The Nineteenth Sunday After Pentecost Lamentations 1: 1 – 6
Sunday, October 3, 2010 2 Timothy 1: 1 – 14
The Rev. Bambi Willis Luke 17: 5 – 10
The Lord replied, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.”
Luke 17: 6
Give us just a little more faith, the apostles ask Jesus this morning. In the verses immediately before those we hear today, Jesus has warned the apostles about life together in the Christian community. The apostles are warned not to become stumbling blocks to others by their words or behavior and to practice unlimited forgiveness, forgiving others no matter how often they may be asked to do so. The apostles realize Jesus is asking a lot of them, more than they can do, and so ask Jesus for more faith.
In response, Jesus tells them, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.” Their faith is sufficient, Jesus tells the apostles, because faith is our trust in the power of God to do, what we, by ourselves, cannot. Trying to believe that mulberry trees can be uprooted and planted in the sea is not required; believing that God can, indeed, uproot a mulberry tree or move a mountain, is.
Our faith is rooted in a strange story that begins in the book of Genesis. After we learn that God created a beautiful world and gave humankind the responsibility to care for God’s very good creation, we next read that beginning with Adam and Eve, humankind failed pretty miserably to live up to God’s expectations, resulting in murder, mayhem and a great flood. And then, in chapter twelve, God makes a promise to Abraham.
God tells Abraham that through Abraham, God is going to make God’s very good creation, very good once more. And Abraham believed that God would do what God said God would do. Beginning with Abraham, a people is born who oddly believe that God is indeed rescuing a world gone horribly wrong and that God is doing so through them. Our faith, like that of Abraham, is our trust that God will keep God’s promise.
Now Abraham is an old man when God tells Abraham that through Abraham all the families of the world will be blessed. Abraham had every reason to believe that God was joking and absolutely no reason to believe that God could do what God said God was going to do. And when Sarah learns that she and Abraham are going to have a child, Sarah laughed.
Faith is defined only once in the New Testament. In the letter to the Hebrews we read, “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Faith is the rather absurd conviction that God will do what God has promised to do and what God has promised to do is to save us, to rescue us, to deliver us from this world of suffering and evil and death and make us and the whole world “new.” Faith is the assurance that God will keep God’s promise to us.
Faith, as a seminary professor once noted, is not how we chain God to ourselves. Having more faith will not make God any more likely to answer our prayers than the prayer of someone who has a very little bit of faith. We can be persistent and we can be encouraged by others to be faithful, but we do not tell God what to do. Faith is our trust that God knows what God is doing even if we have not a clue.
In the gospel of John, we learn that faith is a gift to us from God. The moment we fall on our knees crying: “God help me!” God is already at work, wresting from us the prideful presumption that we can solve all of our problems, be masters of our own fate or make this world turn the way we would like. Before we even utter a word, God has already convicted us that we do not have the power to do what only God can do.
Now some would have us believe that doubt has no place in the life of faith. Faith, from that point of view, is a simple childlike trust that asks no questions. In my experience children ask a lot of questions, often very profound ones, like “Why did God let grandmommy die?” Asking questions about this God in whom we put our trust is itself an act of trust, an act of trust that God is not going to disappear before our eyes simply because we start asking difficult questions.
Doubt is not the opposite of faith. The opposite of faith is fear, the fear that God just might not come through on God’s promise to rescue the world and all of us from suffering, evil and death. Fearing God is simply not out there or if God is, could care less that we are drowning, fear either paralyzes us or drives us to seek to control forces beyond our control. Fear can lead us either to utter despair or a desperate attempt to dominate a world that does not belong to us.
Unfortunately, in our culture the whole notion of trust is under suspicion. We caution our children to be wary of strangers, not welcoming. The telemarketer that calls us with a “great deal” is probably a scam and we should not trust what they say. Even in the church, that bastion of faith, we are learning how trust has been abused and abused badly. Trust no one is ultimately the message we get. Or maybe, trust, but verify.
Our verification that God is good and that God does love us and that God does want us to be well is scripture, the story of God’s people through the ages bearing witness to the impossible possibility that God is and God is acting to save us. The story is strange, filled with paradoxes, yet alive with the hope that indeed there is a God who is acting on our behalf.
I can choose to live in a world in which mulberry trees do not uproot themselves and act as if they might or I can live in a world in which mulberry trees do not uproot themselves and act knowing they never will. I can choose to live in a world in which children are not born to old people, a world in which seas are not parted and slaves set free, in a world where people do not come back to life after death but act as if all those things could happen. Or I can choose to live in a world that seems to be a place where only the strong survive; a world in which there are no miracles, simply coincidences; a world in which we really are alone and if you don’t look out for Number One no one else will. I can choose the world in which I live. Faith, if nothing else, bids us to decide.
Sunday, October 3, 2010 2 Timothy 1: 1 – 14
The Rev. Bambi Willis Luke 17: 5 – 10
The Lord replied, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.”
Luke 17: 6
Give us just a little more faith, the apostles ask Jesus this morning. In the verses immediately before those we hear today, Jesus has warned the apostles about life together in the Christian community. The apostles are warned not to become stumbling blocks to others by their words or behavior and to practice unlimited forgiveness, forgiving others no matter how often they may be asked to do so. The apostles realize Jesus is asking a lot of them, more than they can do, and so ask Jesus for more faith.
In response, Jesus tells them, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.” Their faith is sufficient, Jesus tells the apostles, because faith is our trust in the power of God to do, what we, by ourselves, cannot. Trying to believe that mulberry trees can be uprooted and planted in the sea is not required; believing that God can, indeed, uproot a mulberry tree or move a mountain, is.
Our faith is rooted in a strange story that begins in the book of Genesis. After we learn that God created a beautiful world and gave humankind the responsibility to care for God’s very good creation, we next read that beginning with Adam and Eve, humankind failed pretty miserably to live up to God’s expectations, resulting in murder, mayhem and a great flood. And then, in chapter twelve, God makes a promise to Abraham.
God tells Abraham that through Abraham, God is going to make God’s very good creation, very good once more. And Abraham believed that God would do what God said God would do. Beginning with Abraham, a people is born who oddly believe that God is indeed rescuing a world gone horribly wrong and that God is doing so through them. Our faith, like that of Abraham, is our trust that God will keep God’s promise.
Now Abraham is an old man when God tells Abraham that through Abraham all the families of the world will be blessed. Abraham had every reason to believe that God was joking and absolutely no reason to believe that God could do what God said God was going to do. And when Sarah learns that she and Abraham are going to have a child, Sarah laughed.
Faith is defined only once in the New Testament. In the letter to the Hebrews we read, “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Faith is the rather absurd conviction that God will do what God has promised to do and what God has promised to do is to save us, to rescue us, to deliver us from this world of suffering and evil and death and make us and the whole world “new.” Faith is the assurance that God will keep God’s promise to us.
Faith, as a seminary professor once noted, is not how we chain God to ourselves. Having more faith will not make God any more likely to answer our prayers than the prayer of someone who has a very little bit of faith. We can be persistent and we can be encouraged by others to be faithful, but we do not tell God what to do. Faith is our trust that God knows what God is doing even if we have not a clue.
In the gospel of John, we learn that faith is a gift to us from God. The moment we fall on our knees crying: “God help me!” God is already at work, wresting from us the prideful presumption that we can solve all of our problems, be masters of our own fate or make this world turn the way we would like. Before we even utter a word, God has already convicted us that we do not have the power to do what only God can do.
Now some would have us believe that doubt has no place in the life of faith. Faith, from that point of view, is a simple childlike trust that asks no questions. In my experience children ask a lot of questions, often very profound ones, like “Why did God let grandmommy die?” Asking questions about this God in whom we put our trust is itself an act of trust, an act of trust that God is not going to disappear before our eyes simply because we start asking difficult questions.
Doubt is not the opposite of faith. The opposite of faith is fear, the fear that God just might not come through on God’s promise to rescue the world and all of us from suffering, evil and death. Fearing God is simply not out there or if God is, could care less that we are drowning, fear either paralyzes us or drives us to seek to control forces beyond our control. Fear can lead us either to utter despair or a desperate attempt to dominate a world that does not belong to us.
Unfortunately, in our culture the whole notion of trust is under suspicion. We caution our children to be wary of strangers, not welcoming. The telemarketer that calls us with a “great deal” is probably a scam and we should not trust what they say. Even in the church, that bastion of faith, we are learning how trust has been abused and abused badly. Trust no one is ultimately the message we get. Or maybe, trust, but verify.
Our verification that God is good and that God does love us and that God does want us to be well is scripture, the story of God’s people through the ages bearing witness to the impossible possibility that God is and God is acting to save us. The story is strange, filled with paradoxes, yet alive with the hope that indeed there is a God who is acting on our behalf.
I can choose to live in a world in which mulberry trees do not uproot themselves and act as if they might or I can live in a world in which mulberry trees do not uproot themselves and act knowing they never will. I can choose to live in a world in which children are not born to old people, a world in which seas are not parted and slaves set free, in a world where people do not come back to life after death but act as if all those things could happen. Or I can choose to live in a world that seems to be a place where only the strong survive; a world in which there are no miracles, simply coincidences; a world in which we really are alone and if you don’t look out for Number One no one else will. I can choose the world in which I live. Faith, if nothing else, bids us to decide.
The Twenty-First Sunday After Pentecost Jeremiah 31: 27 – 34
Sunday, October 17, 2010 2 Timothy 3: 14 – 4:5
The Rev. Bambi Willis Luke 18: 1 – 8
Jesus told the disciples a parable about their need to pray always and not lose heart.
Luke 18: 1
This past Wednesday, joy erupted around the world as thirty-three miners trapped a half mile underground for sixty-nine days were all safely brought to the surface. On the front page of the Richmond Times Dispatch the following day was a picture of a miner kneeling in prayer after his rescue, under which bold letters proclaimed: “69-Day ordeal finally ends.” But right next to that article was another, describing the death of a Benedictine nun only four days before the mine in Chile collapsed on August 5. On August 1, a drunk driver slammed into a car in Prince William County, killing one nun and injuring two others who were on their way to a retreat. The news this week reminded us all that the world is both a place of great joy and horrific sorrow, a place in which we can find life but will never be able to escape from the shadow of death.
In our gospel reading from Luke, Jesus tells his disciples to pray always and not to lose heart. Not losing heart, a poor widow repeatedly seeks justice from an unjust judge until he finally relents and gives her what she wants. If even a poor widow can win justice from an unjust judge simply by being a pest, how much more will God, who is always faithful, hurry to our rescue? Keep praying, Jesus tells his disciples and do not give up. Keep praying, Jesus tells us, because God, in the words of a collect from morning prayer, is “the King eternal, whose light divides the day from the night and turns the shadow of death into the morning.”
Many called the rescue of the thirty-three miners a miracle. No one had heretofore survived for that long underground. Life is always a miracle and the thirty-three miners have without a doubt, journeyed through the valley of the shadow of death and lived. Miracle is maybe the only way we have of saying that where we expected to find death, we discovered life instead.
God brings forth life. And God, in whose image we are made, has instilled in us a desire for life even though we all know we will one day die. We bear witness to this desire for life whenever we pray. At the heart of all prayer is our desire for life, not death.
Pray always and do not lose heart. Luke would never have included this parable about a persistent widow and an unjust judge and the admonition to pray always and not lose heart, unless the community to which he was writing was losing heart, growing discouraged, weary that maybe this Jesus stuff was all just wishful thinking. Luke’s community lived in the same world we do, a world where terrible things happen, people kill and are killed, children are born with devastating abnormalities, a world filled with injustice, greed and hate in addition to disease, drought and devastating hurricanes. In the midst of a world filled with tragedy, death and despair, Jesus calls his disciples to pray always and not lose heart.
The story of the Chilean miners invited the world to hope, to dare to believe that maybe, just maybe, some of those miners would live and not die. As one by one, all thirty-three were rescued from their tomb, the reality was almost too good to be true. Not one miner or anyone involved in their rescue died. They had not only survived for over two months underground in close quarters and sweltering heat but had been pulled to safety without a glitch. Every now and again, things do happen that are simply too good to be true.
We live in a world in which the people that we love die, in which we, too, will one day die, a world in which the light of every day inevitably turns into the darkness of night, and in which, people suffer under burdens that are, quite simply, beyond our imagining. We are a people who live in a world haunted by the shadow of death and yet, are called not to lose heart. We are called not lose hope in God who can, and did, and will turn the shadow of death into the morning.
For sixty-nine days, thirty-three men existed never knowing whether they would live or die. The conditions under which they lived were nothing short of horrific – unremitting heat, no sunlight, limited space, without families or friends. The normal creature comforts we all use to stay sane – a hot shower, dinner with friends, a walk in the park, were not available to them. Everything that allows us to distract ourselves from the truth that we live in a world haunted by death was deprived from them. As their stories unfold, I suspect we all will learn a little more about what it means to be human, to yearn for life in a world always shadowed by death.
Very much about the successful rescue of the miners had to do with human ingenuity, the gifts God has given us. Great sums of money were spent on the rescue and even NASA was consulted. God has graced us with the means to bring forth life even though we do so always under the shadow of death. We humans are not helpless in the face of death.
But we are limited. We can further God’s purposes, work for life and not death, but we cannot overcome death. Only God can do that. From time immemorial, human beings have arrogantly believed we can do anything we set our minds to, fix all the problems of the world, do what only God can do. When our evangelist Luke was writing his gospel, the Roman Empire was bringing new life into the world with advancements in architecture, law, language, and philosophy. You and I are heirs of the glory that was Rome. But that same glorious empire which became the ground of western civilization worked hard to snuff out the life of the early church. And so Luke encourages his community to keep praying and not to give up. We are heirs not only of the glory of Rome, but the fruit of the persistence of Luke’s community in the face of overwhelming odds.
Persisting in prayer in good times and in bad, when we feel like it and when we do not, is not something we can do alone. We need others to encourage us, to pray for us, to hope for us, when we become weary and discouraged. And we will become weary and discouraged. We will not always want to drag ourselves out of bed on a Sunday morning after a long week; we will not always be deeply moved by the service; we will not always “get” something out of the sermon or be lifted to our feet by the hymns. We will always have other things we could be doing rather than coming to church.
But your presence, your choice to be here, Sunday after Sunday, week in and week out, is not all about you. Your physical presence is an encouragement to others, a visible reminder that we are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses and that we are not alone yearning for life in a world shadowed by death. Coming to church every week, persisting in the face of all that would draw us away, is a choice we make not just for ourselves but for the sake of others.
Last week in our service of Holy Baptism, we renewed the promises we made or were made for us, at our baptism. The first promise we made was “to continue in the apostles’ teaching, in the breaking of bread and in the prayers.” That is a promise to come to church. That wasn’t the only promise we made, but that was the first one. So long as we are able, I pray God will give us all the grace to keep that promise.
Sunday, October 17, 2010 2 Timothy 3: 14 – 4:5
The Rev. Bambi Willis Luke 18: 1 – 8
Jesus told the disciples a parable about their need to pray always and not lose heart.
Luke 18: 1
This past Wednesday, joy erupted around the world as thirty-three miners trapped a half mile underground for sixty-nine days were all safely brought to the surface. On the front page of the Richmond Times Dispatch the following day was a picture of a miner kneeling in prayer after his rescue, under which bold letters proclaimed: “69-Day ordeal finally ends.” But right next to that article was another, describing the death of a Benedictine nun only four days before the mine in Chile collapsed on August 5. On August 1, a drunk driver slammed into a car in Prince William County, killing one nun and injuring two others who were on their way to a retreat. The news this week reminded us all that the world is both a place of great joy and horrific sorrow, a place in which we can find life but will never be able to escape from the shadow of death.
In our gospel reading from Luke, Jesus tells his disciples to pray always and not to lose heart. Not losing heart, a poor widow repeatedly seeks justice from an unjust judge until he finally relents and gives her what she wants. If even a poor widow can win justice from an unjust judge simply by being a pest, how much more will God, who is always faithful, hurry to our rescue? Keep praying, Jesus tells his disciples and do not give up. Keep praying, Jesus tells us, because God, in the words of a collect from morning prayer, is “the King eternal, whose light divides the day from the night and turns the shadow of death into the morning.”
Many called the rescue of the thirty-three miners a miracle. No one had heretofore survived for that long underground. Life is always a miracle and the thirty-three miners have without a doubt, journeyed through the valley of the shadow of death and lived. Miracle is maybe the only way we have of saying that where we expected to find death, we discovered life instead.
God brings forth life. And God, in whose image we are made, has instilled in us a desire for life even though we all know we will one day die. We bear witness to this desire for life whenever we pray. At the heart of all prayer is our desire for life, not death.
Pray always and do not lose heart. Luke would never have included this parable about a persistent widow and an unjust judge and the admonition to pray always and not lose heart, unless the community to which he was writing was losing heart, growing discouraged, weary that maybe this Jesus stuff was all just wishful thinking. Luke’s community lived in the same world we do, a world where terrible things happen, people kill and are killed, children are born with devastating abnormalities, a world filled with injustice, greed and hate in addition to disease, drought and devastating hurricanes. In the midst of a world filled with tragedy, death and despair, Jesus calls his disciples to pray always and not lose heart.
The story of the Chilean miners invited the world to hope, to dare to believe that maybe, just maybe, some of those miners would live and not die. As one by one, all thirty-three were rescued from their tomb, the reality was almost too good to be true. Not one miner or anyone involved in their rescue died. They had not only survived for over two months underground in close quarters and sweltering heat but had been pulled to safety without a glitch. Every now and again, things do happen that are simply too good to be true.
We live in a world in which the people that we love die, in which we, too, will one day die, a world in which the light of every day inevitably turns into the darkness of night, and in which, people suffer under burdens that are, quite simply, beyond our imagining. We are a people who live in a world haunted by the shadow of death and yet, are called not to lose heart. We are called not lose hope in God who can, and did, and will turn the shadow of death into the morning.
For sixty-nine days, thirty-three men existed never knowing whether they would live or die. The conditions under which they lived were nothing short of horrific – unremitting heat, no sunlight, limited space, without families or friends. The normal creature comforts we all use to stay sane – a hot shower, dinner with friends, a walk in the park, were not available to them. Everything that allows us to distract ourselves from the truth that we live in a world haunted by death was deprived from them. As their stories unfold, I suspect we all will learn a little more about what it means to be human, to yearn for life in a world always shadowed by death.
Very much about the successful rescue of the miners had to do with human ingenuity, the gifts God has given us. Great sums of money were spent on the rescue and even NASA was consulted. God has graced us with the means to bring forth life even though we do so always under the shadow of death. We humans are not helpless in the face of death.
But we are limited. We can further God’s purposes, work for life and not death, but we cannot overcome death. Only God can do that. From time immemorial, human beings have arrogantly believed we can do anything we set our minds to, fix all the problems of the world, do what only God can do. When our evangelist Luke was writing his gospel, the Roman Empire was bringing new life into the world with advancements in architecture, law, language, and philosophy. You and I are heirs of the glory that was Rome. But that same glorious empire which became the ground of western civilization worked hard to snuff out the life of the early church. And so Luke encourages his community to keep praying and not to give up. We are heirs not only of the glory of Rome, but the fruit of the persistence of Luke’s community in the face of overwhelming odds.
Persisting in prayer in good times and in bad, when we feel like it and when we do not, is not something we can do alone. We need others to encourage us, to pray for us, to hope for us, when we become weary and discouraged. And we will become weary and discouraged. We will not always want to drag ourselves out of bed on a Sunday morning after a long week; we will not always be deeply moved by the service; we will not always “get” something out of the sermon or be lifted to our feet by the hymns. We will always have other things we could be doing rather than coming to church.
But your presence, your choice to be here, Sunday after Sunday, week in and week out, is not all about you. Your physical presence is an encouragement to others, a visible reminder that we are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses and that we are not alone yearning for life in a world shadowed by death. Coming to church every week, persisting in the face of all that would draw us away, is a choice we make not just for ourselves but for the sake of others.
Last week in our service of Holy Baptism, we renewed the promises we made or were made for us, at our baptism. The first promise we made was “to continue in the apostles’ teaching, in the breaking of bread and in the prayers.” That is a promise to come to church. That wasn’t the only promise we made, but that was the first one. So long as we are able, I pray God will give us all the grace to keep that promise.
The Twenty-Second Sunday After Pentecost Joel 2: 23 – 32
Sunday, October 24, 2010 2 Timothy 4: 6 – 8, 16 – 18
The Rev. Bambi Willis Luke 18: 9 – 14
“Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector.”
Luke 18: 10
This past Thursday, over two hundred women from around the diocese gathered in Fredericksburg for the annual meeting of the Episcopal Church Women. The keynote speaker for this event was our new assistant Bishop, Ted Gulick. In his remarks, Bishop Gulick drew our attention to a recent survey of young people concerning their perceptions of Christianity. The survey was conducted by the BARNA group, an evangelical organization that studies and researches “the role of faith in America,” according to their website.
Thousands of non-Christian young people between the ages of 16 and 29 were interviewed. 87% said that present day Christianity is judgmental; 85 % said that Christianity today is hypocritical; and 78 % said that Christianity is old-fashioned. For 91% of these young non-Christians, Christianity was routinely perceived to be “anti-homosexual.”
The survey is documented in a book titled “UnChristian: What a New Generation Really Thinks About Christianity and Why It Matters.” We have an “image problem,” the authors note on the first page. We have a problem because although Christianity may have been “the faith of our fathers,” Christianity may not be the faith of our children.
We hear this morning in our reading from the gospel of Luke, the parable of the self-righteous Pharisee and the penitent tax collector. “Thank God, I am not like that tax collector!” the Pharisee prays. And we, after hearing the prayer of the tax collector, who will not even raise his eyes up to heaven, but rather beats his breast, saying: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” leave the parable thinking how glad we are that we are not like that self-righteous Pharisee. We, good Protestants that we are, know that we are saved by grace and would never think to exalt our own righteousness.
Apparently, for many young people, we are not as humble as we think we are.
Luke wrote his gospel probably sometime around 85 A.D. to a community that included both Jews and gentiles. Not too many years before, in 70 A.D., the Roman Empire had crushed a Jewish revolt and destroyed the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem. The revolt which began in 66 A.D., culminated years of frustration as Jews sought to preserve their common life in the face of an Empire which regularly sought ways to make the Jews more Roman and less Jewish.
One of the ways Rome sought to bring Jews more in line with the party program was by levying taxes and getting Jews to collect those taxes from their fellow Jews. Tax collectors were routinely perceived to be collaborators, Roman sympathizers who were working for the enemy. No one in Luke’s community would have heard the parable we just heard without being completely surprised that the tax collector, not the Pharisee, went home justified.
Tax collectors, like Nazi sympathizers after World War II, deserved unreserved condemnation, not forgiveness.
Following the destruction of the Jewish Temple, Luke’s community struggled to forge a common life grounded in God’s grace, in God’s generous undeserved goodness first to the house of Israel and then to all the nations. No one deserved God’s favor, not Israel and certainly not tax collectors.
We live, Bishop Gulick noted on Thursday, in a graceless culture. In a graceless culture, nothing is given to us for free, we must earn everything we get, and we all have to prove our worth. In a graceless culture we are judged on our merits, rewarded for what we can do and, when we fail to live up to the expectations of our families, friends or employers, often dismissed. In a graceless culture, we might get a “second chance” but usually not unlimited forgiveness.
In the midst of this graceless culture is the church, professing faith in a generous and loving God who makes no distinction between the righteous and the unrighteous, the saint and the sinner, the tax collector and the Pharisee. God withholds God’s love from no one. And if the God we worship will only give us two chances in this life, and after that stop forgiving us, we are all in very deep trouble.
We all, I suspect, can recall times when the church failed us, when the church was not “good news” but “bad news,” when the church in whatever shape or form simply was not gracious to us. I trust we can also remember times when the church was indeed church, a grace filled community that loved us in spite of ourselves, in spite of our personalities and quirks and warts and, yes, even our convictions.
I am saddened by this survey of the BARNA group. I am saddened to think that most young people would not dare to darken our door for fear of being judged or finding that we do not live up to the truths we profess or that we are simply old fashioned, out of touch with reality. I am saddened that the “good news” has been reduced to a question about sexuality. I am saddened that so many young people see Christianity as the enemy.
And young people are not the only segment of the population who perceive the church as ungracious. Some years ago I was making a visit in a Richmond hospital and I was dressed in my collar. As I was leaving the hospital, an older woman was walking toward me in the opposite direction. As we came close, she slowed, looking me over. “Are you a nun?” she asked, to which I replied, trying not to laugh, “Oh, no! I am an Episcopal priest.” And then she asked: “Do you pray for anybody?” I was stunned and saddened to think that maybe she thought I only prayed for Episcopalians.
Living gracefully in the midst of a culture in which there is no free lunch is disorienting. The grace of God is a gift and can only be received and shared. Most of us, though, are not accustomed to getting something for nothing. Most of us when we receive a gift, endeavor to return the favor, to do something nice for someone who has done something nice for us. But just as the grace of God is not anything we can earn, we also can do nothing to pay God back for God’s amazing goodness towards us.
In the face of grace, all we can do is say “thank you,” to be grateful. And that may be the most humbling experience of all – to be grateful for a gift we neither earned nor deserved nor can possibly “pay back.” Maybe the most humbling experience for any of us is simply receiving God’s grace. We all, I would say, are far more comfortable being the giver than being the receiver.
For the past several months, as my husband and I have journeyed through his long recovery from a motorcycle accident, we have been moved beyond words by your graciousness. We have both been humbled by your care and your support and your encouragement. We have been brought to tears by what you have done and by what you have said. We are grateful beyond measure. And we both thank you.
Bishop Gulick ended his remarks to the ECW this week, by taking us back to the beginning of Luke’s gospel where the angel Gabriel greets Mary, saying: “Hail Mary, full of grace!” Mary has been graced by God to bear the savior of the world into the world. And Mary breaks forth in the words of the Magnificat:
“My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,
my spirit rejoices in God my Savior;
for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.”
God has poured out God’s grace upon us as well, and sends us out into the world “to lift up the lowly” and “fill the hungry with good things” so that the whole world may know of the grace, mercy and peace of Christ.
Sunday, October 24, 2010 2 Timothy 4: 6 – 8, 16 – 18
The Rev. Bambi Willis Luke 18: 9 – 14
“Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector.”
Luke 18: 10
This past Thursday, over two hundred women from around the diocese gathered in Fredericksburg for the annual meeting of the Episcopal Church Women. The keynote speaker for this event was our new assistant Bishop, Ted Gulick. In his remarks, Bishop Gulick drew our attention to a recent survey of young people concerning their perceptions of Christianity. The survey was conducted by the BARNA group, an evangelical organization that studies and researches “the role of faith in America,” according to their website.
Thousands of non-Christian young people between the ages of 16 and 29 were interviewed. 87% said that present day Christianity is judgmental; 85 % said that Christianity today is hypocritical; and 78 % said that Christianity is old-fashioned. For 91% of these young non-Christians, Christianity was routinely perceived to be “anti-homosexual.”
The survey is documented in a book titled “UnChristian: What a New Generation Really Thinks About Christianity and Why It Matters.” We have an “image problem,” the authors note on the first page. We have a problem because although Christianity may have been “the faith of our fathers,” Christianity may not be the faith of our children.
We hear this morning in our reading from the gospel of Luke, the parable of the self-righteous Pharisee and the penitent tax collector. “Thank God, I am not like that tax collector!” the Pharisee prays. And we, after hearing the prayer of the tax collector, who will not even raise his eyes up to heaven, but rather beats his breast, saying: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” leave the parable thinking how glad we are that we are not like that self-righteous Pharisee. We, good Protestants that we are, know that we are saved by grace and would never think to exalt our own righteousness.
Apparently, for many young people, we are not as humble as we think we are.
Luke wrote his gospel probably sometime around 85 A.D. to a community that included both Jews and gentiles. Not too many years before, in 70 A.D., the Roman Empire had crushed a Jewish revolt and destroyed the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem. The revolt which began in 66 A.D., culminated years of frustration as Jews sought to preserve their common life in the face of an Empire which regularly sought ways to make the Jews more Roman and less Jewish.
One of the ways Rome sought to bring Jews more in line with the party program was by levying taxes and getting Jews to collect those taxes from their fellow Jews. Tax collectors were routinely perceived to be collaborators, Roman sympathizers who were working for the enemy. No one in Luke’s community would have heard the parable we just heard without being completely surprised that the tax collector, not the Pharisee, went home justified.
Tax collectors, like Nazi sympathizers after World War II, deserved unreserved condemnation, not forgiveness.
Following the destruction of the Jewish Temple, Luke’s community struggled to forge a common life grounded in God’s grace, in God’s generous undeserved goodness first to the house of Israel and then to all the nations. No one deserved God’s favor, not Israel and certainly not tax collectors.
We live, Bishop Gulick noted on Thursday, in a graceless culture. In a graceless culture, nothing is given to us for free, we must earn everything we get, and we all have to prove our worth. In a graceless culture we are judged on our merits, rewarded for what we can do and, when we fail to live up to the expectations of our families, friends or employers, often dismissed. In a graceless culture, we might get a “second chance” but usually not unlimited forgiveness.
In the midst of this graceless culture is the church, professing faith in a generous and loving God who makes no distinction between the righteous and the unrighteous, the saint and the sinner, the tax collector and the Pharisee. God withholds God’s love from no one. And if the God we worship will only give us two chances in this life, and after that stop forgiving us, we are all in very deep trouble.
We all, I suspect, can recall times when the church failed us, when the church was not “good news” but “bad news,” when the church in whatever shape or form simply was not gracious to us. I trust we can also remember times when the church was indeed church, a grace filled community that loved us in spite of ourselves, in spite of our personalities and quirks and warts and, yes, even our convictions.
I am saddened by this survey of the BARNA group. I am saddened to think that most young people would not dare to darken our door for fear of being judged or finding that we do not live up to the truths we profess or that we are simply old fashioned, out of touch with reality. I am saddened that the “good news” has been reduced to a question about sexuality. I am saddened that so many young people see Christianity as the enemy.
And young people are not the only segment of the population who perceive the church as ungracious. Some years ago I was making a visit in a Richmond hospital and I was dressed in my collar. As I was leaving the hospital, an older woman was walking toward me in the opposite direction. As we came close, she slowed, looking me over. “Are you a nun?” she asked, to which I replied, trying not to laugh, “Oh, no! I am an Episcopal priest.” And then she asked: “Do you pray for anybody?” I was stunned and saddened to think that maybe she thought I only prayed for Episcopalians.
Living gracefully in the midst of a culture in which there is no free lunch is disorienting. The grace of God is a gift and can only be received and shared. Most of us, though, are not accustomed to getting something for nothing. Most of us when we receive a gift, endeavor to return the favor, to do something nice for someone who has done something nice for us. But just as the grace of God is not anything we can earn, we also can do nothing to pay God back for God’s amazing goodness towards us.
In the face of grace, all we can do is say “thank you,” to be grateful. And that may be the most humbling experience of all – to be grateful for a gift we neither earned nor deserved nor can possibly “pay back.” Maybe the most humbling experience for any of us is simply receiving God’s grace. We all, I would say, are far more comfortable being the giver than being the receiver.
For the past several months, as my husband and I have journeyed through his long recovery from a motorcycle accident, we have been moved beyond words by your graciousness. We have both been humbled by your care and your support and your encouragement. We have been brought to tears by what you have done and by what you have said. We are grateful beyond measure. And we both thank you.
Bishop Gulick ended his remarks to the ECW this week, by taking us back to the beginning of Luke’s gospel where the angel Gabriel greets Mary, saying: “Hail Mary, full of grace!” Mary has been graced by God to bear the savior of the world into the world. And Mary breaks forth in the words of the Magnificat:
“My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,
my spirit rejoices in God my Savior;
for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.”
God has poured out God’s grace upon us as well, and sends us out into the world “to lift up the lowly” and “fill the hungry with good things” so that the whole world may know of the grace, mercy and peace of Christ.
