"Bread and Wine," August 19, 2012, Pentecost 12B

John 6:51-58

Jesus said, “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” The religious leaders then disputed among themselves, saying, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” So Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Human One and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Creator sent me, and I live because of the Creator, so whoever eats me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever.”

***

Will you pray with me? Creator of all that is, bless our hearing and our speaking today. Give us grace and wisdom to take in your teaching, your love, your presence in our lives today and always. Amen.

This reading reminded me of a Marsha Stevens song, “Don’t Change Me.” The singer says she wants to be filled and warmed by Christ, blessed and touched by Christ; but she doesn’t want people to look at her oddly, she wants to be “the same only better, free without fetter,” she tells God, “you can fill me but don’t change me.” She wants all the trappings of being a Christian, of being a good person, all the appearance of being a Christian—she has her new Christian t-shirt, her WWJD pin—and even many of the actions—she thinks maybe she should be a pastor—but, she says, fill me but don’t change me. “You can bless me God, but don’t transform me.”

Of course Marsha means the whole song ironically—because changing people is exactly what Jesus is most about. She is reflecting the attitude of people who want to be seen as Christian, but are terrified of what that mean if they really took in the message of Christ and made it part of themselves—if they were changed by it. Jesus healed people—which is change. He changed water into wine and one boy’s dinner into enough for a multitude. He asked a tax collector, Zacheus,  to make him dinner and changed that man’s life. Jesus is about change.

Many of us here know this intimately. We have lived lives in which we did things we weren’t and aren’t proud of; like Paul, we haven’t done things we should have, and we have done things we should not have. And yet, with God’s grace, we have felt that change in us as we welcomed God into our lives. We have been changed, because we have taken in that spirit of love and hope and generosity that is God.

I am sure the people Jesus was talking to were shocked or at least surprised when he talked about eating his body and drinking his blood! After all, taken literally that is cannibalism on the one hand and a violation of the laws of Moses on the hand—blood must be drained from an animal before it is eaten. But Jesus is using a metaphor here—the clearest image possible of taking in something is by eating it. Clothes can be easily changed and besides, they wear out; hairstyles change, jewellery can be lost or removed, even tattoos are literally only skin deep. But when something is eaten—then it becomes truly part of you.

There’s a famous passage in Isaiah in which the prophet eats a scroll of scripture and it tastes as sweet to him as honey. It’s a metaphor for the prophet taking in the words of God, making them a part of himself, sweet and rich and nourishing.

But Jesus is talking about more than sweetness, more than a lovely extra—he is the very basis, the foundation of a full life—bread and wine, the most basic food and drink of his time. We talked about that a couple weeks ago if you remember. Bread is filling and nourishing and relatively inexpensive; it was the staple of the Mediterranean diet of the time. Wine was the main drink, with more or less water added—easy to make from plentiful grapes, when water was not always safe or available. So Jesus is naming himself as the very basics of life—the bread and wine that feed and sustain and strengthen human beings.

More than that, this bread and wine, this substance of who Christ is, is to be taken in, incorporated into our bodies, ourselves. We digest them, not in the literal sense, but in the sense of thinking about them, praying over them, meditating on them, and then assimilating them into the very fabric of our spirits and our souls.

But this is difficult—it is hard to be the person we are supposed to be, to show Christ in us to the world. And so we remind ourselves, at least once a week, of God’s presence in our innermost self through taking the bread and wine of Communion—eating the bread, drinking the cup—taking them, taking God, into ourselves once more, reminding ourselves of whose we are, of what we should be deep inside. We do it all together—because we know we need each other to be able to do this, and to see the Christ in each other reminds us of the Christ in ourselves. I do not know of a single Christian denomination in which Communion is habitually celebrated or taken alone. It is done with others, in mutual recognition and support of our shared identity and struggle and commitment to be the face of Christ, of God, to the world. When we join together in this act of remembering at God’s table, we do it together, sharing the remembrance, sharing the struggle, sharing the strength, sharing our gifts.

In one sense, this is just flour and water baked together, it is just juice from a bottle. But in another sense, it is so much more than that—it is a visible, tangible, symbol of God’s presence with and in us, continually renewed through our presence in community and a shared meal, expressed through our love for and presence with all God’s children.

In this week to come, remember that you carry Christ within you; in your quiet moments, reflect on the joy and responsibility that carries with it. In your busy times, of work and doing and action, be that face of Christ that is part of you. And remember too, that Christ is forgiving, so when you stumble, forgive yourself—get up and begin again.

Above all, know with every part of your being that the love of God which is Jesus Christ is in you, and part of your very being, today and always. In all God’s names, amen.

"Divine Bread," Pentecost 10B (August 5, 2012)

Exodus 16:2-4, 9-15
 In the desert the whole community grumbled against Moses and Aaron. The Israelites said to them, “If only we had died by God’s hand in Egypt! There we sat around pots of meat and ate all the food we wanted, but you have brought us out into this desert to starve this entire assembly to death.”

Then God said to Moses, “I will rain down bread from heaven for you. The people are to go out each day and gather enough for that day. In this way I will test them and see whether they will follow my instructions.

Then Moses told Aaron, “Say to the entire Israelite community, ‘Come before God, who has heard your grumbling.’”

While Aaron was speaking to the whole Israelite community, they looked toward the desert, and there was the glory of God appearing in the cloud.

God said to Moses, “I have heard the grumbling of the Israelites. Tell them, ‘At twilight you will eat meat, and in the morning you will be filled with bread. Then you will know that I am the Holy One. ‘”

That evening quail came and covered the camp, and in the morning there was a layer of dew around the camp.  When the dew was gone, thin flakes like frost on the ground appeared on the desert floor. When the Israelites saw it, they said to each other, “What is it?” For they did not know what it was.

Moses said to them, “It is the bread God has given you to eat.

John 6:24-35

Once the crowd realized that neither Jesus nor his disciples were there, they got into the boats and went to Capernaum in search of Jesus.

When they found him on the other side of the lake, they asked him, “Rabbi, when did you get here?”

Jesus answered, “Very truly I tell you, you are looking for me, not because you saw the signs I performed but because you ate the loaves and had your fill. Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Human One will give you. For on him God the Creator has placed the seal of approval.”

Then they asked Jesus, “What must we do to do the works God requires?”

 Jesus answered, “The work of God is this: to believe in the one God has sent.”

So they asked him, “What sign then will you give that we may see it and believe you? What will you do? Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written: ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat.’”

Jesus said to them, “Very truly I tell you, it is not Moses who has given you the bread from heaven, but it is the Creator who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is the bread that comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”

“Sir,” they said, “always give us this bread.”

Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

****

Will you pray with me? God, you are the source of all good things—our strength, our wisdom, our hope. Give us the grace to recognise your presence in the everyday things, and the wisdom to be your presence in the world. In all your names, amen.

Manna from heaven. Unexpected, undeserved, showering down on a hungry people.  Even though the Israelites grumble and complain, God gives them the good things they crave, pouring down from heaven.  They have enough to eat—just enough, as it turns out. They find in the next chapter that anything extra, not eaten, spoils. God feeds them out of the divine bounty and compassion, but doesn’t allow them to gorge or waste those gifts. They’ve been wandering in the desert since they left Egyptian captivity, and they want food, real food. Moses kept telling them God had something better for them, and they want to see it. They get it—and just enough. They realise God’s care for them, and are content.

Fast forward several centuries to the first century of the Common Era. Rome is ruling Palestine, Israel is occupied and part of the Roman Empire. The Israelites, in the centuries after the exodus, have become farmers and herdsmen. They have settled down and no longer wander the desert with their flocks. They have orchards and vineyards and fields of grain. They make bread—a lot of bread.

Short history lesson—In Jesus’ time, under the Roman Empire, the main food was bread. It was relatively cheap and easy to make, and it was filling. It was dipped in olive oil or a chick-pea mash like hummus for flavouring, but otherwise, bread and bread alone was the main entrée of a meal. There might be some cheese or fruit in season, but rarely meat, such as chicken or even more rarely, mutton—sheep—beef or goat. Everyone ate it, in one form or another—finely ground flour made a finer, easier to digest loaf, and was more expensive—and so was only eaten by the wealthy. Brown bread, more coarsely ground, was the usual bread of most people—farmers, artisans, and so on. But whatever form it took, bread was the main thing on every table at every meal.

In the same way, wine was the mainstay drink of the day. Water was not always available in quantity and was needed for irrigation and for the animals—and it was often not safe to drink, although of course the people of the time didn’t know about germs, they just knew that sometimes when people drank water, they got sick and died—so they avoided it, or drank as little as possible. Milk was needed to make cheese, so few people drank it—and it could not be kept, either, in the days before mechanical, reliable refrigeration. Other kinds of alcohol—spirits such as whiskey or vodka, and beer—were more complicated to make, and while people knew about them, they were rarely made. Wine making was simple—tread out the grape juice, put it in containers, maybe add some honey and or yeast, let it sit awhile, and there you are! It was usually mixed with a little water, because it was pretty strong and might be a bit rough.  Of course, wealthy people could afford better wines that did not need to be mixed with water.

So—bread and wine, the main food of everyone.

The people asking Jesus for this bread and wine are thinking literally—sort of a lifetime supply of groceries, as if they won a contest at Sobey’s. But Jesus is not. For him, these are metaphors—symbols of the rich and abundant life available with God, with the Creator. Jesus had a special relationship with God—very close and intimate, yet worshipful at the same time. And so he wanted his followers to experience this same loving and tender and nourishing relationship. The best way he could find, in our limited human speech, to describe this relationship with the Divine was through the metaphor of being fed, of heavenly food, always present, not something rare or unheard of, but something very everyday that had been imbued with a special grace and presence. Something that is always present, even taken for granted, and yet has such power and blessing and grace within that having once tasted it, we don’t need or want any other food.

This, my sisters and brothers, is the foundation of our life as a church community—not only in this local congregation, but as the Christian church. We gather and share a meal of grain and grape, remembering Jesus and his love, poured out for us. This is what gives us the basis, the underpinning, to be and share Christ in the world.

I’ve spent a fair amount of time recently with people who are not Christian, not religious at all, who do not go to any church, temple, synagogue or mosque, and not because they are actively uncomfortable with it, in most cases. For some, they have drifted away, no longer finding that it feels like a fit, or that it has any meaning for them. Others have in fact been hurt and damaged by organised religion, by the oppression of women in many traditions, or the marginalisation of the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered community, or the protection of people—clergy and non-clergy—in positions of  power who abused that power financially or sexually or politically. And there are some people who have never really had an interest in organised religion, who feel they get what they need spiritually in other ways—from a spiritual practice such as meditation or reading sacred texts.

For all these people, I wonder if we, the church, have not failed. Failed to show them the spiritual riches of a deep relationship with the Divine, with the God of Jesus Christ, the One who gives us the very basics we need to sustain life, bread and wine, through the presence of Jesus Christ.

Sometimes I wonder if we, the church—I am not so much talking about this congregation, although it certainly bears thinking about—I wonder if we, not as individuals but in groups, focus more on programs and activities and what we are doing in the world than we do on creating and sustaining that relationship with God, with the source of all that is good and sustaining and nourishing, in our hearts and in our souls.

Are we maintaining the very foundation of what we do or are we busily holding programs in a building that is about to fall down from neglect of the foundations? Those foundations—the love between us and God, the relationship each of us has with the Divine, with Jesus Christ, is what gives shape to our worship and to what we do in the name of God in the world. If we do not have those basic foundations firmly set, we cannot be the presence of Christ that we are meant to be. It takes a special, firm, and intimate relationship to be able to speak for and represent another. Sometimes partners will speak for each other and make promises on behalf of the other, but not often—only in the strongest of relationships. A celebrity’s publicist, the person who speaks for him or her, must be as close as a friend, in order to accurately represent that person to the larger world. A company or organisation’s spokesperson who is not intimately familiar with all that the organisation is doing and planning is worse than useless. We who would represent Christ to the world must have that same relationship—that intimacy to know and be able to show Christ to the world with confidence.

But like any relationship, whether it be of partners, parents and child, or friends, it needs support and encouragement to remain strong and healthy. Unlike any of those relationships, it will not, cannot, end. There is nothing we can do to drive Christ away, who does and always will love us. We may turn away in shame or grief or anger, but God is always with us. Even though it cannot end, our relationship with the One who sustains us requires nourishment—and that is the very bread of life and cup of love we share in communion.

This isn’t just a gesture, a weekly reminder of Christ’s resurrection—although it is that too. Most especially, this meal is our means of reminding ourselves of the goodness of God, the means of our very life, now and hereafter. In taking the bread and cup, we taste God’s presence with us, we are fed with the love of the Divine—so much more than we know we need, and enough for all our wants.

In Communion, in this gathering every week—we renew our sense of Christ’s presence with us. In our daily prayers and reading and quiet time with God, we remember Christ’s never-ending love for us. Without these foundations, the building that is the church will surely fall.

This weekly meal with Christ and each other gives us a starting point for creating, renewing, or strengthening that relationship with the Divine—wherever each of us might be in that process of relationship building. Have you ever been in a long-distance relationship? If you have, then you know that such a relationship requires regular, frequent, open, honest communication.  There has to be trust between the partners, and boundaries set and respected. What those boundaries are will be different for every relationship, but they must be identified and recognised and set.

Our relationship with Christ is much like a long-distance relationship, isn’t it? We have, or should have, brief contacts every day—like the texts or emails of a relationship, we may have a prayer time set aside to communicate with Christ, or we may simply recognise the Divine presence in various ways as we go through our day—a kindness done, the beauty of a tree, the full table we share at dinner. Our weekly Communion meal is like that regular Skype or video call we may schedule once or twice a week—a chance to see and talk and share more intimately, with the one we love—our partner or Christ. In a long-distance relationship, there are times when you and your partner are able to be in the same place physically—vacations together, or visits by one to the other. We might think this doesn’t, can’t, happen in our relationship with Christ; that we will not touch him or see him face to face until our eternal life begins. But it does happen—rarely, but it does. Many of us have had the experience of meeting someone—perhaps only for a few moments—in whom we saw Christ. Many of us have had mystical experiences of the Divine presence in ways we cannot explain or even describe, a time out of time, when we knew God’s presence in new ways that cannot be described in human words. 

My sisters and brothers, find ways, even in your busy and crowded life, to renew, sustain, deepen your relationship with your Divine Friend. Whether it is two minutes in the shower as you express appreciation for all you have, or 30 minutes spent reading and meditating before work, or time spent in the evening with your loved ones reflecting on your day and the many ways God has been present in your lives that day---whatever it is that strengthens and builds up your relationship with Christ, I encourage you to do that. Whatever it is, may it deepen your relationship with the Divine and with other people, create a bond of love and contribute to the healing of the world, the building of God’s realm on earth.

In all God’s many names, amen.

"it is Enough" July 29, 2012 (Pentecost 9B)

2 Kings 4:42-44

One day a messenger from Baal-shalishah brought God’s prophet Elisha a sack of fresh grain and twenty loaves of barley bread made from the first grain of his harvest. Elisha said, “Give it to the people so they can eat.”

 “What?” Elisha’s servant exclaimed. “Feed a hundred people with only this?”

But Elisha repeated, “Give it to the people so they can eat, for this is what the Holy One says: Everyone will eat, and there will even be some left over!” And when they gave it to the people, there was plenty for all and some left over, just as God had promised.

John 6:1-14

After this Jesus went to the other side of the Sea of Galilee, also called the Sea of Tiberias. A large crowd kept following him, because they saw the signs that he was doing for the sick. Jesus went up the mountain and sat down there with his disciples. Now the Passover, the festival of the Jews, was near. When he looked up and saw a large crowd coming toward him, Jesus said to Philip, “Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?” He said this to test him, for he himself knew what he was going to do. Philip answered him, “Six months’ wages would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little.” One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, said to him, “There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish. But what are they among so many people?” Jesus said, “Make the people sit down.” Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all. Then Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted. When they were satisfied, he told his disciples, “Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.” So they gathered them up, and from the fragments of the five barley loaves, left by those who had eaten, they filled twelve baskets. When the people saw the sign that he had done, they began to say, “This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world.”

***

“It is Enough”

Will you pray with me? Holy One, you provide more than enough for all your children. Teach us how to use your many gifts generously, so that no one goes without—food, housing, education, health care, love, understanding, opportunities. Give us the grace to recognise our own stinginess and the wisdom to become more like you, sharing all that we are and have with all who have need, not only the ones we know and see. Open our hearts and spirits to your teaching today and every day. In all your names, amen.

Enough.  What does it mean to you? We all say we only want “enough,” but what is enough for one person is not enough for another, whether we are talking about food or time or books or money or talent. A single childless person’s “enough” in income is not nearly enough for the family with three children. For a city dweller, one car may too many; for a family in the country, two or three may be enough. And so on. Enough in God’s economy means more than the minimum, not an amount to satisfy basic needs. It means leftovers, abundant leftovers.  Enough, to God, means “more than you can possibly need.”

Which brings us to a question. Do we trust God for that generous “enough?” Even more, do we have confidence not only that there will be enough, but that what we have is more than enough? That we can supply all the needs—the real needs—and have some left over? I am not talking so much about finances, although the concept could be equally applied to money as well, but gifts, graces, talents, abilities.

I am more interested in how well we share—or don’t—our gifts and talents and other resources, like time and energy.  Gifts—those abilities we simply have, not skills we have learned or knowledge we have gained, but gifts. We all know people who have gifts—the person who can sit quietly with a friend, just listening; the person who preaches a sermon so strongly that your life is changed; the musician who can move you to tears with the depth of their music; the person who always knows what to do for those in need. Those are gifts.

Some skills can be learned—bookkeeping, playing the piano, writing computer code, laying tile, leading a meeting—but some of us can go beyond those basic skills to genuine talent and gifts, to creativity. The ones who are gifted go beyond those with skill and talent to create. Many people know how to dive; lots of them are on university diving teams and some of them even are selected for the Olympics. Only a very few, such as Greg Louganis, can create a new dive.  That is a gift. Pretty much anyone can learn to lay tile; that’s a skill. Doing it well, so that all tiles are even and make a pleasing pattern—that’s talent. But creating new patterns, finding new ways to use tile—that is a gift. Everything we do has these three levels of ability—skill, which anyone can learn or do; talent, doing the skill well and excelling at it; and gift, creating something new, going beyond what is known and usual. It’s relatively easy to understand when we think of concrete abilities like tiling or gardening or bookkeeping, but applying that to more abstract or spiritual abilities is more difficult—and yet we easily can recognise those with gifts in those abilities. For example—we all have friends and people we care about; most of us talk to those individuals about what matters to us—struggles, hopes, joys. Some of us feel heard and understood. But those with a gift for hearing others—they are the ones who offer us new insights and understands, who help us know ourselves better. And that is the going beyond, the creating anew, that is a gift.

We are not all stars—Albert Einstein, Archbishop Tutu, Roger Clemente, Bruce Springsteen, Sir Laurence Olivier, JRR Tolkien—but what we have, who we are, is enough. Whatever gift we have, it is enough—it is what God needs us to have, needs us to share.  When we are doing God’s work, when we are called by God to a task or a life, we have what we need, even if we don’t think we do, or don’t even know what our gift might be. There is always a place for us—God knows who we are, and has given us the gifts we have and has a place for us to be, and  to be fully all that we are.

Paul mentions many gifts in his letters to the new churches—some people teach, some lead, some are musicians, some can sit with the ill and dying—all these gifts are needed, and the needed gifts will appear if they are not already present.

In the end, the choice comes down to us—will we share those gifts? Will we be part of that “more than enough?”

And it is indeed part of having those gifts to share them—a gift that is not shared is sterile, useless to everyone, not only the people who might have benefitted but the rest of the world as well. If someone has the gift of counselling, but does not reach out and support others, then not only do those who are in need suffer, but those who depend on them in turn suffer when they are comforted or healed—their partners or children or co-workers. What we do—or don’t do—affects so many other people.

Look around you; think of all the prayer requests in our book each week, the prayer requests you see on Facebook or an email list or hear from family and co-workers and friends, what you see in the news—all the situations that are in desperate need of someone’s gifts, in some way, shape or form.  You can see needs for financial resources, for teachers and carers and listeners and creators of beauty. We can see these needs, and sometimes it is frustrating, because we don’t have that gift and we know it is needed.

But—we cannot control or direct God’s call, God’s gifts to us or others. Just as Jesus eluded the crowd that wanted to make him ruler and wouldn’t go with the disciples in the boat, God goes God’s way, not ours. I wish I had the gift of music, so that I could compose hymns. When I selected the hymns for last week, I had to compromise, because there were no hymns that said exactly what I wanted them to say. If I had the gift of writing hymns, I could create one to fit the need, whatever it was—but I don’t. I can read music, I know the basics—the very basics—of music theory. I could learn the intricacies of music theory, I think I can write lyrics, verses, and theoretically I could put the two together, and have a hymn. So I have the skill, not the talent, And I will never have that creative gift of an Isaac Watts, a Michael Smith, a Shawn Thomas.  A gift cannot be forced, cannot be demanded from God.

What we have to do is use the gifts we do have—use them fully, and as God intends for us, fulfilling God’s purpose for our lives. There’s no point in whining for gifts we don’t have. It’s easy to do. We see the need for those gifts in the church, and no one currently in the church seems to have those gifts, so we wish we had that gift. Sometimes we even try to pretend we do, or that we at least have the skill; and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. But, perhaps someone is on their way, someone we don’t know yet who has that very gift in abundance, who will share it generously with the church. The other side of that coin is pretending to ignore the ones we do have.

It may be scary or a venture beyond what we know to share our gifts. We may have to speak to strangers or challenge the way things are. A gift may mean paying a price—in time or energy or finances or simply giving up what we want for what God wants. It’s true of big things—giving up a lucrative law career, as a seminary friend of mine did, in order to answer the call to ministry. It’s true of small things—instead of sleeping late or hanging out at home on a Saturday, we work at a church fund-raising event or maintain the community garden.

Whatever the gifts that are present—in the church, in us, at work, in our community, in our families—they are enough. If we share those gifts, there is more than enough. What we have is enough—God’s enough, which means an overflowing abundance.

In all God’s names, amen.

"Being the Fringe" Pentecost 8B (July 22, 2012)

Ephesians 2:14-22

For Christ is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it. So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Creator. So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Holy One in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As Jesus went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.

When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat. When they got out of the boat, people at once recognized him, and rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed.

***

Will you pray with me? You who are, bless each of us today; open our hearts and spirits to your healing grace, so that we in turn may share that grace with others. Give us courage and wisdom and understanding, that we may be present with others in their time of struggle, be with them as they seek healing, and stay by their side as they become whole again—and may we teach them, and ourselves, how to not only live as whole people again but to reach out to others, offering them this life beyond healing. In all your names, amen.

I have some questions about some of the healings and others stories we read about Jesus. What happened to the man whom Jesus told to take up his bed and walk? The man who had been blind from birth before Jesus cured him—what did he do for a living? That little girl Jesus cured—did she ever have children of her own? In other words, what happened next? What was the next chapter in their lives? What did they do once they were healed?

We don’t know, do we? We aren’t told what the rest of their lives were like, these people whom Jesus cured. Very rarely, we can catch a glimpse—for example, Simon of Cyrene, who carried Jesus’ cross, is referred to as the father of Rufus—so presumably Rufus was someone known to the early church, and therefore we can guess that Simon became a Christian and so did his son. But mostly we don’t know. And I think that’s disappointing.

We don’t really see any models in the Bible for just “being church,” do we? We read about crises—the persecution, the conflicts over whether gentiles had to follow Jewish dietary laws and what should be done with donations from other churches—but apart from a couple passages about gathering together to read Scripture, to pray and sing songs and share a special meal, we don’t really know what their worship was like, or the church structure or even their buildings. We can make some guesses, but that’s all.

So we don’t know what happened after those dramatic events were over. We don’t know what “just church” looked like. We don’t have a model for that.

What happens in our churches after someone is “healed,” or becomes comfortable, settles in to church? Do they drift away, ready to face the world again? Do they become part of us, a member of our community? Do they go away, and then return later?

Someone once described our denomination in general and this congregation in particular as being like a MASH unit—a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, as in the TV series from the 1970s—yes, I know some of you weren’t even born then, but I am sure you’ve seen it in reruns. We take in the wounded, the ones hurt by marginalisation and the hatred of the world, and we offer them the healing love of Christ. Some people recover and we don’t ever see them again. Some of them go to other hospitals after the crisis is over—they are on their way to healing, comfortable with church again; they often end up in another denomination, usually the one they grew up in, but now healed. Some of them cycle through—they’re in the forefront of the battle and so we see them back here periodically. And there are some who stay after they are healed, and become part of the staff, so to speak. I am not talking about the clergy or the Board, really—although this indeed applies to them, to us. But each one of us here is a minister of Christ—not only those of us who have had hands laid on us in ordination or consecration or who have chosen by you to lead the church.

Each member of the church, each baptised person here today, from the newest and youngest member on up, is a minister of God. We represent Christ to the world. When people who don’t go to church, the “unchurched,” in church jargon, when they are looking for Christ’s image, where do they look? Not to politicians, not to teachers, not to the sky—they look to the church, capital C church—they look to the Christians they know; and that image we project, we share, of Christ, is what they think of as Christ.

Why would they be looking for the church? People say the church is irrelevant these days, most people don’t want that kind of commitment. Maybe we have it wrong, though. Maybe people need more commitment—perhaps they are hungry for more of a call on their lives, a continuing presence even after they are on the road to spiritual recovery.

I am not talking about working in the church—we need people to care for our finances and make sure we have communion wafers and lead Bible study—those are all important. But what we need just as much are people who pray; people who read and study the Bible and other writings about God; people who think hard and long about what God is calling them to do, here in this place. People who are looking not just for healing, but for a life beyond that healing.

Someone who is hurting spiritually, who yearns for a place to experience God with others, in community, is seeking to touch the fringe of Jesus’ cloak, just as those people did when Jesus was here on earth. They look for the places where they can touch Christ’s presence in their lives, through community and mutual support and love.

Paul tells us in Ephesians that all Christians are one community—no matter how we pray or order our service, what language we use or what we use for Communion, what colour our skin or what hymns we use, we are all sisters and brothers in Christ, a community based on the love of Christ for the world, that great foundation stone. So when people find that healing, the fringe of Christ’s cloak, in our churches, they come to us and they find, I hope, comfort and healing. But then what?

There is a life beyond our healed hurts. That renewed life, that healed life, brings us to new places, offers new hope.  And it offers new work, too.  Here’s an interesting thing—living that new life helps us to continue to heal; and as we heal, we can live that new life even more fully.

To continue our medical metaphor, it’s like physical therapy. When a knee, for example, is injured and needs surgery and is operated on, and the torn tendon is repaired, the healing is not done, is it? Not only must the tendon heal and grow back together, not only must the skin heal from the incision, but the patient has to learn how to walk again. It’s hard at first—it hurts and the healing from the surgery isn’t done. But as the person walks and exercises the knee a bit more every day, that very exercise helps the blood flow, works towards the healing of the knee. So it is a process—the exercise that was impossible before is now not only possible, but by increasing blood flow, hastens the healing process. More healing, more exercise; more exercise, more healing.

It’s true in our spiritual lives, too. No one expects that we will able to run a spiritual marathon the first week we attend church; nor the first month or even year. But what we can do, that is what we do. As an athlete comes back from an injury by first walking, then running short distances and then longer ones, so too do we heal from spiritual pain one step at a time. The important thing is to keep moving.

So here is the challenge for us, church. When people look at us, at the church, not only this congregation, but capitol C church—do they see a place of healing and growth? Are they inspired to hope that here they can touch the fringe of Jesus’ cloak and be healed, and—here’s the important part—then live a new life?

A church is a place of healing, most certainly. Every one of us is testimony to that. But it should also be a place of continued recovery and growth and hope.  Each of us is, or should be, continuing to grow in our faith, to become more than we are, more than we think we can be. We are healed not to simply be healed, but to live more fully the new life we have been given.

Are we doing that, church? Are we using these new lives, this new hope, our healed selves fully? Do people see the fringe of Christ’s cloak in us? Do we, as a church and as individuals, offer them a glimpse of a new life, a healed and hopeful life and a way to move forward? How do we take that next step—how do we offer that next step?

I don’t think it is a coincidence that Jesus and the disciples were planning to go on a retreat—to a “desert place”—just before the crowds came to them. They were preparing to withdraw to “rest a while.” A time of retreat is crucial to all of us. It might be a physical retreat, a time away at a camp or cabin or even just a hotel room for a few days. It might also be a focused time at home, when all the distractions are put away for a while—no TV, facebook ignored, cellphone silent—to focus on God and God’s presence with you. Not trying to hear God’s call or to hear what God has next for you to do—but simply resting in God. You’re not there to get your next set of marching orders, but to renew a relationship and rest.

I recently went on retreat—and I want to thank those who made it possible for me to go on that retreat. I had no revelations, no life-changing experiences. I read: I spent a lovely hour in their bookstore and spent too much money; I walked by the river and found a hawk’s wing feather; I slept late; I listened to my favourite music and had some of my favourite foods; I thought; I daydreamed; I wrote; I prayed. I rested.

I rested.

It can be so easy for us who are committed Christians, who are active in our church, to think we must always be doing, must always have a plan in motion or a task to do. I think we would do well to learn from the contemplative monks and nuns, who understand that quiet prayer in a secluded place is as important as storming the barricades when it comes to changing the world. I know many of us have trouble, for various reasons, with being still. Physical movement and action are visible ways of doing something in the world—but times of silent contemplation and prayer, of “doing nothing” are crucial too.

When we take those times of quiet, we are not only healing ourselves, but we are preparing to lead others to healing. Jesus withdrew and rested in order to have the resources to heal. When you fly, you are told, in that pre-flight lecture no one listens to anymore, that “in the unlikely event that the cabin loses pressure, your oxygen mask will drop from the panel above you. Secure it about your face, then assist small children or the elderly who may be travelling with you.” Secure your mask first. You can’t help others until you have your mask on.

I am not saying that only people who are 100% perfect can help others. But we must be aware of our need for healing and working on it. Those who think they don’t need help can’t help others. It is in our very need of help that we recognise other people’s need.

As we heal, as we rest with God, we are given the resources, the courage, the strength, the grace, to continue to do God’s work of reaching out, of offering healing and hope—of being the fringe of Christ’s cloak.

In the many names of the one God, amen.

Integrity

Catching up, catching up… I seem to do this on a regular basis, so I just won’t talk about it this time, but will just blithely plunge in as if I have been keeping up on this the way I should have been…. 

So, what has my irritation meter rising this week? 

Responsibility. Integrity. 

They’re related, of course. Someone who has integrity takes responsibility where it is due. 

Like many of my friends and relations in the blogosphere, I have been outraged, angered, disgusted, dismayed, depressed, and saddened by the events at Penn State. Even before the Freeh Report was released, there was a stink about the whole situation. 

Adults who should have known better did not act with integrity and take the responsibility they should have. They hid behind excuses (“I didn’t want to jeopardize the process,” “I assumed it was being dealt with,” “We didn’t want to embarrass anyone,” “We wanted to be humane…”) and their own squeamishmess, allowing evil to flourish.  And so, because adults did not act like adults (with responsibility and integrity), children were hurt, irretrievably, including their trust in adults. 

You know, if similar events had transpired at your typical high school, it is likely they would have been stopped much much sooner—not certain, but probably so. We seem, as a society, to be more willing to monitor high school staff than we are university staff, even when the university staff are working with younger at-risk children. 

And while I am reluctant to say it, I have to wonder if that is not part of why those adults were OK with sweeping things under the rug. The victims were “only” at-risk youth; they were likely to have some kind of problem anyway, and at least they got to go to college Bowl games and other exciting events. If those youth from Second Mile had looked like them—let’s say it—white, middle-to-upper-class—would they have been so easily dismissed? I don’t think so. These children were—unconsiously, probably—viewed as disposable, likely to have issues and so they should be glad for the goodies they got and not complain about being attacked by a adult they had respected and trusted. 

What arrogance and entitlement! It’s clear from the Freeh   Report that the administration did not even consider the plight of those young men. No concern for the victims, only for treating the prepatrator “humanely.” Why, in the name of all that is holy, does he get the humane treatment when he is the criminal, he is the one victimising young boys? Why is he cared for and they are ignored? 

But the sad thing is, it happens all the time—not only in Happy Valley. All over the world, the powerful victimise the weaker and get away with it because someone turns their head, pretends they didn’t see, didn’t want to deal with the hassle or fallout or conflict or resentment of family or whatever their excuse is—thinking of themselves and their own comfort and convenient over the rights and desperate need of the victim.  Emotional abuse, gay bashing, sexual abuse, slavery, lynchings….they happen because they are allowed to happen. Someone who should have acted with responsibility and integrity did not. And others suffer.

I don’t have a solution. I wish I did.

But perhaps, even if we can’t change hearts, we can change behaviour. It would be a start. Honesty, integrity, responsibility. Can we live them out?