions the man standing next to him with contempt. That man, the tax collector of the story, is standing there and what is he saying? Unlike the Pharisee, he isn’t separating himself from others or categorizing others by their behavior. He says: “God be merciful to me, a sinner!”

I look around our country, and what I hear is people defending themselves by accusation, of categorizing others according to their sins or imagined sins. I myself have been angry from time to time, and in that anger characterized others as the unrighteous, and myself and my friends as the righteous. That does not lead to healing or the resolution of the situation. For me, healing only comes through reaching out to others in compassion, hearing the pain and complexity in their lives, and encouraging others in the abundance of God’s mercy.  That’s usually a long process if trust has been broken between people. It also doesn’t mean that we have to give up on our deeply-held positive values.  In some situations where trust has really been broken, the life of compassion has to be developed elsewhere, with others, not directly and quickly with those we have been in conflict.  But it is not through accusation that we find the truth, but through sharing in the mercy of God, of trying to understand the struggles and suffering of others.

The tax collector was well aware of how things were in his life. It wasn’t just that others despised tax collectors because they were associated with the Roman rule and got substantial income and privilege from their work. The tax collector also knew of the pressures and temptations to extort from some and play favorites with others that characterized the somewhat chaotic Roman system of tax farming. Getting along in that job often ended up meaning that a tax collector went along with, and practiced things that went beyond his ethical boundaries. The truth could be devastating—and the picture in this parable is of a man facing that truth.

“I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other…” There’s no easy answer in this story. But even so, the tax collector could receive God’s mercy because he was trying to live in the truth.

How common is it in our lives that we are tempted to avoid acknowledging the truth? How common that we fib to make ourselves look better? And how common is it for people to pretend that they don’t need mercy? That they don’t have to ask for forgiveness, because they can’t remember any wrong that they have done?

Think privately for yourself. When have you not respected someone else; some category of people? Whose dignity did you not respect? Perhaps put yourself in the position of the self-righteous man who disdained the tax collector …

Here, in the house of God’s mercy, it is safe to acknowledge to ourselves the ways in which we do this. God knows. And as we are healed it becomes easier to acknowledge them to ourselves, to turn them over to God at the altar, and to further respect the dignity of every person.

Jesus is here to give mercy and to welcome us into the truth.

How dear to me is your dwelling, O Lord of hosts!

My soul has a desire and longing for the courts of the Lord;

my heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God.

The sparrow has found her a house

and the swallow a next where she may lay her young;

by the side of your altars, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God.

Happy are they who dwell in your house!

they will always be praising you.

Happy are the people whose strength is in you!

whose hearts are set on the pilgrims’ way.

Those who go through the desolate valley will find it a place of springs,

for the early rains have covered it with pools of water.

They will climb from height to height,

and the God of gods will reveal himself in Zion.

Psalm 84:1-6

That the body you have broken may rejoice

A sermon for the fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost, September 11, 2022

Trinity Episcopal Church of Morrisania, Bronx, New York

Without you we are not able to please you…

Today’s lessons are about God’s active mercy.  Lots of people think that mercy and forgiveness are just passive and automatic: “God has to forgive, because that’s the nature of God, it’s no big deal, it just happens.” There’s no reason to believe that. God owes us nothing. NOTHING. To anybody. We need to take seriously that scene on the top of Mount Sinai. While Moses was away, working things out with God, the smart, self-reliant, smug, and scared people in the camp got the upper hand and decided that they had a new-fashioned solution that resembled the worship of their slave-masters in Egypt.  And God was … not pleased.

This was not why God had made of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob a numerous nation and God did not have Moses lead them out of Egypt to behave like this: “Now let me alone that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them!” It’s a mistake to think of God as a harmless old fool that you can provoke to no end and then just get what you want.  God offered to make of Moses a new people, but Moses knew that he was a part of that people, “of Abraham, Isaac and Israel, your servants,” Moses loved them and Moses interceded for them, not for himself, but for all the people. So in this story, God relents, has mercy on all the people, and puts up with all the drama that the troublesome people put in God’s way.

Jesus was dealing with his own set of grumblers in today’s Gospel. Grumblers who could find sinfulness in the people Jesus chose to hang out with, though they were less likely to see it in themselves. He tells two parables, one of a shepherd going out to find a straying sheep, the other of the frantic search for a lost coin. I’ve preached plenty of times about the sheep, and people like those sheep because they are fuzzy and cuddly, but today I’ll talk about the second parable. The two parables really are much more similar than we think. They are both about personal financial crises easily envisioned by a typical family in Jesus’ day. Jesus’ first hearers didn’t care that much about the cuteness or cuddliness of the lamb. The flock was the livelihood of that family. Likewise, in the parable of the Lost Coin, we’re not talking about loose change. The ten drachmas in question were the financial reserves of that household—representing a week or ten days pay. People then, as now, lived from payday to payday. Ten silver coins was all that there was for contingencies. Most Americans don’t have enough savings to pay for a five-hundred-dollar emergency, like a car breaking down or a trip to the hospital emergency room. So, think about it: When all you’ve got is so much less than $500 to cover a potential disaster, the loss of one-tenth of that reserve would be a very big deal.

So Jesus describes the woman doing what most of us would do when we found critical sums missing: she diligently, methodically looked in every corner of the house, every possible way to find that one coin – a whole days pay for a laborer of that time.

A while back, I lost my keyless car key that costs a lot to replace. I looked and looked and couldn’t find it. A day, or maybe two, later, Paula looked again and found it, out of the way, in a place you wouldn’t expect, where we thought we’d already looked. And we rejoiced, just like that woman who recovered her money.  I’m sure we’ve all had similar experiences.

In these parables, Jesus likens this search, this intensity and even anxiety, and rejoicing at finding the coin, to God’s search for the sinner—the one who has wandered off, who has not done what is expected of them. Which is why Jesus spent his time with people that were disapproved of by all the folk who regarded themselves as good.

God’s mercy is active. It isn’t something that we have a claim on. We can’t check a box and force God to do what we want, any more than we can force other people to do as we say, no matter how good our reasons are for wanting them to do it.  In over forty years as a priest, I can testify to this: People won’t do as you say. Or at least not as I say. God knows, and Jesus teaches, that people respond to love. We can’t program exactly how they will respond, because people are free, and they are complicated, and even when we love them, they can still be pretty messed up, especially the ones who think of themselves as pretty good. Seeing ourselves honestly, as St. Paul did, “I was a blasphemer, a persecutor and a man of violence,” as today’s epistle says—seeing ourselves honestly is how we can change, how we can accept others, and how we can know and accept God’s mercy.

God’s love for us is constant. And God will have mercy on those God chooses to have mercy on, regardless of how we think about it. We are in a world where things are changing quickly and things that appeared permanent pass away. For most of the lives of all of us, and for all of the life of some of us, Elizabeth II was Queen of England. She embodied Britain in all of its ups and downs, its institutions and character. The people of England mourn something more than the loss of a Head of State, since for many people she was something more like the country’s soul, the bearer of its identity, aspirations and how it coped with its problems. Now, she’s gone and the world has changed. God has love and mercy for those who, like Elizabeth, live and pass away. That goes for institutions and ways of doing things as well. But God also chooses to have mercy in the change, the new things that raise up, new people with different ways of doing things.  When we look for God’s mercy, we look for what is coming. Like the woman seeking that coin, we seek—not for what has been before, but diligently for what God will be doing anew.

As today’s psalm says:

For behold, you look for truth deep within me,

and will make me understand wisdom secretly.

Purge me from my sin, and I shall be pure;

wash me, and I shall be clean indeed.

Make me hear of joy and gladness,

that the body you have broken may rejoice.

Hide your face from my sins and blot out all my iniquities.

Create in me a clean heart, O God,

and renew a right spirit within me.

Psalm 51:7-11