Sermon by Pastor Doug December 11, 2011

Letter from John the Baptist to the Lutheran Church of the Incarnate Word
December 11, 2011


Dear people of the Lutheran Church of the Incarnate Word,
(By the way, though I’m not sure what “Lutheran” means, I appreciate the rest of your name “Incarnate Word”. The only way it could be better is if you would call yourself, “The Lutheran Church of the Word became Flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth; we have beheld his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father”. A bit long and complex you say? Well, since when has God ever done anything simple?)

I would deliver this message to you myself, as one sent from God, but am fearful that my appearance among you would distract you from my message. I guess one’s appearance is always the first to go when you spend as much time in the wilderness as I have. You try wearing a garment of camel’s hair and a leather girdle around your waist while sticking to a strict diet of locusts and wild honey. Let me know how that works out for you….

I don’t mean to make this letter about me. After all, I am simply a man sent from God to be a pointer: One who stands before you and points you in the direction of God.
But before I go on about my “appointed” mission, let me begin by confessing to you who I am not.
I am not the Messiah. Never have been: Never will be. I know, I know. You have been waiting your whole lives for the Messiah: The One who will make all things right. The One who will make sense of all the bad. Who will turn pain and brokenness around; and who will ultimately defeat death once and for all. Believe me, I wait for that promised Messiah right along with you.
My world, like I imagine yours, is one of tremendous hardship and injustice. There are those who have too much and those who have nothing. Even among the religious, there are those who try to live in God’s covenant of Shalom, justice and peace, while other good “religious” folk would rather worship the emperor, seeking his graven image on coins, blindly supporting his expanding empire all the while claiming God’s Blessings on Caesar. And so I, along with you, wait for the Messiah, the anointed one, to make all things right by turning the tables right side up.
If by chance you have trouble remembering this distinction between me and the Messiah, remember,
I am APPOINTED. He is ANNOINTED.

Not only am I not the Messiah, but I am not the prophet Elijah. To be sure, I wish I were half the prophet he was. The way he took on those false prophets of Baal (450 of them ) who were dedicated to Queen Jezebel and all of her injustices and defeated them brilliantly through a chili cook-off on Mt. Carmel is stuff of legend. I can only imagine what it must have been like that day to hear all the Israelites shouting at the top of their lungs, “The Lord He is God!! The Lord He is God!!”
To be sure, I am not any of those great prophets of old.
I am not the city boy, Isaiah, whose very name means, “Salvation of God”…
Nor am I that guy from the suburbs, Jeremiah, who became one of God’s prophets as a teenager…
And Amos? Who can match his harsh words denouncing Israel as well as her neighbors for reliance upon military might, for grave injustice in social dealings and shallow meaningless piety?
Nor am I the prophet Micah who understood catchy phrases that stick in peoples’ minds: Have you ever heard the phrase, “Do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with your God?” If so, you’ve heard of Micah.
No, to be sure I am not any of these. I am no celebrity and I am certainly no one’s hero. I am simply a voice. A voice who bears witness to the greater one. In fact, the Greek word used to describe my witness, by the gospel writer of John, is “Martyria” from which your English word, “martyr” derives. Kind of a reminder that this “witnessing” thing isn’t always easy and may in fact be dangerous.
The wilderness is a big place, and I am but one voice in that wilderness. You might wonder why I have spent so much time there: In such a dangerous, harsh and lonely place. Why lift my voice there? Well, if you look back in history, one cannot help but see that some of God’s best work has been done in the wilderness. Whether it was my ancient ancestors, Abraham and Sarah being led through the wilderness to be a blessing to all nations, or the Israelites finding refuge there from a murderous pharaoh in Egypt and subsequently receiving the gift of God’s Torah on Mount Sinai, God has always done big things in the wilderness.
And so here I am in the wilderness: The place where God himself is found, bearing witness to something far greater than me. Bearing witness, pointing to the fact that…
There is a new day coming, when the dawn from on high will break upon us with light and healing…
a new day coming when swords will be beaten to ploughshares…
a new day coming when the way of the Lord will be made straight….
a new day coming when those who mourn will be comforted…
a new day coming when the Sun of righteousness shall rise with beams of healing in his wings….

This new day of which I speak are not simply ancient words affixed to equally ancient paper. What I point to today is the God of the Great Cosmos coming down to earth at this particular wilderness in this particular time. And make no mistake about it, you and I know all too well what it is to live in the lonely and dangerous wilderness. But take heart, because what I proclaim to you today is that God has a special place in his heart for those who dwell in the wilderness: For those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.
And from that special place comes the promise of One who is to come:
The One who will bring good news to the oppressed…
Bind up the brokenhearted…
Proclaim liberty to the captives…
And proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

I am not the Christ. I am but one voice in this wilderness.
You are not the Christ. But do you have a voice? Do you have ears, arms and legs that can point to and be a sign of the coming of Christ? I honestly and earnestly hope so.
Without such signs, those who need most to receive his healing will not know Jesus even if he is standing in their midst.

The Visitor

"I came to your town, and because I was not born in your fair city
I was not included.

I came to your town laying claim to citizenship from what you call a 'foreign' country,
so I was not included.

I came to your town, and because I had friends of ill repute
I was not included.

I came to your town, and because I had no material possessions
I was not included.

I came to your town, and because I spoke with a different accent
I was not included.

I came to your town, and because I spoke the truth
I was not included.

I came to your town and lived and worked in the poor section
and thus was not included.

I came to your town and you did not know me.
I am the Messiah"

~Al Staggs, A Pilgrim in Rome

Pastor Doug's Healing Service Sermon Oct. 16, 2011

Isaiah 35:5-8; Luke 4:14-21


When you walked into this beautiful worship space this morning, what did you see?

I’m not talking about the dust and sawhorses just beyond the double glass doors in the former Library Narthex, or the railings painted with red primer in the southeast stairwell.

In this sacred space, what did you see?

Regardless of your entry way this morning, it would be hard to miss the four kneeling stations adorning the side aisles.


And if you have been here before and you have seen these “stations” then you know what happens....

You know that after you have heard God’s Word...
responded to it with prayer
and song...
and then tasted that Word made flesh, broken open for you in the meal of Communion...

you will be invited to kneel and receive another great gift: The gift of healing prayer and the laying on of hands...

And if you have not been here to experience this event, then I invite you to do so.

I invite you to bring your life - with all of its complications and burdens...
with all of its struggles and hardships...
with all of its pain and brokenness...

and to lay it all down on God as one of his children prays for your healing.

But before all of this happens, let me share right now what this healing liturgy is not:

It is not ‘hocus pocus’
If you bring a wheelchair, cane or walker up front with you this morning, plan on returning to your seat with it.

There will be no slapping your forehead...
no pushing you over into the arms of a “handler”...

There will be no junk piles of crutches, wheelchairs and walkers at the conclusion of our service today.

Sorry, it just won’t happen.

Not only is this healing liturgy not hocus pocus, but it is not a Divine Insurance Policy against heartache, sickness and especially death.

Even Lazarus, it is safe to assume, when he came out from the tomb at Jesus’ command died at some later time.

Nor is this healing liturgy a Get Out of Jail Free card when it comes to suffering and persecution.

Just ask the Apostle Paul what life was like for him in prison as he lived his life “in Christ”, suffering for the sake of the Gospel.

Though our healing liturgy today is clearly personal, it is not private.

Just take a look at the Litany of Healing which follows in just a few moments.

You will notice that not only do our prayers give voice to our own need for healing...
but we pray for all who suffer...
we pray for all who lead us in our world today...
we pray for the homeless...
and we even pray for our enemies...

Finally, this liturgy for healing is not a cure.

As much as I earnestly crave a magic wand that will, with the flick of a wrist, instantly take away all sickness and death...

I know that when push comes to shove, I along with you, can only sit by the bedside...

Surrounding you, or the one you love with prayer and God’s presence...

Surrounding you, or the one you love with the assurance that

beyond the sting of Good Friday, Easter Sunday is coming!


When you walked into this beautiful worship space this morning, what did you see?

Let me tell you what I see...


Not only do I see a majestic worship space adorned with four kneeling stations, but I see a pulpit and a choir loft from which the Good News of Jesus Christ is proclaimed...

I see a baptismal font in which God’s Word is mixed with and splashed around in the earthly element of water promising forgiveness and eternal life...

I see an altar table placed at the foot of a Cross where God’s Word of life is not only heard but tasted like manna in the wilderness....

Let me tell you what else I see as I look out over you this morning.

In this morning’s healing service of Word and Sacrament, I see you, people of God...

some of you coming with hearts full of thankfulness for a good diagnosis or the touch of your child’s hand in yours....
and still I see others of you whose feet are burning on the hot wilderness sands of stressful jobs, broken relationships, loss of vocation, sickness and death.

But that’s not all I see...

Here in this place we call “sacred” and in this time we call “holy”...

I see waters breaking forth in the wilderness...

I see streams in the desert...

I see burning sands becoming a refreshing pool..
and thirsty ground springs of water.

And all because the One who claims in this morning’s gospel reading to be the fulfillment of this vision, is also the One who experienced the burning sands and the thirsty ground of a wilderness Cross himself, ultimately defeating the wilderness on Easter Sunday.

His wilderness and ours...


No, we will not walk out of here this morning cured. But we will walk out of here, healed.

Healed by the Word made flesh...

Healed by the One who took on the vulnerability of our flesh and blood...

Healed by the One whose love knows no boundaries and whose life has no end.

Healed to be healers...

Healed to love God and all that God loves.

That’s what I see when I come here each and every Sunday morning looking out over these pews...

looking out over you...

you who are wounded...yet still feeding those who hunger.

you who are broken...yet still giving refuge to the least of these

you who are loved...reaching out to the unloveable.


You who are healed...healing in the wilderness.

I cannot think of a better place to be than right here...right now. In God’s Presence and in yours.

Pr. Doug's Sermon on 9/11 Anniversary

It was a brilliant morning on the East Coast.
Boston, New York and Washington were stirring to life under cloudless and deep blue skies.
The day ahead was full of promise – or at least of routine and certainty.

And then within a matter of minutes, that pristine beauty was shattered… Shattered by airplanes used as human missiles…
And with it, assumptions about a way of life were shattered.
Assumptions about an island called North America – free from the deadly reach of terrorist destruction. – SHATTERED.
Assumptions about a dangerous world only existing in other corners of the globe. - SHATTERED.
Assumptions that THEY could never get us…. SHATTERED.

Four commercial airplanes later and over 3,000 dead…America and the world simply stopped… At this very hour, 10 years ago today, our collective heart stopped beating for a moment…
We were shocked at the severity and the magnitude of such carnage and devastation.
We were shocked at the site of massive destruction that looked more like a bombed out German city of World War II than a bustling metropolis of the 21st Century.
We were shocked at the reality of our vulnerability.

There we sat for days, transfixed by endless video loops of the attack… stunned and afraid: Just waiting for the other shoe to drop...
For some other attack to occur.

But slowly we began to emerge from our bunkers of fear trying to make sense of all that had happened. And for a time, an entire nation of brokenhearted people came together with a mixture of fear, rage, sadness and confusion in this season of crisis and public mourning.

Over time however, as seasons do, this season changed. The red and yellow leaves of lament devolved into a stark season of vengeance.
Manhunts began…
Public leaders climbed into their bully pulpits taunting terrorists to attack us again with words like, “bring it on”…
And if your ethnicity just happened to resemble that of those who attacked us on 9/11, you quickly got a taste of what life was like for an entire segment of our population in the days before civil rights laws were enacted.
Over time, even some churches took their cue from this season of vengeance by publically condemning those of other religions: Especially those of the Muslim faith.
If you were a pastor of another Lutheran denomination, you were not allowed to participate in ecumenical and interfaith prayer services…
And some crusading churches even threatened to burn Korans.

Sadly, since 9/11, many have found it impossible to see God’s presence in their Muslim neighbors. Communities have fought the building of mosques and many Muslims still experience prejudice and threats.

Pillars of fire that began consuming the World Trade Centers and the Pentagon 10 years ago today, still consume us:
The longest war in U.S. History still rages because of these pillars…
Citizens are still encouraged to look upon other citizens with paranoid suspicion and to report them to authorities.



One of the most disturbing dimensions of the events of 9/11 was the fact that the terrorists who attacked that day were doing so in the name of God.
Sadly, killing for God’s sake has been one of the ugliest legacies of the human story. If you don’t share my faith, you don’t share my humanity. You are a lesser human of a lesser god.

So where do God’s people turn in the midst of the flames?
Where do followers of Christ, the Prince of Peace go from here?
As followers of the God who calls for swords to be beaten into plowshares and forgiveness of enemies to be offered freely, what words do we speak to a world hell-bent on living under the pillar of fire called “vengeance?”

Maybe, just maybe, there is a different pillar of fire that offers us hope.
A pillar of fire and cloud… not so unlike that found in this morning’s story from Exodus.
In Exodus, the pillar of fire and cloud separated enemies. There is something powerful in that. It came between and touched the army of Egypt and the army of Israel…and one did not come near the other all night we are told.
For there in that pillar and in that cloud God was working out something new…
Readying his people for a new journey – a journey marked not by fear and vengeance, but of trust and covenantal blessing.
A journey undertaken by those who had been wounded and terrorized and yet were led to a place where they could be a blessing to others…
“Wounded Healers” as Henri Nouen would put it.

“Wounded Healers” led by God to be a blessing:

You know something pretty amazing happens when fire is mixed with water…. Especially the waters of Baptism.
When fire mixes with Baptismal Water…
A cloud of grace is formed.

And from that cloud of grace, new eyes emerge.
New Eyes that see in that mysterious pillar of fire and cloud, an unpredictable God who will not be manipulated into adopting our biases and our agendas…
New Eyes that see in that mysterious pillar of fire and cloud, God’s Divine finger print leading us into lives (as wounded as we may be) of serving our neighbor…
New Eyes that see how that mysterious pillar of fire and cloud not only separates enemies, but ultimately connects them by freeing us from the shackles of paranoid suspicions and fearful bigotry…
New Eyes: Christ’s Eyes…
That see God at work in every faith and people.
There is an old Hasidic tale told by an ancient rabbi that goes something like this:

The angels were rejoicing over the deliverance of Israel at the Red Sea. They were playing their harps and singing and dancing when one of them said, “wait…Look, the Creator of the Universe is sitting there weeping!” They approached God and asked, “Why are you weeping when Israel has been delivered by your mighty hand?”
“I am weeping” said the Maker of the Universe, “for the dead Egyptians washed up on the shore- somebody’s sons, somebody’s husbands, somebody’s fathers”.

A long time ago, Jesus was asked by Peter about the mathematics of forgiveness. “How many times must I forgive when someone does me wrong?” I can just imagine the look on Peter’s face when Jesus responded: “Everytime – without limit – That’s how many times you forgive”.

These last 10 years have revealed to us that our grief is far from over and may never be. – but even in the midst of grief, there is room for healing and yes, even room for equation-defying forgiveness. For we are followers of a God who not only hears our cries, but whose son, The Prince of Peace, has worn our flesh, experienced our suffering and put a stopper in death itself.

Listen to what is said at various remembrances today and you may very well hear the drumbeats of vengeance. For it is so easy to let our anger and our grief get the better of us. An eye for an eye makes a lot of sense to the world around us.

But deep down inside: You and I know that that is not the answer. You and I know that Jesus has shown us still a more excellent way!

You and I know in our heart of hearts that now more than ever, the world needs peacemakers – and who better to be peacemakers than those who follow in the footsteps of the One they call, “The Prince of Peace?”

Pr. Doug's Sermon: October 2, 2011

Matthew 21:33-46

Can you picture Jesus preaching this parable? Can you imagine him speaking to a crowd of listeners in the temple court?

There on the edge of the crowd stand the high priests and the learned teachers: The religious leaders of Israel. And here sits Jesus – telling them a story: A story about themselves. Just a moment ago we heard how that story went:

We heard how a wealthy landowner sent agents to collect his share of the profits only to have them beaten up and sent away by the workers: Those entrusted with the vineyard’s care.

Finally the “naive” landowner sends his own son, and they kill him. “What will the lord of the vineyard do with his wicked workers?” Jesus asks. And with that the sermon is over….

You can imagine how that story went over with the religious establishment of Israel. No one likes to be labeled a “murderer”, especially religious leaders in a religious building.

The sermon was over and Jesus’ congregation began to organize a lynch mob…apparently the parable got to them.

Well, if we’re honest we’ll have to admit the parable gets to us too. We understand the story. We should, for though it is a story of Israel, it is nonetheless our story as well, and the story of the whole human race.

We have always rejected the prophets. Trace your way back through history from Oscar Romero and Martin Luther King Jr to Thomas More and Joan of Arc, back all the way to John the Baptist, Jeremiah, Amos and Elijah. We have a long record of rejecting the prophets of God.


Some we’ve killed…
Some we’ve stoned…
And some we have merely treated with silent reproach.

For generations we have tried to stop the prophets from speaking. Time and time again God has sent prophets to us and we have chased them away or we have simply walked away ourselves choosing not to be in the company of such radicals.

When you think about it, no one loves a prophet…

Prophets spot the gap between what we believe and how we behave and drive the Word of God right in between.

Prophets measure the distance between what we do and what God demands.


God wills peace on earth, then “why” says the prophet do you make or accept war in God’s vineyard?

God has given a commandment that “you shall not kill”, then “why” says the prophet do you stand idly by while your neighbor goes hungry in God’s abundant vineyard?

God says “Love your neighbor”, then “why” says the prophet have congregations of every age circled the wagons when times were tough instead of arising as the servant church God has called them to be?

God says, “Go and be a blessing to the nations”, then “why” says the prophet do you seek the blessing for yourself over and against being the blessing?



In short, we are the ones who reject God’s living Word…
We are the tenants in the vineyard who deserve eviction.

And yet I believe that this story is less about the wicked tenants and more about the absurdly patient landowner. Whereas Isaiah’s “beloved” planter uprooted his vineyard in anger when it produced “wild grapes”, the owner in Jesus’ parable does just the opposite.

He sends agent after agent who are beaten, humiliated and in some cases, even killed. Finally, as if watching a scary movie where we know something terrible awaits the protagonist just around the corner, we see the owner send his son, who himself is also murdered.


Normally an owner would move quickly with overwhelming force to claim what is rightfully his…
So what’s wrong with this owner?
How many beatings and deaths will he put up with?

The owner from Isaiah 5, the first reading this morning, knows what to do: Uproot and completely destroy: Leave no one standing.

Surely this story from Jesus’ lips to our ears is completely absurd. And yet if it is absurd, it is only absurd as a testimony to God’s astounding mercy. Like the father in the parable of the Prodigal Son, the owner here is patient with a love that will not let us go…

By our logic…
The story should have ended with a massacre. Even Martin Luther, in a rather bleak mood, once responded, “If I were as our Lord God and … people were as disobedient as they now be, I would knock the world in pieces”.

By our logic…
The workers should have been slaughtered and the vineyard turned over to new sharecroppers.

By our logic…
This parable should end violently: an Eye for an eye…a tooth for a tooth… death for death.

But Jesus will not be roped in to that kind of logic…

Knowing full well that he too will endure a grievous act of violence on a vineyard cross…thus putting an end once and for all to violence and death…

Jesus goes on to talk about a stone – a rejected stone - a rejected stone that will become the chief cornerstone. The stone upon which God’s Kingdom will be built...

God’s Kingdom…

Where a lion and lamb lie down together…

Where swords are beaten into ploughshares…

Where all share everything in common and no-one goes without…

Where the naked are clothed and the hungry are fed…

Where one’s is judged by one’s character rather than the color of one’s skin, the money in one’s bank account or the orientation of one’s life.



Murderous vineyard workers and building blocks – perhaps the strangest mixed metaphor in all of Scripture… and yet here it is placed before us.

A mixed metaphor that confronts and challenges everything we take for granted about our world and about our God…

A mixed metaphor that convicts and comforts…

A mixed metaphor that acknowledges humanity’s immense capacity for evil and God’s immense capacity to create a servant church from the dust of humanity’s sin…

A servant church led by such people as

St. Dietrich Bonhoeffer of Breslau, Germany

St. Martin Luther King Jr. of Birmingham, Alabama

St. Oscar Romero of San Salvador

St. –fill in your name-- Go ahead fill in your name. God already has…

Pr. Doug's Sermon: October 9, 2011

Matthew 22:1-14


Here we go again….


For yet another week, we get to hear Jesus tell us what the Kingdom of Heaven is like… in rather harsh terms…

Recall last week, he described it as a vineyard…

A vineyard?
Now that’s an image I like.
I can relate very well to grapes and soil and sun and rain and of course the product of all that stuff. Honestly, I have never met a grape I don’t like.


In fact, when I think of grapes and vineyards, I picture crisp autumn days around any one of our beautiful Finger Lakes, filled with vineyard and winery tours with family and friends.



So the Kingdom of God is like a vineyard? That’s great, until Jesus says a little more…

The Kingdom is like a vineyard….with evil workers on the verge of expulsion.
Well that is certainly a comforting image…

A vineyard with evil workers……


How about them apples?



“The Kingdom of God” says Jesus, “is like a royal wedding banquet”.

A royal wedding? Now that’s something that sounds appealing….

I can relate to that…..in as much as I have seen a couple of them on television over the past few years.

I mean who can forget the royal wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton? The hats alone were enough to warrant worldwide television coverage.
From Princess Beatrice’s giant sculpted bow, to Victoria Beckham’s spiky alien antenna, royal fashion was quite the topic of conversation.


So just when you thought it was safe to venture into the waters of royal wedding fashion, along comes Jesus with his own fashion statement…

As he tells a parable about a king who invited guests to a royal wedding only to find one of the guests disrespectfully attired; not wearing a wedding robe.

After offering a harsh fashion critique, the king has this guest bound and thrown out into the darkness where there is endless weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Followed by the harshest of words that conclude our gospel reading for the day: “For many are called, but few are chosen”.

The gospel of the Lord…Praise to you O Christ.

Praise to you O Christ? Really? We really concluded the Gospel reading with these words? “Many are called, but few are chosen?”


How does he do that? How is it that Jesus can take a perfectly normal, everyday and quite enjoyable image and ruin it with a parable?

Of course, I guess that’s what parables do don’t they? They take something that we know a lot about and they ruin it for us by casting it in a different light.

A light that displaces all of our assumptions…

A light that re-arranges our spiritual furniture…

A light that tells one story on the surface, but on a deeper level points to something else and challenges us to discover THAT something else.


And Jesus is no stranger to the parable….

In the 4 gospels alone, Jesus uses parables to get his point across 26 times. Add the non-canonical gospel of Thomas and you’ve got 29.

I mean if you think about it, the use of parable is brilliant.

For like a Trojan Horse of old, through the use of familiar images, the parable gets past our defenses and once there, unleashes its gospel truth: it’s Kingdom of God perspective: messing up everything for us: especially messing up the concept of “life on our terms”.


So little wonder that when we hear Jesus talking about “many” being called, but only a “few” being chosen, we begin to squirm in our Lutheran “justification by grace through faith” shoes.

I don’t know about you. But I like the concept of “justification by faith”.

I like knowing that in the Cross of Christ, God has done it all for me…

And as a result, I like thinking that nothing is required of me….

I like thinking that God loves me so much that not only did He send his son to die for me, but also that he accepts and affirms everything about me.

He affirms me when I come to church…

He affirms me when I decide to skip church this week


He affirms me when I tithe my life…

And he affirms me when I keep it all to myself.


I call this living life on my terms:

The Lutheran pastor and martyr, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, called this “cheap grace”.

Not only living life on my terms…

But living like the rest of the world…modeling my life on the world’s standards and not aspiring to live a different life under the cross of grace.

Not aspiring to live a different life under the cross of grace.

Living life under one’s own terms…

Maybe in Jesus’ royal wedding parable this morning, that was the problem with the guest who showed up without a wedding garment.

Maybe instead of coming to a wedding to become intimately connected to the king: To God, this wedding guest came looking simply for his own dietary nourishment…just came to fill his belly.

Looking only to his own needs and desires while wearing blinders to the realities around him.


But whatever the motivations of this guest, it is clear that something is expected of him…

That there is a garment he is expected to wear which differs from the one he normally wears…

A garment that is different from the ones worn by the rest of the world.


You see, I do not believe that Jesus tells this parable in order to figure out who is “in” and who is “out” of God’s Kingdom… some may translate it that way: but they would be wrong.

I believe this parable is all about how life is lived as a resident of the Kingdom of Heaven.

And how, as residents of that Kingdom, we are called to a different way of life.

A different way of life where in following Christ, we bear His Image.









Just imagine for a moment, what bearing the image of Christ could look like:



Healing…

Teaching…

Feeding…



Each of these: An image of Christ.


Being poured out….

Breaking down barriers…

Loving the unlovable…


Each of these: An image of Christ.


So here we are: Gathered before this banquet table today, not with fancy hats and classic couture worthy of a Buckingham Palace wedding, but clothed simply (through the waters of our Baptism) with a different wedding garment:
the joy and wonder of Christ…

about to share in a glorious feast...

a feast in which our King, Christ our Lord not only invites us, but dwells richly with us.

a feast in which we are fed with nothing short of God’s very own life…

a feast from which we rise, transformed, bearing the image of the crucified and risen Christ…

a feast in which we are fed and from which we feed.



But you know, after all is said and done, I still squirm and become uneasy when I hear Jesus talking in parables about God’s Kingdom:

Especially when he puts “wedding garments” and “weeping and gnashing of teeth” in the same sentence.


There is still a part of me that wants to say, “Jesus is just using harsh terms to get my attention”.

There is still a part of me that wants to lay down a Jesus disclaimer that somehow Jesus doesn’t really require every fiber of my being.

More times than not, I still want life on my terms: Not God’s.

More times than not, I want to be fed more than I want to feed.

More times than not, if I am really honest with myself, I want the image of Doug a whole lot more than the image of God.


For in God’s image, are certain expectations…

In God’s image, I have no choice but to feed, clothe and break down barriers…

In God’s image, I have no choice but to oppose systems that oppress and neglect the most vulnerable.

In God’s image, I have no choice but to be Christ to my neighbor…
Yes, every neighbor, even the ones who I would rather call “enemy”.

In God’s image, there is but one wedding garment to wear…

And that is the garment emerging from the waters of my baptism…

The garment that transforms and compels me to love God with all my heart, with all my soul and with all my strength, and to love my neighbor as myself.

Loving God….Loving neighbor.

These are the threads which when woven together comprise the wedding garment we wear this day to this feast.

No crazy hats…no glistening tiaras. No horse drawn carriages. Just love.

Whose fault is it?

The following meditation is written by Anna Carter Florence.


Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?
Why does it always come back to this question?—"Whose fault is it?"

You’re doing dishes in the kitchen when a baseball flies through the window with a crash. Picking your way through the broken glass, you peer through the hole in the window and see two boys, frozen in horror. One holds a baseball bat; the other wears a glove. They are both speechless for exactly five seconds, and then each begins to shout, pointing at the other:
"I told you not to hit it toward the house!"
"What?! You’re the one who made me stand in this spot!"
"But I didn’t hit the ball, stupid!"
"You pitched it! And it was your idea to play in the first place!"
As their voices rise in decibels and the shouting match turns ugly, you realize they are waiting for you to decide: Whose fault is it, that the baseball went through the window?

The couple sits down in the doctor’s office, waiting for her report. They have been trying for two years to get pregnant, with no success; now, they want to know why. Last week they came in for the battery of tests that will begin to give them some answers, but as the doctor sees the tension in their faces, how they are unable to look at one another or hold hands, she knows how the couple is framing their questions:
Is she the one—is it her inability to conceive?
Is he the one—is his sperm count too low?
Is it her organs that are malfunctioning?
Is it his stress that is interfering?
The doctor opens the folder in front of her and takes a deep breath. The question hangs heavy in the air: Whose fault is it, that we cannot have a baby?

It’s your twenty-fifth high school reunion, and you can’t wait to catch up with your old friends. It’s been years since you were all together. Everyone is there—everyone except Joe and Beth. "Aren’t they coming?" you ask, and your friends shake their heads, sadly. "I guess you haven’t heard," says one; "Joe and Beth are getting a divorce." You sit in stunned silence. "No!" you say, numbly; "not Joe and Beth!"
Was it an affair?
Was it a midlife crisis?
Did he hit her?
Did she drink?
"What happened?" you whisper, not even sure you want to know the truth. And there is that question again: Whose fault is it, that this marriage didn’t last?

Maybe it’s human instinct, to find fault. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, to keep the great void at bay. If we know whose fault it is, at least we have a way to understand what has happened. At least we have a way to explain our part in it. Even better, we may find a way to excuse our part in it—which is to say, to put the responsibility squarely on another’s shoulders. If our only job is to find out whose fault it is, we can be assured of some retributive satisfaction: someone will pay for what goes wrong.
Do you see this, where you are? When the basement floods, when the church budget comes up short, when the sermon falls flat, why are we so quick to ask, "How could this have happened?" And when we determine whose fault it was, why does the fault-finding so quickly turn to blame?

I’m not sure the disciples are looking to lay blame in this scene, by the way. They aren’t out for blood and retribution; they’re just curious. They really want to know: Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind? It’s a fair question for disciples to ask of their teacher, given the theological equations of the day (blindness = sickness = sin = human fault). It’s a fair question for Jesus’ disciples to ask, given the fact that Jesus keeps turning the theological tables. I think the disciples really are open to the possibility that there might be a new and different answer, here. They really want Jesus to teach them. So who sinned, Jesus?—this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?
Jesus’ answer stumps everyone, and it stumps me. No one sinned. He was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him.

No blame. No fault. Just an opportunity for God to be seen and known.
I’m going to skip the predestination question, here; it’s a fair one, but unanswerable, in my view, since this story then continues with a miraculous healing, and none of us are really in a position to step into Jesus’ shoes, in that department. What amazes me is how Jesus changes the subject. Who sinned, this man or his parents? No one sinned. No one is the cause of this. No one is the subject, here—except God, and what God might do in this situation.
For me, this changes everything. Whose fault is it, that the baseball went through the window? No one’s fault. No one is the subject, here—except God, and what God might do in this situation. So look around, boys. What do you think God is doing, here? How can we help?Whose fault is it, that this couple cannot conceive a child? No one’s fault. No one is the subject, here—except God, and what God might do now. So look around. What do you think God is doing, here? How can we be a part of it? Whose fault is it, that this marriage ended? No one’s fault. No one is the subject here—except God, and what God might do here. So look around. What do you think God is doing, here? How can we enter in?
It’s a good instinct, changing the subject.

Let God be God.
Let we who are blind be healed.

Anna Carter Florence

Reflection on Lent

The following is a reflection on Lent by The Rev. Barbara Brown Taylor. This reflection challenges each of us to ask the question: "Who am I in the story of Jesus' passion?"


Jesus was not brought down by atheism and anarchy. He was brought down by law and order allied with religion, which is always a deadly mix. Beware those who claim to know the mind of God and are prepared to use force, if necessary, to make others conform. Beware those who cannot tell God’s will from their own. Temple police are always a bad sign. When chaplains start wearing guns and hanging out at the sheriff’s office, watch out. Someone is about to have no king but Caesar.

This is a story that can happen anywhere at anytime, and we are as likely to be the perpetrators as the victims. I doubt that many of us will end up playing Annas, Caiaphas or Pilate, however. They may have been the ones who gave Jesus the death sentence, but a large part of him had already died before they ever got to him--the part Judas killed off, then Peter, then all those who fled. Those are the roles with our names on them--not the enemies but the friends.

Whenever someone famous gets in trouble, that is one of the first things the press focuses on. What do his friends do? Do they support him or do they tell reporters that, unfortunately, they had seen trouble coming for some time? One of the worst things a friend can say is what Peter said. We weren’t friends, exactly. Acquaintances might be a better word. Actually, we just worked together. For the same company, I mean. Not together, just near each other. My desk was near his. I really don’t know him at all.

No one knows what Judas said. In John’s Gospel he does not say a word, but where he stands says it all. After he has led some 200 Roman soldiers and the temple police to the secret garden where Jesus is praying, Judas stands with the militia. Even when Jesus comes forward to identify himself, Judas does not budge. He is on the side with the weapons and the handcuffs, and he intends to stay there.

Or maybe it was not his own safety that motivated him. Maybe he just fell out of love with Jesus. That happens sometimes. One day you think someone is wonderful and the next day he says or does something that makes you think twice. He reminds you of the difference between the two of you and you start hating him for that--for the difference--enough to begin thinking of some way to hurt him back.

I remember being at a retreat once where the leader asked us to think of someone who represented Christ in our lives. When it came tie to share our answers, one woman stood up and said, “I had to think hard about that one. I kept thinking, Who is it that told me the truth about myself so clearly that I wanted to kill him for it?” According to John, Jesus died because he told the truth to everyone he met. He was the truth, a perfect mirror in which people saw themselves in God’s own light.

What happened then goes on happening now. In the presence of his integrity, our own pretense is exposed. In the presence of his constancy, our cowardice is brought to light.

Barbara Brown Taylor, “Truth to Tell,” from “The Perfect Mirror,” copyright 1998 Christian Century Foundation., 89-92.