Listening for The Good Shepherd's Call

Easter 4A, 2017

Acts 2:42-47

1 Peter 2:19-25 
John 10:1-10

O God, whose Son Jesus is the good shepherd of your people: Grant that when we hear his voice we may know him who calls us each by name, and follow where he leads; who, with you and the Holy Spirit, lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

There is a story about an Easter pageant at a Christian school. The little boy had just one line in the play it was “He’s not here, he is risen.”  He must have been playing one of the angels depending on which version they were doing. But the little boy was nervous and excited and not sure he could remember his line and the teacher and his mom were there helping him. (Here’s my chance for a shout out to all those moms since I won’t be here next week. Thank you for everything, including helping us get through scary stuff like school plays!) So the little boy practiced, and practiced, “He’s not here, he is risen,” “He’s not here, he is risen,” and just before the performance of their play he said he felt confident he could do it and so they started. But, when they got to his line he froze. He got out the first part - “He’s not here,” but then he just froze. So his mom was whispering his line to him from the wings, “He’s not here, he is risen.” And she said it again, “He is risen.” And finally the boy came to himself and he said, “Oh yeah,” and then he said loudly, “He’s not here, he’s in prison!”

So today we arrive once again at what we affectionately call “Good Shepherd Sunday,” the fourth Sunday of Easter.  These readings are packed full of imagery and metaphor. The focus of this portion of the gospel of John, however, is on Jesus as the door or gate of the sheepfold.  Now, the image of Jesus as shepherd makes for a far more natural comparison than comparing Jesus to a gate. These two images are part of a richly layered, extended metaphor that speaks of sheep, shepherd, gate, gatekeeper, strangers, thieves, bandits, and wolves. All of these, except for the wolves, are introduced in the first ten verses, and all of the elements of this extended metaphor contribute to understanding who Jesus is, and who we are in relation to him.

But Jesus begins by describing who he is not. Those who climb into the sheepfold in a sneaky way are thieves and bandits who do not care about the sheep but only about their own gain (10:1). By contrast, the shepherd enters the sheepfold openly, by means of the gate (10:2). He is recognized immediately by both the gatekeeper, who opens the gate for him, and by the sheep, who know his voice (10:3). When he calls his sheep by name, they follow him, and he leads them out to pasture (10:4) where they can graze and roam safely. The sheep will not follow a stranger but instead will flee from one whose voice they do not recognize (10:5).

The function of the gate is to keep the sheep together in the sheepfold during the night, safe from thieves and predators. During the day the gate is opened so that the sheep can go out, following their shepherd, to find pasture. The gate and the shepherd work together for the well-being of the sheep, so that the flock thrives. Jesus is both the gate and the shepherd at the same time; he guards and protects his sheep from danger, and he provides for their nourishment, for their life in abundance.

It is important to note that the metaphor of the gate is not one of exclusion, it is not a license to think of ourselves as Jesus’ true sheep while we think of others as outsiders. If we use it that way, we become like the Pharisees. The purpose of the gate is not to keep out other sheep. Indeed, Jesus says (in verse 16), “I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd.”  The purpose of the gate is to guard against all that threatens the well-being of the sheep -- thieves, bandits, and wolves.

Much has been written about how sheep are rather unintelligent animals. It is true that without a shepherd, they will not necessarily be able to find food or water, and that they will easily get lost and not be able to find their way home. However, the thing that Jesus emphasizes about sheep is not that they are stupid but rather that they know the voice of their shepherd. Whatever else one can say about the mental capacities of sheep, they have this in their favor: they recognize the voice of the one who cares for them. They follow their shepherd, and they won’t follow a stranger whose voice they don’t know.

A Story: 

Winnie the Pooh went for a walk one winter morning.  Piglet saw him from a ways off while sweeping the snow from his front stoop and decided to join him.  Pooh Bear seemed to be walking in circles and Piglet was curious to see what he was up to, maybe, even if it was hunting Woozles.

Hallo!” said Piglet, “what are you doing?”

“Hunting,” said Pooh.

“Hunting what?”

“Tracking something,” said Winnie-the-Pooh very mysteriously.

“Tracking what?” said Piglet, coming closer.

“That’s just what I ask myself.  I ask myself, What?”

“What do you think you’ll answer?” asked Piglet.

“I shall have to wait until I catch up with it,” said Winnie-the-Pooh.  “Now, look there.”  He pointed to the ground in front of him.  “What do you see there?”

“Tracks, Paw-marks” said Piglet, with a jump.  And then, to show that he hadn’t been frightened, he jumped up and down once or twice in an exercising sort of way.  “Oh, Pooh!  Do you think it’s a-a-a Woozle?”

“It may be,” said pooh.  “Sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn’t.  You never can tell with paw-marks.”

The two went on from there around a spinney of trees until they came upon another set of tracks.  With increasing anxiety and excitement, they ventured on discussing at first the possibility they might be tracking “Hostile Animals” and then later they talked about trivial things to distract themselves from fear.  Around they went twice more finding more tracks each time.  When they came upon a fourth set of tracks Piglet couldn’t take it anymore and invented a lovely reason for returning to his home saying he just remembered something he forgot to do and just then, Pooh heard a noise above them, someone whistling.

He looked to the sky and saw none other than Christopher Robin sitting in the branches of a big oak-tree above them.  Their dear friend came down from the tree and comforted them with merely his presence while Pooh tried to explain why he and Piglet were walking in circles around the tree examining their own tracks in the snow.

This is my favorite story by our beloved A. A. Milne and it takes me back to a time in my life when I lived each day in childhood’s bliss of no worry but only excitement about the next adventure I might enjoy.  It was a time when I was surrounded by family and friends and everything in my life seemed cohesive.  

Here is another story from that time, a memory.  We were at a church camp, near Damascus.  I can’t remember the details, but I remember an experience I had one summer evening that has stayed with me for life, as lessons learned through experience are apt to do.

We were finishing up our day and were playing one last game.  It may have been Tag, or our more elaborate favorite, Fox and Hounds, or some new game, I don’t remember, but there was a “get ready, get set, go” called and a group of about 12 children took off running scattered into the woods.

It was a sparse grove of tall hardwoods that seemed to have spilled out of a thicker forest beyond.  I took the lead ahead of my two best friends.  We were strategizing and giggling as we ran.  I was pushing myself to run as fast as I could, probably trying to beat the boys to whatever the goal was, when it happened.

I stopped cold and realized that dusk is much darker in the woods than in the meadow I had just run from.  I was suddenly afraid to go on and turned to tell my friends but they were gone.  It was as if they had vanished into thin air.  I guess they found the ball, or whatever the goal of the game was or the game had ended, and they had returned to the meadow.  But I was left behind.  I could see no one.  In fact, I was very much alone in the dark woods.  I could hear voices in the distance, but they seemed miles away.  I stood there frozen, aware only of my panting breath and the touch of a cool evening breeze from the river nearby.

All I had to do was follow the voices back to the meadow where my mother would hug me and my father would carry me to the car.  All I had to do was follow the still laughing voices of my siblings and friends.  And I did.

But for that brief moment, I was lost.  And I knew it.  And I realized how easy it would be to get lost for good and not have such an easy way of finding home.

So, Jesus is not in prison. He is risen.  There is no need to go looking for him, he will always be there, looking for us. But it is important for us to remember to be watchful for thieves and bandits who do not care about the sheep but only about their own gain. Still, the best route in our effort to follow the Good Shepherd is not in obsessing about our own tracks in the snow but rather in listening for His voice, that voice we recognize in our hearts and when we do this we will know what to do next.

Amen.

On Methodist grandmothers, Episcopal ordination and theology discussed over a pitcher of beer.

Maw Maw died the same day I was confirmed. I have often thought she meant to spite me. I came from Methodists, staunch Methodists.

There were two Methodist bishops in Maw Maw’s lineage and as far as she was concerned, Methodism was the only way to follow Jesus. So, when I decided to seek out my discipleship in the Episcopal Church, I didn’t tell Maw Maw.

I was in seminary – as a Methodist.  It was not a good time to change horses. I could say that the reason for my conversion was that I was called to The Episcopalian Way, and this would be true, but mostly it was because I thought the Episcopalian seminarians were so cool. These were the smart ones, they took challenging classes and every Wednesday the entire group (which was small in our Methodist seminary) would celebrate the Holy Eucharist together, then walk over to the pub and discuss theology over a pitcher of beer. I wanted to be like them. It wasn’t the beer, it was the way that gathered. No one judged, no one squabbled, no one was ever absent. They really loved each other.

I wanted that kind of belonging and that is what I found when I made the switch. When I first came to The Episcopal Church I found a wonderful sense of belonging that eased the angst of my seeking. Once I learned the prayer book, the hymns, the history and doctrine and learned when to sit, kneel or stand, I felt I had come home. Most converts put it this way, that we have found our home after some searching. And there was a significant feeling of specialness in the fact that I was making the choice.

Then I found out about the hurtful things Christians do to each other. Belonging was turned into elitism. I observed power abuse, arguments over "rightness,” divisions and much weeping and wailing. And I saw lots of "belongers” leave. I learned that changing denominations doesn’t free you from pettiness and bickering. In fact, drawing this kind of "us and them” lines in the sand creates the kind of culture that can lead to getting caught up in such division.

My sense of belonging was threatened by other opinions and I wanted to fight to defend it. I wanted to stay under the steeple sipping the wine, wafer and word as if it were medicine meant just for me to feel better about me. I wanted to enjoy the fellowship in the same way, to lap up the love amongst the vestments and flowers. But, though we must "rejoice in the power of the Spirit” we are also commanded to go "forth into the world.” There is work to be done. And it is not always easy nor pretty.

Stanley Hauerwas recently said, "The greatest threat to the church today is not atheism, it is sentimentalism.” This has helped me to realize that my desire to stay under the steeple and dance and sing as if church were just a party was keeping me from following the work of my calling.

It is good to enjoy the beauty of our buildings, vestments, ancient prayers and music but what I have learned that is the most important thing about being a Christian is the imperative to seek ways to care for the poor, the sick, the lonely, the widows and orphans. This is the only way to respond to what we receive in the beauty of holiness. And it is in the response to our Lord’s command to go into the world that we are most likely to find belonging, regardless of denomination.  Changing denominations isn’t the cure.  The church is changing, following Jesus means learning to flow with the changes. Following Jesus out into the world is the way to belonging.

In response to the vision proposed at annual council by Bishop Bourlakas, to become a more missional diocese, I have experienced increased hope that we are indeed on our way to caring more for the poor than for our sentimental journeys and in the process we are reviving our parishes and our souls.

Maybe I didn’t need to leave the Methodist tradition to learn this, but I’m glad I did. As for Maw Maw, she made it to 100 and lived a good life. I’m sure she’ll understand if I find a new way to follow Jesus.

Ben Bullington Memorial

This post is the manuscript of a sermon from the memorial service for Ben Bullington that was held at St. John’s Episcopal Church, Roanoke, VA this morning, the church where Ben grew up.  He was an amazing man, according to his obituary and eulogies done by two of his siblings.  It was a lovely service and I was honored to be a part of it.  My husband was on the bulletin to preach but I felt moved to tell the story of my unlikely encounter with Ben, five days after he died.  It is a brief sermon and worth the time to dig through to the story of this encounter and what I learned from it, about Ben and about myself.  Peace.

Ben Bullington

December 28, 2013

Memorial Service for Benjamin Parrott Bullington

St. John’s, Roanoke

Psalm 121

1 Corinthians 13:1-13

Rev. Kathy Dunagan

I am not The Rev. Dr. Joe Dunagan.  I am, in fact, The Rev. Mrs. Rev. Dr. Joe Dunagan, a.k.a. Kathy.  Joe and I have both written homilies for today and we decided to use mine because I have a story I want to share with you.  Though this is a homily, not a eulogy and I did not know Ben, I feel that I know him now.

The scriptures chosen for this service are poems.  The psalmist (Psalm 121) compares faith to a reliance of safety found in the experience of gazing at the mountains that stand in ancient poses of strength all around us.  This is easy to imagine from the vantage point of this lovely Roanoke Valley and I imagine also in places like Big Timber, Missoula or Helena, MT.  Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians speaks of love, but there is a context to consider for his poetic description of love, and that is community.  Paul is in the middle of a letter reminding a struggling church that the most important and basic element of our faith is that we love each other.  The line in his poetic letter that takes this message home is in verse 12.  “To know just as I have been known.”  Indeed, what a fantastic vision to imagine life lived as a journey in which the experience of Christian community should be a perfect reflection of the love which God has first shown us in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  (James Boyce)

I have somehow always known this in my journey but today I have found a new way to understand it.  So, here is my story:

I have always wanted to live in Roanoke.  I grew up in Bristol, listening to my mother’s stories of her summers spent here as a youth when she would ride the train up from Winston-Salem in the late 30’s and early 40’s.  She brought us here as children to visit those relatives and visit places like the old Lakeside amusement park.  It seems all my friends from Emory and Henry were either from here and returned here or chose to settle here after college.  I enjoyed visiting them and wanted to live here too, but I spent most of my life in Georgia longing for Virginia, the Blue Ridge and bluegrass.

I started playing guitar when I was 13 and I was pretty good.  I could sing too and sometimes got to sit in with my older brother’s bluegrass band and sing those high harmonies in songs like “I’ll Fly Away.”  So I decided early on to try my hand at song writing.  I wrote a few songs in my teens that I hid and wouldn’t sing for anyone.  I carried a fantasy that I would one day be discovered.  I finally shared a song I wrote at the age of 21 and it went over O.K. but I realized I needed to work on it a bit more.  At 25 I was invited by a musician friend in Atlanta to write a song with him over a long weekend and we really worked on it.  By Sunday he gently told me I should give up songwriting.  I just don’t have that gift.  I was relieved.  So I followed other passions and other calls and have lived a wonderful life in ministry and counseling.

But my life long dream of living in Roanoke finally came true through a strange course of events about six months ago.  After settling in, I reconnected with an old college roommate I had not spent much time with over the past 20 years.  She said one night, “Hey. There’s a concert at the Jefferson Center next weekend.  Want to go?” and of course I did.

I had never been to the Jefferson Center.  I had never heard of Tim O’Brien or Darrell Scott.  I had never heard of Ben Bullington either.  I regretted all of those facts and simultaneously was pleased to meet each of them.  At the end of the first set Darrell told us the story of Ben who had died earlier that same week.  He pointed out that Ben had used his gifts well to pursue his passions, to enjoy his journey, to provide for his family.  Darrell also poignantly pointed out that Ben’s song writing came from a gifted place.  That Ben could be, and was, very honest and straightforward in his songs in a way that those who feel pressured to write songs for a living don’t enjoy.  Ben had the freedom to do this because he was also gifted as a physician.

And then Tim and Darrell sang Ben’s song.  (I’ve Got To Leave You Now)  They asked for no applause for themselves and the stage went black at the end and we sat in the darkness of that beautiful old concert hall and honored Ben in silence.

I was forever changed by that moment. I was moved, of course, by the song and by the performance.  I was moved by the poetry of words like “Too many men are worse than rodents” – that’s good stuff!  Or the idea that lost souls see God only as “a fabled God whose hands are full of time.”  I was moved mostly by the image of “four friends smoking on a midnight porch,” an image of that instantly connected me to that same feeling I get when I consider the strength of the mountains when I lift my eyes to them.  I realized at that moment that in some way I did know Ben, in some way I have always known, him and Tim and Darrell and every other person there.  I realized that in some way I have always lived in Roanoke.  Maybe too, it is even possible that it’s not too late to become a songwriter. (Ben didn’t until after the age of 50!)

But it was another line from Ben’s song that has haunted me.  I went home and downloaded Ben’s version from iTunes and I can’t stop listening to it.  “Our Souls might mingle in the after torch.”

I think that if I could smoke with Ben on a midnight porch I would relish in the chance to talk this one over with him.  From what I have heard about him from you, I think he would invite such a conversation.  And I think he wouldn’t mind me challenging his theology.

We were born to die.  We all face the end of our journey some day, as Ben has his.  We can only hope to face our end with as much grace and wisdom and style as Ben did.  But I believe that we don’t have to wait until the “after torch.”  I believe that our souls mingle now.  I believe, because of the strength of the mountains and the love of the community, that we are forever mingled in love now, and always will be.  And I will always appreciate Ben for bringing this to my attention.  In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Amen

Saint Nicholas Trophies

Yesterday I saw a decapitated deer carcass by the side of the road of my commute. Deer carcasses are sadly a frequency by the rural roads I travel to work, but the vehicle that may or may not have caused the death of this buck did not decapitate him. His head had been severed by a human. This was obvious to me, even in a glance. Who would do this for a trophy and leave behind the remains like so much trash for someone else to clean up?

I was left pondering such trophy hunting and remembering concern for elephants, gorillas and other victims of massacre. Then I had to ask myself what kind of trophies I seek.

I had a friend once who collected Santas. Her home was decorated for Christmas with such abundance of beauty that one couldn’t help but feel delighted and invited to express the joy of the season. She had a Christmas tree in every room of her Victorian gingerbread house. Each room had a theme, and my favorite was the Santa room. The tree in this room had only Santa Clause ornaments, as did the mantle, the wreathes, the china set out for an imaginary tea. It may sound like too much, but it was done for a tour of homes and was just for fun, and it was not overdone in that context. So I started collecting Santa’s after that. A few years later, my collection was nearly as complete as hers and my home was on the same tour and my “Santa Room” was the dining room where another friend loaned me the matching Santa china to create the sought after abundance. It was fun. It was pretty. And later I felt overwhelmed packing away all of my Santa trophies and ended up pondering the warnings that this Santa stuff has gotten out of hand.

Perhaps I can ease my confusion by learning more about the real St. Nicholas on this his feast day.

St. Nicholas often traveled on a white horse, or in some versions of the story a donkey like the Christ child before the nativity, nestled deep in the womb of Mary. He is the patron saint of various causes, particularly travelers. It was the sailors who first claimed him as their saint and told stories about him from port to port. This was the beginning of the oral tradition of a great man of God who followed Christ’s commandment to care for the poor, the widows and children, orphaned or not.

There is so much more to learn about the real St. Nick. In this way I can sort through the greed and find gratitude for the truth. I am grateful for my safe travels through these lovely Virginia mountains each day. I am grateful too for the many lovely ways we celebrate the Christ Mass. Practicing gratitude did not stop after Thanksgiving for me and this has enhanced my spiritual practice for Advent.

A couple of weeks ago I sold the last of my Santa china.  I still have a couple of my grandmother’s Santa’s packed away somewhere but for now my home is empty of any Christmas décor. We are celebrating the emptiness of Advent here, preparing and waiting and this year so far Advent has been more meaningful for it thanks in part to the thoughts of others like Sharon Autenrieth and Pamela Dolan.

Still, we must remember to pull out the decorations when the time comes. We must remember to practice joy. In spite of the fact that all the children in my life have grown past the age of Santa or elves on shelves, I must remember to spend some time with children, and widows, and the poor for this is the best way to celebrate the life of St. Nicholas, bishop of Myra and also the best way to celebrate the coming of God incarnate.

Relational Repentance, A Sermon

“Because without you we are not able to please you, mercifully grant that your Holy Spirit may in all things direct and rule our hearts.” (Collect of the Day)

Today’s readings are about repentance. We must first change ourselves before we can make change in the world. In today’s readings, Moses and God dialogue on Mt. Sinai, Jesus tells parables about finding things lost, and the lovely Psalm 51, which is only otherwise used in the lectionary on Ash Wednesday, is a chance for us to recite our plea with God to find us and bring us home in spite of our sinfulness.

We think of repentance as that thing we do once with God in order to become saved in the first place and maybe something we do when we catch ourselves backsliding as an effort to make amends with God and neighbor, but I think it is more an ongoing part of our daily life in relationship with God and each other. 

The coin did not repent, and it also didn’t get itself lost in the first place.  The lost sheep that Jesus told of may have gotten itself lost, but a dumb sheep is not capable of making amends.  The point of these parables is not about blame, it is not about the risk the shepherd made to leave the ninety-nine behind, in search of the one, nor are they about the hard work in seeking the lost, nor is it simply about making amends and seeking forgiveness, the point is about the joy of one repentant soul rejoined with community.  The point is about the joy of returning to relationship after a rift.

Today’s lesson from the Exodus narrative is Israel’s greatest moment of failure.  We could spend all week on this story, days on just the pericope before us.  But since we don’t have time for that, I ask you to bear with me while I focus in on this one point about change.

Moses was on Mt. Sinai, the first time.  This is one of the most important moments in all of history, certainly the biggest moment of his life, and he was talking directly with God Almighty, face to face, receiving the law, when suddenly, they were interrupted by The Lord’s awareness of the people at the foot of the mountain who were making a golden calf so they could worship a graven image, The Lord interrupted The Lordself and said, “Moses!  You better get down there and see about this!  Your people who you brought out of Egypt are acting up again! And I’m thinking about just getting rid of the whole sinful bunch of them and starting over!” 

So Moses, hiked all the way back down the mountain to set the people straight, and then later came all the way back up and spent anther 40 days in dialogue with God.  But the most amazing thing happens before Moses trudges back down to the wicked Israelites and their graven image making, before the rest of the story he and The Lord have a few words. The Lord was ready to smite all of them with fire and Moses was bold enough to talk The Lord out of it. 

I imagine Moses said something like, “Now wait a minute Lord.  You say my people who I brought out of Eygpt?  You started this thing!  These are your people who you brought out of Eygpt!  Then Moses made a great argument that the Lord could not refute.  And here’s the most amazing thing. In the midst of this dialogue  - The Lord changed His mind.

That’s kind of scary stuff.  Because if God can be changed by a human, than where is the sure and certain authoritative, omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, God we know, or at least think we know?

Here’s how the scholars have helped me understand this:  Christian theology is often more shaped by an insistence on divine perfection, characteristic of scholastic theology, than it is by the actual Bible itself. Brian Jones

The God of the Old Testament is not impassible; rather, God is passionately involved with us. Nor is the God of the Old Testament omniscient in terms of being unchanging. The Old Testament God freely surrenders Godself to the unpredictable course of events dictated by human freedom and therefore must adjust as history unfolds.  This is not to say that God is not all powerful and all knowing, it is a reminder though that God is all loving.

The Hebrew verb translated “changed his mind” in this passage is naham. It is a term elsewhere translated “be sorry” or “repent,” (at least when its subject is a human). It is an emotion-laden term and appropriate to a context in which one is deeply moved.  So, here, much like in the story of Noah, God repented.

By entering into a covenant relationship with Israel, God chose to risk disappointment and suffering. The Deist God of pagan religions is detached and unmoved, but the Old Testament allows for no such uninvolved view of Yahweh. The God of the Old Testament enters into relationship with us and thereby into the suffering that love entails.

The passionate, persuadable God portrayed in this passage is in accord with “the Crucified God” (Moltmann) of the New Testament. Humans cause God grief and suffering, but God does not withdraw or give up. In costly love God embraces humanity, though pierced in the act. God suffers none to be lost but pursues each wandering lamb, frantically searches for each lost coin. And when the lost turn back, God’s heart is glad.  Our task is to choose to turn back and meet God at least half way on the journey.

I prepared these thoughts during Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement which is the holiest day of the Jewish calendar.  This has me thinking of my Jewish friend Avrum Weiss.  Avrum is a psychologist in Atlanta and he recently published a book on change.  He calls it “Change Happens.”  I like the subtitle, “When To Try Harder and When to Stop Trying So Hard.”  He reports in this book that a study was done that reported that about half of Americans make New Year’s Resolutions but only 55% of them are able to sustain the resolution for more than two weeks.  He uses the example of a weight loss program.  You know, you start going to the gym more and eating less, etc. etc.  But you don’t follow through.  He says this is partly because we don’t really want to change on the inside and are merely answering external motivations, which don’t usually work.

To make his point about trying too hard, he shares a story from the classic series Frog and Toad called The Garden.  Toad asks Frog to teach him to grow a garden.  Frog gives Toad some seeds, tells him to plant them in the ground, and he will soon have a garden.

Toad went home and planted the seeds, but he got impatient because the seeds did not come up right away.  Toad talked to his seeds, sang to his seeds, he even yelled at his seeds, but still they did not grow.  Frog told Toad that his seeds were not coming up because he had scared them and if he would just leave them alone for a few days, the seeds would grow.

A few days later, when his seeds still had not come up, Toad decided the problem was that his seeds were afraid of the dark, so he sat outside all night in his garden with lighted candles and read stories to his seeds.  Then Toad fell asleep.  The next morning Frog came by and woke Toad and pointed out that little green plants were coming up out of the ground.

Toad was ecstatic, but exhausted, and said, “Your were right, Frog.  It was very hard work.”

Sometimes in our practice of repentance, we need not work so hard at making the changes ourselves but must rely on the Spirit of Creation to lead the way.  We cannot force God to do things our way yet still we cannot not change, we can only choose to stay in relationship.

I emphasized our collect of the day when I began because it has a similar double negative to this statement; we cannot not change.  It seems a cunning play on words, this prayer:  “Because without you we are not able to please you.” This collect is older than even Cranmer’s prayer book.  It seems a simple reminder that we are nothing without God.  What worth would life have if we could not try to please God?  I couldn’t find the actual author of this collect; I imagine some monk wrote it during the dark ages.  Anther more recent monk wrote a similar prayer and I will leave you with this.  It is a prayer by Thomas Merton.

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.”

Amen.

A Meditation for Tuesday in Holy Week

1 Corinthians 1:18-31

John 12:20-36

The lessons for today’s service point the way to the cross.  Now we come toward the end of our Lenten journey and prepare our hearts for the remembrance of the last days that lead up to the crucifixion.  It is sometimes difficult this time of year to slow down and tend to this task.  It is difficult to practice introspection and solemnity during Lent because of the temptations of Spring all around us.  It is difficult to look at the cruelty of the cross at any time, especially in the middle of the Cherry Blossom Festival for goodness’ sakes!

But here we are and if we are here it is because we do care about these things.  We care about taking this journey to the cross with Christ, we care about our annual re-examination of ourselves and we care about our call to follow the One who died for us.

In today’s reading from Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthian’s we are asked to focus on the cross, on this spectacle of vulnerability, shame and weakness.  It is hard to remember our Lord in this place of seemingly forsaken ridicule and pain.  Yet this is the place where God chose to be revealed to us.  Not through strength and victory but through the epitome of pain and loss.  If we want proof of divinity, we normally expect some show of force – thunder, lightning, waters dividing, heavens opening.  The last thing we expect is for God to be manifested in a moment of sheer helplessness and abandon.  And yet God has chosen to be revealed in this riddle we call the cross.

When I think of Lent I often think of hibernation.  It is a long time of rest and renewal that anticipates the warmth of springtime.  Yet much like the human world, animals seem to increasingly have difficulty keeping the tradition – perhaps because of the warming climates.  If you noticed the joke in the news and on social media last week, some of the folks up north who are dealing with all this late snow put out a warrant for the capture of the famous groundhog Punxsutawney Phil who has been indicted for falsifying the prediction of an early Spring!  “So the heat is on against Phil, and the furry rodent has been charged with misrepresentation of spring, a felony against the peace and dignity of the state of Ohio."  I suppose it is sometimes risky to come out of hibernation.  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/03/22/punxsutawney-phil-2013-prediction-forecast_n_2932895.html?utm_hp_ref=green

A couple of years ago my family visited Grandfather Mountain in North Carolina where they have a small zoo of indigenous animals, cougars, otters, eagles and bears.  It was an unusually warm day, right in the middle of winter and we were a bit amazed that we only needed light jackets on that high elevation.  We were told the bears would probably not be visible because it was during their natural time of hibernation, but there were a couple of bears out because of the unusual warmth that day.  One bear came out of his man made cave and drank some water just ten feet from where we were watching and while the children were thrilled to see a bear in his somewhat natural habitat so up-close, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was something terribly wrong going on.  Lately, it seems the world has gone crazy, perhaps all for lack of taking the time to rest, renew and ponder the deeper aspects of our lives and our faith.  There are many ways to do this from daily Yoga to weekly Sabbath to the particular way we are talking about today that we practice in the Episcopal Church of observing a Holy Lent.

In the Gospel lesson from St. John today, Jesus uses a phrase about grain to form a parable of what happens when seeds fall to the earth.  It is a metaphor for death, that we must die to live more fully.  He is speaking of his own death and resurrection but he is inviting us to die with him, both figuratively and literally.  And so while we wait for our own deaths to answer all our questions about living more fully in the next reality of heaven, each year we come to Holy Week with the opportunity to practice dying to sin, dying to ourselves by turning our lives over to the One who died for us.  We take just a peak out of our hibernation into the great beyond and on Easter morning we will see just a glimpse of the glory of eternity.

But today our task is to recognize that part of ourselves that is asleep, that is hibernating, waiting and longing.  For if we can name that in us which sleeps, perhaps we can wake it and perhaps we can participate more fully in the living of the lives God calls us to live while we wait for the bigger picture to unfold.

Here's a curious bit of information that's quite striking. Recently, archeological excavations unearthed wheat seeds in pyramids dating back to 2500 B.C. That makes these ancient seeds somewhere around 4500 years old, give or take a century. In order to determine the types of grains used in the ancient world, archeologists planted them to see what would happen. They grew! Somehow, the spark of life hung in there for four and a half millennia. What should have been long dead was very much alive. What should have been snuffed out was not. What should have been entirely hopeless wasn't. Think about it.

As we prepare our hearts for this final phase of the journey of Lent and begin these last steps of following Jesus all the way to Jerusalem, all the way to the cross, all the way to die with him, to cry with Mary, to deny with Peter, to wait in the garden, to follow Him all the way to the joyful morning on Sunday when we are reminded once again of the glorification of our faith (as St. John put it), as we prepare today, I urge you to consider that which is hibernating in you.  I hope you will see that it is never too late for the seeds of love to grow and become fruitful, in the larger story and in your life.  And while the remembering of parts of the story this week require remembering the painful stuff, be prepared to be surprised, to be awakened to the promise of new life, both all around us and from the very depths of our souls.

Amen.

In Memory of Andy Griffith - A Sermon About Answering Our Call.

Epiphany 2B

1 Samuel 3:1-10(11-20)


Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17


1 Corinthians 6:12-20

John 1:43-51

Rev. Kathy Kelly Dunagan

January 15, 2012

I love the old Andy Griffith comedy routines, the ones he put out on vinyl years before The Andy Griffith Show came to black and white TV.  You may not be old enough to remember those, but you can find them on YouTube and if you go back and listen you’ll find a true old-fashioned comedian.  One YouTube comment under my favorite recording said with surprise, “That was truly funny and he didn’t even use profanity!”  Of course, this comment came after some acronym that I think included some profanity and something about rolling on the floor laughing.

Our world has changed so much in the past 50 or so years.  There seems to be so much confusion and division and everywhere you turn there is conflict, derision and erosion in our society and culture, in our schools and communities.  I get fed up and exhausted with the loss of homogeny and the loss of mere civility in our lives today.  It seems that commercialism rules and materialism feeds the whims of that kingdom.  It seems to me that the phrase “it’s a dog eat dog world” has become more and more true. We have become profane.

I guess that’s why I long for the fantasy of living in Mayberry, the little town that was so free from crime that the sheriff didn’t even need to carry a gun.  I want to go back in time and live in a place where there is no profanity.

The readings this morning are about turning away from the profane world and following our call.  Jesus calls Andrew, Peter and in today’s lesson from John, Philip and Nathaneal.  He calls them to turn around and see the good news of God incarnate.  This is the very essence of repentance, to turn away from the profanity of the world.  In following Jesus, we have to turn and recognize him.

We may feel that we have already done that.  We have recognized Jesus as God incarnate and we have repented, we have turned from the profane to the sacred.  But we could be missing the forest for the trees.

I think that in our time, this time of profanity, this time of struggle, that we need to step back from those things that divide us, we need to step back from the profane and take a good long look at the sacred.  I think that in our time what most people long for is significance. We wonder, “What is the purpose in my life? Why am I here?” These are the ponderings that can nag for a lifetime. No one wants to live with regrets about a life given to the wrong cause. No one desires to journey through this world with a sense of purposelessness.

Rick Warren's book, The Purpose Driven Life opens with the sentence, "It's not about you." Warren reminds us that the ultimate purpose in life is to discover that there is something bigger than ourselves that is worth living for. The Gospel begins with this encounter. We encounter something worth living for. 

We began our new year on the first Sunday of Advent by beginning to retell the birth narratives we have been celebrating these past few weeks.

The Incarnation is our Encounter with God.

Encountering God is the only way to fill the void that we all have and about which Augustine penned his memorable words in his Confessions, when he wrote, “for you made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”

But we would be mistaken if we reduced the Gospel to only an individual encounter.  Church-planting consultant Alex McManus often says, "The Gospel comes to us on its way to someone else." This is the bedrock principle of following Jesus. God calls us as a means to impact others with his love. An encounter with the living God serves as a commission to introduce others to God's love and kindness.

Which brings me back Andy Griffith and to Samuel.  The reason I make this strange connection is not only because of my observation that we have lost the ideal of Mayberry where there is no profanity, but also because of my favorite story that Andy Griffith used to tell.  He used to take classics and tell them with a southern twist.  He did this with Romeo and Juliet and it is worth a listen on YouTube.  In his telling of the classic story of the famous star-crossed lovers, he uses phrases like, “Romeo fell for Miss Juliet right then and there.  He did.  And, “He was so taken by her when she walked down them stairs that he gave a soliloquy right then!” Griffith continues the story to culminate with the famous balcony scene, which he tells this way:

Romeo         Hark.  What light by yonder winder shines?

Juliet         (stepped out of her bedroom window onto this stoop she gave a soliloquy too, she did and she said)  Romeo, Romeo where for art thou Romeo?

And he popped up and said, “Well I’m right chere!”  He did.

I would love to hear Andy Griffith tell the story of young Samuel who kept going to Eli with his “here I am” line until Eli explained to him that that line was for the Lord.

Ironically, Samuel is not just answering the call from God to become a prophet, he is answering the call from God to a specific assignment that will lead to the fall of Eli.

As the first prophet of ancient Israel in the period of the monarchy, Samuel exposes the threat of monarchs who are concerned with their own security and wealth rather than the well being of their people. He calls out against ruling families throughout his career, foretelling not only the end of the leadership of Eli and his sons but also the end of Saul's kingship (in 1 Samuel 13:13-15).

Samuel thinks the voice calling him in the night belongs to Eli, but the voice belongs to YHWH, and the message is against Eli and his house. The oracle of doom for the house of Eli foreshadows the oracles Samuel delivers over the course of his life. 



In light of the very positive relationship that Samuel and Eli share, it is interesting that the reason for the judgment of Eli's house is the relationship between Eli and his own sons. Hophni and Phinehas, the sons of Eli, are blaspheming by eating the choicest parts of the sacrificial animals, the parts that are to be given to God (1 Samuel 2:12-17), and Eli has failed to restrain them.  Their appetites lead them to abuse their power, give insult to YHWH and put their own desires above the needs of the people they serve.

The tendency of the powerful to take advantage of the vulnerable is a chief concern of Samuel. When the people cry out for a king (in 1 Samuel 8) Samuel warns them against kings who seek after their own good more than the good of their people. A king "will take the best" from his people and use it for his own betterment , he said. (1 Samuel 8:11-18). The ideal ruler of the people seeks only the good of the people and reflects the concern of YHWH for the poor and powerless. 


While Samuel preached against a form of government that is less common in our day, his message is still, sadly, pertinent. The poor and powerless are still at the mercy of the strong.  Human appetite still destroys lives and livelihood.[1]

As Jesus began his ministry about a thousand years after Samuel’s call, the ways of the world were just as profane, just as they are today.  Our call is not to change to world but to tell of the Gospel fact that God has changed the world through becoming flesh and living among us.  Our call is to follow him and tell the good news, the Gospel story and in this following the Gospel will work in us, through us, in spite of us.

I want to tell you another story this morning that exemplifies an answer to God’s call.  Here is a story of a young man just entering his calling, finding himself and finding God working through him.  This story is of a new father.  I share it with you by quoting this young man’s own words directly and letting him tell you how it went.

“I sat at that table thinking about that little girl and thinking about the fact that she could be taken away from me any minute.  And I started thinking about a dedicated, devoted and loyal wife, who was over there asleep . . . and I got to the point that I couldn’t take it anymore.  I was weak . . .

“And I discovered then that religion had to be real to me, and I had to know God for myself.  And I bowed down over that cup of coffee.  I never will forget it.   . . . I prayed a prayer, and I prayed out loud that night.  I said, ‘Lord, I’m down here trying to do what’s right.  I think I’m right.  I think the cause that we represent is right.  But Lord, I must confess that I’m weak now.  I’m faltering.  I’m losing my courage.’”

“. . . And it seemed at that moment that I could hear an inner voice saying to me,  “. . . stand up for righteousness.  Stand up for justice.  Stand up for truth.  And lo I will be with you, even until the end of the world.” . . . I heard the voice of Jesus saying still to fight on.  He promised never to leave, me, never to leave me alone. No never alone.”

Three nights later as promised by the threats that caused him to feel this desperate, a bomb exploded on the porch of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s home filling the house with smoke and broken glass but injuring no one.  King took it calmly, saying, “My religious experience a few nights before had given me the strength to face it.”[2] 

It takes courage to follow Jesus.  It takes courage to stand up to your mentors, as Samuel did.  It takes courage to step back from the ways of the world and seek justice.  It takes courage to be continuously open to your calling, to be willing to “pray unceasingly” in humility before God.

We are at that point in the story, through our lectionary readings in which the Christmas child has grown up and he is calling us to grow up too.  Now is the season when the work of Christmas begins.  How will we follow him?  We can’t go back in time.  We can’t live in some fantasy world like Mayberry.  We can’t escape the reality of this world.  We are called to carry the Gospel into the world.  But we are following God.  We don’t have to figure it all out ourselves.

While you take a moment to reflect on your call, this parish’s call, I leave you with this poem.

The Call

I have heard it all my life,

A voice calling a name I recognized as my own.

Sometimes it comes as a soft-bellied whisper,

Sometimes it holds an edge of urgency.

But always it says:  Wake up, my love.  You are walking asleep.

There’s no safety in that!

Remember what you are, and let this knowing

take you home to the Beloved with every breath.

Hold tenderly who you are, and let a deeper knowing

color the shape of your humanness.

There is nowhere to go.  What you are looking for is right here.

Open the fist clenched in wanting and see what you already

hold in your hand.

There is no waiting for something to happen,

no point in the future to get to.

All you have ever longed for is here in this moment, right now.

You are wearing yourself out with all this searching.

Come home and rest.

How much longer can you live like this?

Your hungry spirit is gaunt, your heart stumbles.  All this trying.

Give it up!

Let yourself be one of the God-mad,

faithful only to the Beauty you are.

Let the Lover pull you to your feet and hold you close,

dancing even when fear urges you to sit this one out.

Remember, there is one word you are here to say with your whole being.

When it finds you, give your life to it.  Don’t be tight-lipped and stingy.

Spend yourself completely on the saying.

Be one word in the great love poem we are writing together.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer

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[1] Excerpt paraphrase of Callie Plunket-Brewton’s commentary on the passage found at: http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?tab=1&alt=1

[2] Excerpt paraphrased from Yancey, Philip, Soul Survivor, p. 20-21.