Sermon Mark 8:27-38 16 September 2018 Proper 19 Year B

         Ever said something and the minute it was out of your mouth you started backpedaling? You wished you hadn’t said it. You wanted to drop through the floor. You pretended it wasn’t your voice. Who said that anyway? Umm, uh, well I said yes, but I meant no. Even if you weren’t doing it visibly, you were squirming internally. Wishing you’d said something else.

         Peter does fine when Jesus asks the disciples who people are saying he is. Along with the other disciples, the answers are a compendium of what people are saying: John the Baptist, Elijah, one of the prophets. There are so many prophets from which to choose, after all.

But then, Jesus asks the hard question: “Who do you say that I am?” Peter, for once, gets it right. He blurts it out, “You are the Messiah.”

         I can imagine Peter was expecting Jesus to praise what he said. “Wow, Peter. You got it right! You know who I am!”

But then, as Jesus so often does, he starts saying things we don’t want to hear. Things like this: “Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, (and be killed?) and after three days rise again.”

That’s when Peter finds himself wishing he could take back his words. He tries, doesn’t he? You can practically see the smoke of his backpedaling.

Because, my new friends in Christ, we’d rather go straight to the resurrection and bypass everything else. We’d rather put a little air into something, or water a nearly dead plant, or restart an old program, and hope for the best. None of us like suffering, and none of us, if we’re honest, really want death.

Jesus is nothing if not honest. He tells us what following him really means. It can mean suffering. It can mean being ridiculed. It can mean struggling to accomplish something. It can mean a life of change as we continually learn who Jesus really is and what he is calling us to do.

So yes, Peter probably wanted to stuff those words, “You are the Messiah,” right back into his own mouth. Pretend they’d never been spoken.

Peter could play it safe by imagining someone in the crowd was right. Jesus was one of the prophets. Maybe even Elijah. That would be pretty cool. Or, he was John the Baptist come back to life.

But the Messiah? That’s something else entirely. And anyway, who said the Messiah would suffer and die. What kind of Messiah is that anyway?

Jesus was trying to tell the disciples something they didn’t want to hear. We don’t either. Who wants to be told: You have to have death before you can have resurrection. Anything else is resuscitation.    

We’re really good at doing resuscitation in the church. We constantly take things that aren’t doing well and put them on life support. We have Christian amnesia: forgetting in order to have resurrection: Death. Must. Come. First.

Being a Christian is risky business. That may be why Peter reacted the way he did. He was afraid. This story in Mark’s Gospel makes an about face. Suddenly we know Jesus is not the Messiah we thought he was. He is not a Messiah of power. He is not a Messiah of strength.

So who is this Jesus? As revealed in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus is a Messiah of vulnerable love. He is a Messiah willing to die to give us life. He is a Messiah who knows death must come before resurrected life.

When we begin to know this is the Messiah Jesus is, we are no longer tossed about by everyone else’s theory of whom Jesus is. Instead, we can allow Jesus to shape us in his image. We become a reflection of his divine self. We become people who live a life of vulnerable love. We no longer seek strength and power. We are willing to give away our strength and power. We’re willing to die to strength and power.

And the more we become people of vulnerable love, the more we will know what to answer when Jesus asks us, “But who do you say who I am?” AMEN.

The Rev Nicolette Papanek

©2018

I have not been preaching or posting during August and the first two Sundays in September. My six-week sabbatical was a move from Columbus, Ohio to Topeka, Kansas. The next post will be from Grace Cathedral in Topeka, Kansas where I now serve as Interim Dean.

Yes, it was a long drive: 700 miles (1126.5 kilometers). And yes, Glory be, my mostly Maine Coon Cat, yowled the entire 700 miles. We have both settled in well by now.

 

Sermon John 6:1-21 29 July 2018 Proper 12 Year B

         If there were ever a chronicle about fear of scarcity, it’s today’s story of feeding 5000. All four of the Gospel writers include the story. And, both Matthew and Mark have what you might call alternative versions of feeding 4000 as well.

         The reason this is a story of scarcity, well…look how the story unfolds. Nearly everything the disciples say is tinged with fear of not enough.

The first question Jesus asks is, “Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?” You’ll notice all it took was one little question and immediately the fear and scarcity start. Philip, to whom the question was addressed, replies, six months of labor would only buy enough for everyone to have a morsel, not a full belly.

Andrew chips in with his version of fear and scarcity. There’s a boy here with two fish and five loaves, but that sure isn’t going to feed everyone either. It’s starting to sound like an improv comedy act, with Jesus owning the punch line.

Let me tell you about two of the biggest lies around: fear and scarcity. There are plenty of hard times for plenty of people, and people die of starvation around the world. There is no getting around that. And yet there’s also no getting around the people who have the least give the most. In addition, we have the means worldwide to see that everyone I the world has enough to eat. What we don’t have is the will to make it happen. Sometimes I think prosperity breeds fear and scarcity.

I may have told this story before, after eighteen months and more than a hundred fifty sermons, I might repeat myself. But here’s what happens when fear and scarcity are banished by the willingness to step out into the unknown.

I was serving a church where the summers were unbearably hot and humid. It’s not unusual for homeless people there to die of heat and in the winter to die of exposure. We’d had about a week of days in excess of 105 degrees. And, another week or two of the same was predicted. I’d been thinking of what the church could do to be a cool place for people.

In walks the outreach chairperson to tell me the cool shelters where people could take refuge from the heat were full. She wanted to open the church to people who couldn’t stay cool in their own homes and to our homeless sisters and brothers. We had a nice cool undercroft, a fancy Episcopal word for basement. The space was also the parish hall and where we served free meals one Sunday a month.

The outreach chairperson and I started talking about what we’d need to open up the undercroft for shelter. We’d need lots of bottled water, we’d need things for people to eat, we’d need extra work from our janitor to keep the bathrooms clean, and let me tell you, the budget was tight and (I feel as though I should whisper this part), so was the congregation. But at some point in our conversation the outreach chair and I both realized we were giving in to fear and scarcity. We looked at one another and said, “Let’s go for it.”

Here’s what happened. As soon as it hit the local media we were opening an additional shelter, almost a dozen places called to offer donations of bottled water. A pizza place called offering to deliver all the pizzas not picked up by the people who ordered. Who knew that was even a thing? I can’t imagine ordering a pizza and not going to get it. Other food kept rolling in: a corporation had a big luncheon and brought us all the extra sandwiches from people who couldn’t attend. A soft drink distributor donated cans of soda. It just went on and on. We always had more than enough.

During that period, I walked through the undercroft at least once a day, talking to the people in the shelter, assessing any needs they might have. Many of the people asked me to sit down and pray with them. Notice: they didn’t always want me to pray for them, but with them. And people prayed in thanksgiving for the blessing of the church.

At one point, one of our regulars at the monthly meal, stopped me and said, “Pastor, what is the deal here?” I said, “What do you mean?” He said, “I don’t understand it. There’s people in and out all day and into the evenin’. When I come in here there was lots o’ pizza and other stuff and we all kep’ eating. An’ lots o’ bottled water and soda, and we all kept drinkin’ and stayin’ cool. An’ you come look at this pizza.” He took me over to the pizza and showed me all the full boxes. “See what I mean?” he said. “We just keep eatin’ an’ the boxes are alus full.”

I looked at him and he looked at me, and we both smiled. “My friend,” I said, “what you’re seeing here is the loaves and fishes story all over again. Only this time Jesus is doing it with pizza and cold drinks.” We laughed and hugged each other.

God may not provide exactly what we want. Sometimes it’s two fish and five loaves when we’d like to have something else for dinner or we think we need more for dinner. I would much rather have been able to offer those folks something healthier than pizza and soda. But I didn’t make the decision and neither did the outreach chairperson. We simply banished our fear, our scarcity, and our ideas that something had to be well planned and orchestrated to work. We opened the church to the work of God, and God made it better than we could ever have imagined.

(At the 10:15 service) or (In a few minutes) we will baptize Teddy and Lucas. Children have a way of believing impossible things. I like to think the boy with the two fish and five loaves was probably thinking something like this, “Let’s see what this guy people think is a prophet can do with my lunch.” I hope Lucas and Teddy will continue to grow into believing in God’s impossible loving actions.

My prayer for Lucas and Teddy is that they grow up surrounded by people who will help them learn Jesus is larger than any fear, greater than any scarcity, and brings us to shore immediately when we need it most.

These are my wishes for this congregation I love. To know and love Jesus ever more deeply. To be a place that draws people into that love. To be people who go out into the greater community to demonstrate that love. And to be drawn to shore by Jesus when you need it most. AMEN.

The Rev Nicolette Papanek

©2018

Sermon Mark 6:30-34, 53-56 22 July 2018 Proper 11 Year B

“Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.”

         Rest. When was the last time you rested? I mean really rested. Didn’t think about much of anything, didn’t try to solve a problem or worry about something bothering you or even read something you thought was important to know about? Or catch a television program because it would be informative and a person has to keep up, right?

         This brief Gospel reading today brackets the story of the feeding of five thousand hungry people and Jesus walking on water. So what might Jesus be getting at here when he tells the disciples to come away to a deserted place?

         One of the things you might remember is that the disciples have just arrived back from teaching and healing. No doubt they were excited. They had lots of stories to tell about what happened.

         Something you may notice is that Jesus doesn’t get to rest after all. The second half of the reading says the crowd managed to arrive even before Jesus got out of the boat. So much for rest, eh?

         But we can’t explain away or deny the invitation, and so today, I want to ask you again. When was the last time you rested? Rested from everything except drawing a breath in and out. Resting from everything except simply being, being still.

         Rest is a break, coming away from the hustle and bustle of thought and activity. It means to renew, refresh, to re-energize. It means an end to work and worry, if only for a short while. It means a time to stop doing what you were doing so you may rest.

         Some of you here claim to be retired. But I wonder…most of the people I know who are retired are busier than I am. Going here and there, traveling, doing various sorts of ministry, often caring for others: children, grandchildren, friends, spouses or partners. So for you, when was the last time you rested?

         I could imagine some of you are getting a little uncomfortable by now. Maybe even just a touch angry or restless. What is all this stuff about rest anyway? I’m fine the way I am. I haven’t got time to rest anyway!

My friends, we are not fine. A few years ago the Centers for Disease Control reported more than one-third of Americans are chronically sleep-deprived. So are teenagers and children. This is not only appalling; it’s dangerous.

         In the United States today we’re so occupied with getting and spending, we don’t have time to rest. We don’t have time to simply be. Everything we acquire takes more time to take care of, and pretty soon we’re spending all our time maintaining: home maintenance, furniture maintenance, automobile maintenance, body maintenance.

         What about God maintenance? Well, what about it? What would happen if we intentionally began to maintain our relationship with God by resting? God maintenance brings growth with God. It helps us renew, refresh, and re-energize our relationship with Jesus. God maintenance helps us grow and helps those around us grow. That’s what’s happening during the Prayer Tool Box sessions on Sunday mornings between our two services.

         Somewhere along our way, we lost the entire concept of rest, Sabbath rest. We’ve turned it into something negative. Laziness we call it. Being lazy. But just imagine for a moment our Hebrew forefathers and mothers. What do you think they thought as an enslaved people when they heard the commandment to rest? Rest? You mean we don’t have to work one day a week? Fantastic! Let me at it!

         It occurs to me we may be just as enslaved as the Israelites were. We’re enslaved to dollars, to success, to appearance, to possessions, to the Internet, and to the idea that if we’re not busy all the time we’re a failure.         

Some of this whole idea we should be busy all the time and forget being idle, or resting, has to do with what we want. Most of the time getting and spending is based in want rather than in need. Yet the most beloved Psalm of all, the most repeated and memorized Psalm, the 23^rd Psalm, reminds us, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters.” [1]

         How many of you have ended up ill or worn down or beyond cranky, because you forgot to rest? I think God knows this and “makes us lie down in green pastures” when we forget to do so and can’t go on without rest. We reach a point of “have to” or we’ll become ill.

         How about this week? To play with astronaut Neil Armstrong words, How about one small step for you and a giant step for humankind? Imagine what would happened if everyone turned to God maintenance and growth in our life together? And by here, I mean everywhere.

When you go home today find a pencil and a piece of paper. Or if you must, your cell phone. Write or type in one thing you are going to do to rest this week. Just one thing. A nap you’ll take. A shut off the cell phone day. A game you’ll play. A walk you’ll take in the labyrinth. A prayer you’ll say, perhaps one of those three essential prayers Anne Lamott talks about: “Help, Thanks, Wow.” Or a piece of harmless silliness you’ve always longed to do. Or a phone call to someone you know will make you laugh. What ever it is, save it so you remember it. Pin it up where you keep your reminders, or okay, put a reminder on your cell phone, so you’ll see it every day. Then do it. Do it.

         Call me. Email me. Tell me about it so I can say, “Wow! That’s rest!” I mean it. I’m expecting to hear from you.

As I conclude my time with you as your transition priest on 31 July, I will remember you by your stories. The sad stories and the glad stories, the ones that made me weep with you, and the ones that made me laugh with you. I want to hear your stories of rest because they will be stories of being refreshed, renewed, and re-energized.

         Jesus invites us to “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” Do it! AMEN.    

The Rev Nicolette Papanek

©2018

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[1] Psalm 23:1-2 The Book of Common Prayer, Page 476

Sermon Mark 6:14-29 15 July 2018 Proper 10 Year B

         I’m always intrigued when people tell me the Bible is boring. Now I’ll admit that reading the Bible from beginning to end in the published order is not a good idea. Most people bog down somewhere in Leviticus or Deuteronomy. Some people get tired of all that high falutin’ spiritual jargon when they get to John’s Gospel. And some of those letter writers could have used a good editor.

         I’m fascinated by all the excuses, well; let’s call them “reasons” for not reading the Bible. I mean, if there is ever a collection full of drama, cheaters, liars, murderers, mysteries, nakedness, sex, and politics, it’s the Bible!

         Take this morning’s story of the beheading of John the Baptist. Here’s what you get, if you know the whole story:

·      John the Baptist: an unkempt loud mouth who runs around in camel skins, eats locust and honey trail mix, goes out of his way to offend almost everyone he meets, and calls out government officials for their personal and political sins.

·      Herod: a mixed up guy who can’t decide if he’s Jewish or not, marries his brother’s wife, and lets his daughter dance naked in front of a bunch of guys at a party.

·      A young girl: not old enough to make a decision on her own, dancing naked, or at best in sheer veils, leaving little to any man’s imagination except what they wanted to do if they could get closer to her.

·      A woman: Ticked off for being called out for her behavior, she demands a gruesome gift from her husband: the head of John the Baptist.

I could go on, but you heard the story. The whole story seems more like a television docudrama. The story is neither covered up to be less shocking or to make it prettier. No matter how you hear it, it’s nearly impossible to deny the impulsiveness, violence and self-centeredness of most of the characters in the story. IS this the good news of Jesus Christ?

         If you want the good news here, you have to work for it. You have to look farther than one snippet or one story. You have to look at the sweep of the story and how it relates to the whole story of the life of Christ.

         John the Baptist was one of the good guys. He preached repentance, baptized those who came to him, watched for the coming of the Messiah, and when the Messiah did come, John stepped aside. He said, “He must increase, but I must decrease.”[1] But John made one fatal mistake, and it’s the one all the good guys (and gals) seem to make. They can’t keep their mouths shut. They just have to say the truth out loud, even when the truth is about the people in power. That’s where John made his mistake. He told the truth about what kind of guy Herod was, and by implication, so was Herodias. That was all it took. Herodias had a grudge against John. And Herod was foolish enough to give in to his impulses when he was delighted by a dance, and too ashamed of how he’d look to his colleagues if he went back on his word. And off went John’s head.

         Remember what happened to Jesus? He spent a lot of time critiquing the guys in power. He spoke against hunger, injustice and oppression. And he didn’t just speak; he acted. He looked at what was wrong and did something about it. Hunger? Take what you have – five loaves, two fish – and feed a few thousand. Injustice? Heal those who are the least of society: women who bleed, children who die, lepers, cast offs, and kids. Oppression? Get in the face of those doing the oppressing and tell it like it is and how it should be. And Jesus was crucified.

This is what happens to the good guys and gals, at least the ones willing to speak the truth to those in power.

         It’s fitting, I think, to talk about this particular scripture in terms of what will happen in the future at St Alban’s. Sometimes even people in a congregation tell us whatever it is we want to do its impossible. There are too many people who need a meal. Children aren’t important because the issue is greater than they are. There is no way we should try to talk back to power when we’re part of the system of power.

         Now here’s what I wonder. In a few short years, St Alban’s is coming up on 100 years. We have nearly a hundred years of stories here. Nearly a hundred years of worshiping and singing, learning and teaching, giving and receiving, eating and feeding, and maybe occasionally telling the truth to those in power and suffering for it.

We’ve had nearly one hundred years of doing our best to live out the life of Christ together, regardless of what happens to the good guys and gals. So what about the next hundred? What will people say about St Alban’s one hundred years from now?

         It’s pretty easy to keep worshiping and singing, learning and teaching, eating and feeding. Not quite as easy to think about giving so others will receive. Not quite so easy to think about telling the truth to people in power and being willing to stand firm for it, no matter what. These are the things we need to keep on doing if we want to honor our history and live into the future as the Episcopal branch of the Jesus Movement. If we want to continue as good guys and gals: worshiping and singing, learning and teaching, eating and feeding.

These are the things we’ll want to do more of: giving so others will receive both here at St Alban’s and outside these walls, and telling the truth to those in power and being willing to stand firm in that truth, no matter what.

Doing those things, my fellow and gal members of the Episcopal branch of the Jesus Movement, is how we’ll write the Gospel of St Alban’s for the future.

Scripture is the story of God working in people’s lives. The Bible is a living document, not a closed book. Who is to say we’re not writing scripture here?

Maybe one hundred years from now, someone, somewhere, will open a Bible and read “The Holy Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ as it happened at St Alban’s.” And the sweep of that story and how it relates to the whole story of the life of Christ will be what they read. It will be the story of how we became the best God wants us to be, no matter how shocking and violent the world was around us, and no matter how many people said it couldn’t be done, and no matter how many times we spoke the truth to those in power and stood firm in the truth. AMEN.          

The Rev Nicolette Papanek

©2018

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[1] John 3:30 (NRSV)