Not of the Dead: Luke 20:27-38

Based on this week's lectionary, Andrew and I are thinking of starting a Christian band
with 1 woman and 7 men called "The Levirate Marriage." See below.

Greetings from my current home, buried under a mountain of work. I have much to tell you- about my 3rd triathlon of the year, the Baltimore Half, and Marine Corps Marathon- but right now building up my caseload at my new office is taking nearly every waking moment.

While you wait, here's a sermon I preached this morning at my home church, St. Andrew's UMC in Edgewater. Enjoy!

Luke 20:27-38

Some Sadducees, those who say there is no resurrection, came to him and asked him a question, “Teacher, Moses wrote for us that if a man’s brother dies, leaving a wife but no children, the man shall marry the widow and raise up children for his brother. Now there were seven brothers; the first married, and died childless; then the second and the third married her, and so in the same way all seven died childless. Finally the woman also died. In the resurrection, therefore, whose wife will the woman be? For the seven had married her.” Jesus said to them, “Those who belong to this age marry and are given in marriage; but those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage. Indeed they cannot die anymore, because they are like angels and are children of God, being children of the resurrection. And the fact that the dead are raised Moses himself showed, in the story about the bush, where he speaks of the Lord as the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. Now he is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.” 

Not of the Dead:
Luke 20:27-38


Whenever I hear this text, I think about visiting my Grandma Cleo’s grave in Arlington National Cemetery. Grandma Cleo grew up in the remote mountains of southern Virginia. She and her family burned wood for heat, used wells for water, and hunted for food. As a young adult, Grandma Cleo met and fell in love with a local boy named Parley. They dated for a few years, and then got married. After Grandma Cleo died, we found poems and notes she had written about her courtship with my grandfather. Her writings make it clear that they loved each other dearly. They had two children together, my father and my uncle, but they also had a big problem. My grandfather suffered from severe mental illness. Eventually, it got so bad that my grandmother took her young children and moved all the way to Annapolis in order to seek help for my grandfather. Among my grandmother’s letters, we found correspondence between her and a doctor at Johns Hopkins, proposing treatments for my grandfather. Once the treatments were arranged, Grandma Cleo sent for my grandfather, but he wouldn’t come. They got divorced, and my grandmother wound up raising her children as a single, working mother back when such a thing was virtually unheard of.

Years later, when Grandma Cleo was in her mid-40’s and her kids were all grown up, she had a job at the local Safeway. A regular customer started to notice her. His name was John, and he became my grandmother’s second husband. John died before I was born, but my family tells me that he and Grandma Cleo had a fairy tale romance. John adored her and treated her like a queen. She was just as in love with him. Over 16 years of marriage, they never stopped acting like newlyweds. Even though I never met John, I knew how much my grandmother loved him because she always talked about him. I think she missed him every day for the rest of her life. When I got engaged, I asked Andrew not to buy me a new ring, but to ask my parents for a ring that belonged to Grandma Cleo. My mother had this ring specially made for Grandma Cleo, combining her engagement ring with stones from a necklace that John gave her. Using this ring for our engagement represented the hope that Andrew and I will share the same kind of love in our marriage that Grandma Cleo and John experienced in theirs.

Grandma Cleo's ring.

At the end Grandma Cleo’s life, she took comfort in the thought that she would be reunited with John. Even talking about her burial did not upset her. She knew she would be buried in Arlington National Cemetery with John, and she cherished the idea of being close to him forever. But there was a complication: John had also been married before. He had a wife who died young, leaving him a widower. John’s first wife is also buried in Arlington. I don’t know anything about her, but I have no reason to believe that John didn’t love her too. 

When I visit Grandma Cleo’s grave, I can’t help but think of all of them. I wonder about John’s first wife, buried right alongside John and Grandma Cleo. I wonder about my grandfather Parley, who never remarried and is buried with his family in Virginia. Are John and Grandma Cleo reunited in heaven? What about my grandfather and John’s first wife? If they are all in heaven, how are they relating to each other? In the resurrection, who is married to who?

In this morning’s Gospel text, a group of religious leaders called Sadducees test Jesus by asking a similar question. In order to understand their question, we need to understand two pieces of Jewish history. First, we need to know that the Sadducees did not believe in the resurrection. This was a major difference between the Sadducees and other Jewish groups like the Pharisees. Second, we need to understand something called Levirate marriage. Levirate marriage was a Jewish law designed to address situations like the one in this text- times when a woman was widowed before she could give birth to a son. Under the Levirate marriage law, if a married man died childless, his brother was required to marry his widow. Then, the first-born son of the widow and her brother-in-law would be considered the child of the man who had died. This custom probably sounds strange and a little unappealing to us. I love my two brothers-in-law, but I would not be very happy if Andrew died and I was forced to marry one of them.

To us modern Westerners, Levirate marriage might sound like just another example of women being treated as property in the ancient world. But there’s more to it than that. In the ancient Jewish community, Levirate marriage was actually a way of protecting women and children. In a society where women were forbidden to work or own property, a childless widow was in a terrible situation. With no husband or children to care for her, she could easily find herself in desperate poverty. The Levirate marriage law ensured that a woman would be cared for by her husband’s family, even if her husband died. It also solved problems of inheritance. If a man died with no heir, the Levirate marriage could provide an heir for him. Finally, the Levirate marriage was a way of protecting Jewish identity. It prevented widows from getting remarried and having children outside of their tribe or community. For these very reasons, Levirate marriage is still practiced in certain tribal cultures all over the world.

The situation that the Sadducees propose to Jesus is an especially tragic one. The woman in the story loses her husband before they have any children. According to the custom, she marries her brother-in-law, but he also dies before they have children. One by one, she marries all six of her brothers-in-law and all six die without producing a single child. Then, the woman herself dies too. The people in this story have followed the Jewish law perfectly. Still, in an era when the purpose of marriage was to produce children and continue the Jewish community, they have failed.

Now, the Sadducees ask Jesus what will happen to these people in the resurrection. They propose a scenario so ridiculous that it sounds like something from a comedy. All 8 of these unlucky people meet in the next life. The woman has been married to all 7 of the men. So, whose wife is she now? We can almost picture them all, standing at the pearly gates and saying “Well, this is awkward.” 

Presented with this bizarre situation, Jesus gives a startling answer: “Those who belong to this age marry and are given in marriage; but those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage.” On first reading, it sounds like Jesus is dismissing the very idea of marriage. Is Jesus telling us that marriage is somehow beneath the whole idea of resurrection? This statement from Jesus makes me think of Paul. In his first letter to the Corinthians, Paul suggests that single people should stay single and wait for Jesus to return. Paul, who was unmarried himself, seems to think that being single is somehow holier than being married. Does Jesus agree? As a happily married newlywed, that idea makes me uncomfortable. I certainly believe that a person can live a happy, fulfilling, and holy life without getting married. But I also believe that being married can enhance a person’s happiness and even their holiness. Sharing my life with another Christian has certainly enriched my own faith. In fact, most of the better ideas in this sermon came straight from my husband! 

Just when I started to worry that Jesus doesn’t believe in marriage, I focused on the rest of the text. Later, Jesus tells the Sadducees “…the fact that the dead are raised Moses himself showed, in the story about the bush, where he speaks of the Lord as the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are all considered fathers of the Jewish faith, but they are also fathers of actual children. They were all married family men. In fact, their marriages are important parts of the Biblical story. We never talk about Abraham without also talking about his wife Sarah. The story of Abraham and Sarah leaving their home to journey to Canaan is one of the most well-known stories in the Bible. The story of Isaac finding his wife Rebekah is also a beloved Biblical story. Jacob had two wives, Leah and Rachel. Between them, they gave birth to twelve sons who are the ancestors of the twelve tribes of Israel. Marriage and family are essential to the stories of the patriarchs. I don’t think Jesus would invoke the names of the patriarchs in order to dismiss marriage and family.

So, if Jesus isn’t condemning marriage and family in this text, what is he saying? I think the heart of Jesus’ argument is in the final part of the text, when he tells us that God is “God not of the dead, but of the living.” Jesus is telling us that, in the resurrection, there is only life. Death will be no more. Take a minute and really think about that. Our existence in this life is defined by all kinds of boundaries. We all have limits on our physical abilities, and we grow more and more limited as we age. We all have limits on our intelligence and our other abilities. We all experience limits of time and resources. Finally, we all experience the ultimate limit of death. Whatever we may accomplish in our lives, none of us will live forever. However close we are to our loved ones, we all know that they could be taken from us at any moment. Even when we’re not thinking about it, this boundary affects every aspect of our lives. 

In the resurrection, the ultimate boundary of death will be gone. I don’t know about you, but I can’t imagine what that will be like. I’m not sure what I would do if I had no limits on my time or my abilities. I don’t know how I would relate to other people if I knew we would never be separated. The truth is, I can’t know. I think that’s what Jesus is telling the Sadducees. The idea of a woman being reunited with her seven deceased husbands is strange and uncomfortable if we think about it happening in our world. But in heaven, things will be different in ways that we can’t even imagine. 

I’ll be the first to admit that this idea isn’t exactly comforting. We tend to think of heaven as a place like Earth, but without all of the problems. Many of our great hymns and works of art imagine heaven as a great family reunion in the sky- a place where we’ll see everyone we lost throughout our lives and get to be with them forever. I like that idea, and I don’t necessarily like Jesus saying that heaven might not be what I imagine.

But then I remember Grandma Cleo. If there’s one lesson I learned from Grandma Cleo’s life, it’s that happiness might not come in the way you expect it. Growing up, Grandma Cleo probably expected to spend her whole life in the mountains, close to her friends and family. She expected to marry someone from her community and raise a family with him. When she fell in love with my grandfather, she believed that she would be with him for the rest of her life. She never imagined that she would lose him to something as terrible and mysterious as mental illness. She never imagined that she would move hundreds of miles away, live in a city, and raise her two boys by herself. I never asked her much about that time in her life- something I regret now- but I can only imagine that she went through some lonely and difficult years. I’m sure she grieved for the loss of her marriage and the family life she had envisioned. But then, something unexpected happened. Later in life, after she raised her children, she had her fairy tale romance. Grandma Cleo’s life with John was not the happy ending she dreamed of as a child, but it was certainly a happy ending. In many ways, meeting John was like a resurrection for my grandmother, and I imagine that it felt that way to him too. And even though Grandma Cleo lost John, their relationship became an inspiration to her children and grandchildren. I hope that a part of them is alive in Andrew and I, and will be passed down to our children.

Jesus is talking about the resurrection this morning, but I think he’s also telling us something about this life. To those who are going through dark and difficult times, grieving the loss of a person or a dream, Jesus is saying “Hold on. Have faith. I have wonderful things in store for you, more wonderful than you can even imagine.” To those of us who are happy, who feel like we are living our dreams, Jesus is saying “Don’t get too comfortable. Dream even bigger. Find ways to live as if there are no boundaries.” Jesus is reminding all of us to keep our minds and hearts open and to allow the possibility that happiness might come to us when we least expect it, in ways we never imagined. It’s not be the good news we are used to hearing, but it certainly is good news.

Amen.

Changing for Good.

That's me!

Greetings, readers! I am still working on my Hawaii post. In the meantime, though, here's something completely different. Yesterday, I had the lovely experience of being a guest preacher at Pasadena United Methodist Church. My sermon is below. Two notes:

-The book I reference in this sermon is Changing for Good by Drs. James Prochaska, John Norcross, and Carlo DiClemente. There's more about the book in the sermon. For now, I'll just say that I highly recommend it to both clinicians and laypeople and you can buy it here.

-In this sermon, I talk about how to help a loved one who is having a problem and/or engaging in destructive behaviors. I advocate being patient with them, but I want to make very clear that "being patient" does not mean tolerating any kind of abuse. Take care of yourself first! 

Luke 16:19-31

19“There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. 20And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, 21who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. 22The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. 23In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. 24He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.’ 25But Abraham said, ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. 26Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’ 27He said, ‘Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house— 28for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’ 29Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ 30He said, ‘No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.’ 31He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”

Changing for Good

I was thrilled when Pastor Marshall asked me to preach here and I’m very happy to be with you today. But I’ll be honest: I wish I had been here two weeks ago. If I had been here two weeks ago, I could have preached on the parable of the good shepherd. I would have loved to preach about the good shepherd. Who doesn’t love the good shepherd? Instead, I’m preaching on the parable of Lazarus and the rich man- a story that makes me miss the good shepherd! The good shepherd is a story I can get behind. This story leaves me scratching my head. It’s obvious what we’re supposed to think. We’re supposed to know that Lazarus and Abraham are the good guys here, and the rich man is the bad guy. But by the end of the story, I feel a little confused. 

Yes, the rich man does a terrible thing. He witnesses the poverty and suffering of Lazarus day after day, right at his own gate, and he does nothing. The rich man has more than enough resources to care for himself. He wears fancy clothes and feasts every day. Surely, he could spare something to help his poor neighbor. Even worse, he knows that God wants him to help Lazarus! He knows the stories of Moses and the prophets, which are very clear about our responsibility to people in need. 

Every time that the rich man sees Lazarus and doesn’t help him, he commits a serious sin. So, we can’t be surprised at what happens after he and Lazarus die. Lazarus goes to be with Abraham, and the rich man is punished. What surprises me is what happens next, when the rich man asks Abraham to send Lazarus to his 5 brothers and convince them to change their ways. To me, this sounds like a reasonable request. When he asks about his brothers, the rich man isn’t trying to escape punishment. He realizes he made a terrible mistake in his life and he doesn’t want his brothers to go down the same path. I would think Abraham and Lazarus would want that too. If the brothers change, they will be saved from damnation after death. But even better, they could help countless needy people like Lazarus while they are still alive. Wouldn’t that be good for everyone? When I first read this story, I felt bad for the rich man and frustrated with Abraham. Why can’t Abraham send someone to talk to the rich man’s brothers? 

Then, I thought about something that happens to me at work all the time. I have training in pastoral counseling and I work as a therapist. People come to me every day to talk about their own personal problems, but they also tell me a lot about other people’s problems. My clients tell me about their mothers’ money problems, their fathers’ alcoholism, their siblings’ stubbornness and their childrens’ bad relationships. My clients care about their families and friends and they suffer when they see their loved ones suffering. Many of them want to help, but they don’t know how. Sometimes, a client will ask me if I can talk to their loved one for them. They say things like “You’ve helped me so much and you’re a professional. They won’t listen to me, but I’m sure they’ll listen to you!” Sometimes, my clients take out their phones in the office so they can make a call, right there and then.

I want to help my clients as much as I can, but in those moments I have to be a little like Abraham. My experience and my training have taught me that most people don’t welcome an unsolicited call from someone else’s therapist. Therapy can be helpful, but it works best when people choose it for themselves. My clients find me helpful because they chose to work with me and we have a relationship. To their family and friends, I’m just a stranger. It’s unlikely to help if I call them, and it might make things worse. 

When my clients ask me to talk to their loved ones, I have to say no. I tell them it wouldn’t be appropriate. People are often frustrated with this answer, and I don’t blame them. I have my own family and friends, and I can relate to wanting someone else to make a change. When we care about someone, its hard to watch that person struggle or make a mistake. Its natural to want to do anything and everything that might help. Have you ever watched a friend or family member struggle with an addiction, or a bad habit, or an unhealthy relationship? Situations like these test our relationships like nothing else. We wonder whether or not we should say something to the other person. We struggle to find the right words to express our concerns. We don’t know if our loved one will listen or get angry with us for meddling. Even if the conversation goes well, we don’t know if it will make any difference. All too often, when we take the risk of confronting a loved one about a problem, it doesn’t seem to help. Our loved one doesn’t make the change we want, and we wind up feeling hurt and frustrated.

Abraham voices a difficult truth in this parable, which is that change is hard. We can’t force the people we love to change, even when we have their best interests at heart. We can’t even force ourselves to change. How many of us know we need to exercise more, eat healthier, or budget our money better? Sometimes, we have all the reasons in the world to make a change and still find it difficult. 

Therapists like myself have known for a long time that change is hard, but we haven’t always been very understanding about it. We see clients every day who say they want to change, but struggle to make it happen. Not long ago, we were taught that clients who don’t cooperate with therapy are being “resistant” or “avoidant.” The conventional wisdom was that those clients just weren’t ready to change, and that we couldn’t do much for them until they got ready. Many of us believed that a person had to hit “rock bottom” before they would be ready to change. We were a lot like the rich man in the parable: we thought that something big and dramatic would have to happen to convince a person to change their ways for good.  

Of course, there’s a big problem what this attitude: it doesn’t help people. If I tell my clients that I can’t help them until they are ready to change, what are they supposed to do? How can they get ready? Fortunately, some very smart doctors and therapists have been working on this very question. I took my sermon title today from this book, Changing for Good. Changing for Good is a book by three psychologists who did a study of 1,000 people who made big life changes on their own. Some of them quit smoking or drinking, some of them lost weight and kept it off, some of them overcame problems with spending or gambling. The authors of Changing for Good studied how they did it, looking for lessons about how to help people change. This book and a few others like it have led to big changes in how therapists and other helpers treat people with problems.

The biggest idea to come out of Changing for Good is the idea that change happens in stages. Most of the time, big changes don’t happen the way that the rich man in this story wants them to. Most people don’t have big, life-altering experiences, see the error of their ways, and change right away. Instead, most people who change go through a long, slow process. It starts when a person has a problem, but doesn’t realize it. It continues as that person becomes aware of their problem, decides they want to do something about it, and figures out what to do. If the person succeeds in changing, they might spend the rest of their life working to maintain that change. Throughout the process, it’s normal for a person to make mistakes, fall back into old patterns, and have to work to get back on track. 

Once we understand that change happens in stages, we have a better idea of how to help someone change. When clients come to me with problems, my job is to figure out where they are in the change process and how I can help them get to the next stage. If a client comes to me and says she wants to quit smoking, but doesn’t know how, then I can help her research ways of quitting and coach her as she tries them. I have a very different job if she tells me that her kids and her doctor want her to quit smoking, but she wishes they would leave her alone. In that case, I need to help her think about what her doctor and her kids are telling her and consider that they might have her best interests in mind.

So how does this affect the rich man and his brothers? What can we do when we see someone in our lives headed down the wrong path? How can we help our brothers, sisters, parents, friends, or children change? 

First and most importantly, we can talk to them. In our parable, Abraham doesn’t believe that the rich man’s brothers would change, even if Lazarus rose from the dead to confront them. I think he’s probably right. As dramatic as it would be to get a message from a spirit, the rich man’s brothers don’t really know Lazarus. I think it would be much more meaningful if the rich man could talk to his brothers himself. Many people who successfully change say that concern from their loved ones helped them realize they had a problem. If we are concerned about someone we love, we should go to them and tell them what we notice about their behavior and why we want them to change. We should offer to help in any way that we can, whenever they are ready to accept help. 

Then, we need to be patient. Sometimes it takes a long time for the words of concerned family and friends to make a difference. In Changing for Good, one of the authors shares the story of a man named George, who came to him for therapy. George had many problems in his work and his relationships. George was also an alcoholic, who was in deep denial about his drinking. The therapist listened to George tell his story for a few weeks, and then gave his honest opinion. He told George that he was never going to solve his problems if he continued to drink. George didn’t like that. Instead of quitting drinking, he quit therapy. Four years passed. Then, to the therapist’s surprise, George came back. He said that he had been really angry when the therapist told him to quit drinking. But it had made him think. Then, over the next four years, other people in George’s life confronted him about his drinking too. Over time, he started to realize that the drinking was hurting him. When he decided that he needed make a change, he went back to the very therapist who first confronted him about the problem. They started working together and- slowly but surely- George turned his life around.

Just as we have to be patient while we wait for our loved ones to recognize their problems, we also have to be patient as they try to change. We have to understand that change is hard, and our loved ones might try and fail many times before they get it right. In church, we have special words for this: forgiveness and grace. 

I experienced a little of this just the other day. My husband and I are both people who used to be sedentary. We always knew we needed to exercise in order to stay healthy, but we had a hard time doing it. Then, we each went through a process of changing our behavior. Now, we both go to the gym on a regular schedule. We have classes that we like to take every week, and friends and trainers who expect to see us. But, like many other people who have changed, sometimes we fall back a little. Recently, we took a 2-week vacation. When we came back home, it was hard to get back into our early morning gym habit. For 2 weeks, we planned to go every day, but didn’t make it. This past Thursday, we missed one of our favorite morning classes, and I felt really guilty. So guilty that I resolved to go to the gym that afternoon after work- no excuses. So, I went, and guess who I ran into at the front desk? Our trainer from the morning class. Our trainer who hadn’t seen me for a month. I didn’t even let her say hello before I started apologizing and making excuses. But after a minute, she cut me off and said “I’m just happy to see you here now.” I remembered that comment the next day, when I didn’t feel like dragging myself out of bed again. If she had acted angry or chastised me, it would have been easy to get defensive. Instead, she welcomed be back with patience and understanding, and that made me want to get back on track.

Being brave enough to confront our loved ones about their problems can make a huge difference. So can offering help and being patient as they go through the change process. These are all things that any good therapist or doctor would do. But as Christians, we can do something else: we can pray. We can pray for our loved ones as they deal with their problems, and we can pray for ourselves as we try to help them. We can ask God for strength, courage, patience, and grace- all of the things that it takes to make a big change. We can seek counsel from a pastor or pastoral counselor. And we can trust in the good news we heard two weeks ago: that God will search for those who are lost until they are found. Yes, it is hard to change and just as hard to help someone else change. But we never have to do it alone. 

Amen.   

Desire

My lovely friend Corinne and I, shortly after completing our first clinical internships in 2010. She is the friend/colleague mentioned in this sermon, and I am still grateful for her listening ear and good advice! 

I have many updates about racing and training, which I will try to post within the next couple of days. First, though: a sermon!

I preached this at my home church, St. Andrew's UMC in Edgewater, MD last Sunday, 8/12/12. This sermon came from a very different writing process than previous sermons. Normally, I look up a sermon text at least a month in advance, sometimes even more. Then, I spend a few weeks just thinking about it. Sooner or later, an idea emerges about what I have to say about the text. I try to start actually writing a minimum of two weeks in advance, because I find that my best sermons come when I write a little, think, and then write some more.

Not this time. As I have mentioned in sermons before, I choose to preach using the lectionary (for an explanation of that, click here.) At least 90% of the time, this feels like a good idea. This summer, however, is part of that 10% of times when I find myself asking why I insist on making things hard for myself. For reasons beyond my comprehension, this year's lectionary cycle includes a stretch of four weeks where the Gospel lesson is basically the same every week. This year, from July 29th-August 19th, every week's Gospel lesson is from John, chapter 6, and they are all about how Jesus is "the Bread of Life." What's even more fun is that (in my opinion) the readings get less interesting and more repetitive every single week. For the first two weeks, we get stories. John tells a story and the crux of the story is "Jesus is the bread of life." For the second two weeks, the stories disappear. Instead, we get readings where Jesus spends 10 or 15 verses saying "I am the bread of life. Come to me and never be hungry, because I am the bread of life. Have I mentioned that I am the bread of life? Bread of life." (I'm paraphrasing here, but not by much.)

Why does the lectionary do this? I have no idea. An optimist might say that the bread of life message is so important we need to hear it four times. Someone more cynical might point out that church attendance drops in the summer, so repeating the lesson four times ensures that most church members will hear it at least once.

Now, I really can't complain too much about this, because I only had to preach on these readings once. My very hard-working and talented friends who are full-time clergy had to preach on these readings for four weeks in a row. Bless them. However, I will complain just a little that I got assigned to preach in week three of this cycle. By week three, pretty much everything that can be said about the bread of life has already been said... which brings me to my writing process.

When I sat down in church on July 29th, I already had a working draft of my August 12th sermon in my head. I knew I was preaching on the bread of life, and that the phrase "never be hungry" was in the text. At that point, I was a week into my latest round of Weight Watchers and struggling with constant hunger. BOOM! Metaphor! Physical hunger vs. spiritual hunger. I knew exactly where to go with that... and, apparently, so did my pastor. That morning, he stepped up to the pulpit and delivered the sermon I had mentally drafted. What's more, he delivered it well. Curses. Back to the drawing board.

A busy 10 days or so passed, and suddenly I found myself at August 8th without a word of my August 12th sermon written. I had a kernel of an idea in my head, but I was unsure about it because (a) it was very confessional, and (b) I wasn't sure it would make sense to anyone but me. By August 11th, I knew I had to use my risky kernel of an idea because I had nothing else. I sat down that afternoon to write, thinking I would be working until 1 or 2am. A mere three or four hours later (before dinner!), I was finished. This sermon practically wrote itself. And I like it. And the church liked it.

So, maybe the people who compiled the lectionary knew what they were doing!


John 6:35, 41-51
35Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty… 41Then the Jews began to complain about him because he said, “I am the bread that came down from heaven.” 42They were saying, “Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, ‘I have come down from heaven’?” 43Jesus answered them, “Do not complain among yourselves. 44No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day.45It is written in the prophets, ‘And they shall all be taught by God.’ Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me.46Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father. 47Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. 48I am the bread of life. 49Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. 50This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. 51I 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.”


Desire:
John 6:35, 41-51

Three years ago, before I met my fiance Andrew, I dated a man who was interested in Buddhism. He was longing for a more spiritual life, and he thought Buddhism might be the right path for him. Given the fact that I’m standing here right now, it probably won’t surprise you that I’m pretty interested in religion myself, and not just Christianity. I wasn’t interested in converting to Buddhism, but I was certainly interested in learning about it. So, for several months, I read about Buddhism too.

I know that Pastor Dave has an interest in Buddhism, because he’s mentioned it in several sermons over the years. He’s even brought in a Buddha statue as a visual aid. Pastor Dave recognizes that Buddhism is its own distinct religion, with its own distinct history, beliefs, and practices. Still, he sees a lot in Buddhism that’s relevant to Christianity.

Having done my own reading about Buddhism, I can understand where Pastor Dave is coming from. Buddhism is not Christianity, but there are many Buddhist teachings that sound a lot like Jesus’ teachings. This week’s Gospel reading is a prime example. For the past few weeks, we’ve been hearing Gospel readings from John about the Bread of Life. Our lectionary has reminded us over and over again that the food of this world is limited. Often, we don’t have enough of it to feed everyone. And even those who do get enough to eat are only satisfied for a short time. No matter how much we eat the food of this world, we will always be hungry again. Our lectionary has also taught us that the Bread of Life is different. Jesus offers a kind of nourishment that will satisfy us forever. Even better, the spiritual bread that Jesus offers is unlimited. There is enough and more than enough for everyone in the world.

By this point, after hearing these readings for weeks, the message should be clear: striving after the things of this world- indulging our worldly hungers- will never bring us true and lasting satisfaction. We can only find that kind of satisfaction by striving for something beyond this world. Matthieu Ricard, a modern-day Buddhist monk, defines “happiness” as “a deep sense of flourishing that arises from an exceptionally healthy mind. This is not a mere pleasurable feeling, a fleeting emotion, or a mood, but an optimal state of being.” To me, that sounds an awful lot like what Jesus is talking about when he talks about the Bread of Life: a soul-deep satisfaction that can last forever, completely different from the momentary pleasure we get from worldly things.

When I read about Buddhism, this was one of the ideas that really resonated with me. There are many different schools of thought within Buddhism, but almost all agree that striving after worldly things is a sure route to unhappiness. As human beings, we all have wishes and wants. We might want to make more money, or buy some nice furniture, or lose some weight. There’s nothing wrong with wanting these things, but we get into trouble when we convince ourselves that having those things will bring lasting happiness. What actually happens when we get what we want?

How many of us have gotten a raise and then increased our spending so that we used up the raise and then some? What happens then? We decide we need another raise! Or how many of us have saved up and bought a new sofa? What happens when we bring it home? We put it in the living room and sit down on it feeling satisfied… and then we take a look around and notice a few things. The brand-new, nice sofa sure does make our old coffee table look lousy. And it really brings out flaws in our paint job or the stains on our rug. The next thing we know, we have to redecorate the whole room! And what about losing that weight? As most of you know, I’ve been on that journey with Weight Watchers for almost 10 years now. During that time, I’ve seen a lot of overweight, lonely people with unhappy lives make some dramatic changes. I’ve met people who lost 50lbs, 100lbs, and more. I’ve also seen many of those people learn the hard way that losing weight only changed one thing: how they looked on the outside. Once the weight comes off, these people realize that they still have a lot of hard work to do in order to change how they feel on the inside. Losing weight turns out to be only one step on a long road to true happiness and peace.

Matthieu Ricard, the Buddhist monk, describes a person caught up in an endless cycle of wants this way: “If I have more than I could possibly need and I am still not happy, happiness must be impossible… Living on a pendulum between hope and doubt, excitement and boredom, desire and weariness, it’s easy to fritter away our lives, bit by bit, without even noticing, running all over the place and getting nowhere.” I think we can all look around our world today and see countless people living this way. I suspect that we can all look at our own lives and find times when we live this way. And I’m sure the fact that we’re all taking the time to be here at church this morning means that we want to do things differently. We want to find a higher purpose for our lives.

So how do we do it? Some Buddhists argue that our biggest problem as human beings is desire, and the answer is acceptance. As long as we want, we’ll never be happy with what we have. One of the wisest sayings I read in a Buddhist book is this: “Those whom summer’s heat tortures yearn for the full moon of autumn, Without even fearing the idea that a hundred days of their life will then have passed forever.” When we focus all of our attention on what we want in the future, we miss out on all of the blessings of the present. I think Jesus is saying the same thing when he tells us not to worry about what we will eat or wear because God will provide for us just as he provides for the lilies and the sparrow. Jesus wants us to stop worrying about what we may or may not get in the future. That way, we can appreciate the blessings and opportunities of the present.

Obviously, I’m very comfortable these ideas. I’m 100% persuaded that striving endlessly after momentary desires is a bad idea, and not just because Jesus and Buddha said it. I’ve seen in my own life and the lives of others that it doesn’t bring happiness, and it often has a ton of negative consequences. But there was a place in my Buddhist reading where I got stuck, and it was about desire. I accept that the desire for money and things is often dangerous, and I agree that most of us would be happier if we could live in the moment instead of endlessly worrying about the future. But is all desire bad? And should we never think about the future?

When I look at my life, many of my greatest blessings came to me because I had a desire and I focused on the future. My education is probably the best example. Growing up here in Edgewater, I always dreamed of traveling to other places, meeting new people, and learning new things. My favorite activity was reading. Through reading, I got to experience totally different people, places, and lifestyles. The fact that I loved to read and learn meant that I liked school, and I did really well there. Gradually, I figured out that school could be my ticket to the places I wanted to go. By the time I was in middle school, I was already dreaming about college. I had a vision of myself at an elite school, in a new place, surrounded by people who loved learning as much as I did. I thought going to a good college would be the beginning of a life where I could travel to interesting places, have adventures, and meet interesting people.

And you know what? I did it! I worked hard all through school and focused on my goals. I got into a great college and my dream of being with other smart, passionate people came true. I worked hard in college and after college, and I got into to graduate school at Yale- an experience that went beyond my wildest dreams. My work life hasn’t disappointed either. 20 years ago, I thought I would be some kind of globe-trotting writer or English professor. I never imagined I would be a pastoral counselor. But what do I do every day? I go to interesting places and listen to the stories of interesting people. Its not the adventure I imagined, but its definitely an adventure. I have a great life, and a good part of what led me to this life was having a desire and keeping my mind on the future.

All through my reading about Buddhism, I struggled with these questions. If desire led me to so many good things, how can it be bad? How can acceptance always be good? If I had just accepted my life the way it was when I was a child, I never would have experienced so many great things.

I found answers to these questions from some unusual teachers. My teachers weren’t Buddhist monks, or even Jesus. My teachers were the women I was counseling at that time. Back in 2009 and 2010, the time when I was engaged in my study of Buddhism, I was also engaged in my first clinical counseling internship. My clients were women who had experienced domestic violence. Talk to anyone who works in the field of domestic violence and they’ll tell you that domestic violence affects all kinds of people. I certainly found that to be true. I worked with a poor, uneducated, young white woman. I worked with a wealthy, educated, older black woman. I worked with married mothers, single women with no children, and teenagers. My clients were a diverse group, but they also had many things in common.

Pretty much all of my domestic violence center clients had a difficult, unresolved relationship somewhere in their past. Some lost a parent at an early age. Others had a parent who was distant, abusive, or unfaithful to their other parent. One lost a close friend to suicide as a teenager. Whatever their experiences, all of my clients carried around a lot of unexamined anger, guilt, and grief. Also, most of my clients had been in more than one abusive relationship. Many shared a similar experience: they escaped their first abusive relationship vowing never to be abused again. They tried to choose partners very different from their original abusers. Yet, despite their efforts, they found themselves being victims again and again. Finally, none of my clients stayed single for long. Those who had been through the harrowing process of leaving an abuser would immediately start looking for a new partner. Even those who had not left their abusive partner would confess that they had been thinking about old flames or developing an interest in someone at their work or in their neighborhood.

I found myself giving these women the same advice over and over: “Slow down. Take some time to be alone and learn about yourself. Deal with your past traumas. Become a different kind of person if you want to attract a different kind of person.” When I said these things to my clients, I often got the same answer: “But I want a relationship. I want a relationship and I want a family, so why shouldn’t I seek those things?”

I was very familiar with these pieces of advice and these responses even before I started working at the domestic violence center. I knew them from my own life. I am very fortunate in that I haven’t experienced an abusive relationship like the women I counseled. However, I did spend many years of my life focused on finding a relationship and having a family.

Throughout my 20’s, I experienced many blessings in my education, my career, and other aspects of my life. But instead of appreciating those blessings, I often focused my attention on something else that I wanted: a partner and a family. Like so many of my clients, I developed a negative pattern: I would meet someone, have a relationship for 6 months or a year, invest all of my energy in that relationship, and be devastated when it didn’t work out. Then, within a few months of each breakup, I would meet someone else and the cycle would start again. During this time, many wise friends advised me to take a break: to spend some time alone and invest some energy in other areas of my life. I would always rebut this advice with the same argument: “But I want a relationship. I want a relationship and I want a family, so why shouldn’t I seek those things?”

Finally, I think God got tired of watching me make the same mistake over and over. In 2010, while I was reading all about eradicating desire and practicing acceptance, and while I was counseling client after client to slow down and take time to herself, something happened. My boyfriend the Buddhist came to visit me one Saturday morning after his weekly meditation. He explained that he had achieved a moment of clarity and insight during his meditation: that we should break up.

As per my usual pattern, I was devastated. But that was the only part of this breakup which followed my usual pattern. By the time I went back to work on Monday morning, I knew that I needed to make a change. Before my clients arrived for the day, I sat with one of my fellow therapists, crying over the breakup, and told her that I had achieved an insight of my own. I realized that I could not be a hypocrite therapist. I could not tell client after client to take a break from dating and work on other areas of her life, and then not do the same myself. So, before my friend and colleague, I made a pledge: no dating for 6 months.

At the time, 6 months felt like an eternity. I had just turned 30 when I made this pledge and I was terrified of postponing my search for a partner. What if I didn’t meet someone in time to have children? But then, just as I advised my clients, I got invested in other areas of my life. I signed up for a challenging second-year clinical internship. I spent time fixing up my house. I joined committees here at St. Andrew’s and got my stalled ordination process moving again. I turned my on-again, off-again exercise habit into a daily commitment. Pretty soon, I felt like I was too busy for a relationship! I wound up renewing my 6 month no-dating pledge for another 6 months, and then another and another.

On the day I met Andrew, I had been single for just over 2 years. In that time, I had done what I always urged my clients to do: I had become a different kind of person. And sure enough, I attracted a different kind of person. Andrew is one of the greatest blessings to ever come into my life- the kind of blessing that can only come from God. And the path I took to meet him taught me a very valuable lesson: that God brings us blessings in God’s own time.

This reminds me of another wise teaching from a book about Buddhism. The authors encourage readers to think of our lives like newly-planted gardens. A newly-planted garden is full of seeds, but we can’t predict which ones will grow and which ones will die. We might really, really want a particular plant to grow into something great, but we can’t make it happen. We can’t reach into the ground and pull it up by force. And if we spend all of our time and energy focused on one plant, we risk neglecting the others. The best thing we can do is water and tend to all of the plants, and then wait to see which ones flourish.

In the garden of my life, I spent years trying to pull the “relationship” plant out of the ground, while neglecting all of the others. Once I stared spreading my attention around- giving some to my career, some to my spiritual life, some to my friends, some to my health- blessings started sprouting up everywhere. And the blessings I have now are not the kind that make me happy for a short time and then leave me wanting more. These are the kind that bring deep, lasting satisfaction- the Bread of Life.

I think Jesus and the Buddhists have one more valuable thing to teach us about real and lasting satisfaction: its out there, calling to us. We just need to listen. In this morning’s text, Jesus says “No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me… Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me.” This is about grace, and as United Methodists, we believe in grace. We believe that God is out there, calling to every human person, inviting us into relationship with God. All we have to do is slow down, put our endless wishes and desires aside for awhile, and listen. Why do you think Buddhists spend so much time in meditation? Why do you think Jesus spent so much time away from the crowds, alone, in prayer?

God knows that we long for deep, abiding happiness and peace, and God will guide us on our journeys to achieve that peace. But God can’t guide us on the road to happiness if we’re too busy trying to guide ourselves. There’s nothing wrong with desiring happiness, and there’s nothing wrong with taking action to achieve that happiness. But the most important action we can take to achieve happiness is letting go of what we desire for ourselves, and asking what God desires for us.

Amen.

A Lenten sermon and lessons (already) learned.

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to serve as substitute preacher for my candidacy mentor at his church, Baldwin Memorial UMC. It was the first Sunday of Lent, so I didn't have to search too far to find a topic. My sermon is below.

Writing this sermon helped me reflect on my own Lenten resolutions (see previous post), and why they are challenges for me. If I think about why I struggle with consistent exercise and daily food tracking, I hit on a couple of underlying issues:

First, (as I've noted in this blog before) I get into trouble when my routine changes. Any life change, positive or negative, that disrupts part of my regular routine can throw off every other part of my routine. So, my work schedule changes and suddenly I can't find time to go to the gym or track my food. The problem is exacerbated because it tends to take me a long time to establish new routines.

Second, I am prone to all-or-nothing thinking. For example, "I didn't do the 2 hours at the gym I had planned for today, so I might as well do nothing." Or, "I didn't track anything this weekend, so why start now? This week is already a loss." Not true in either case!

So, if I think about it, my goals of exercising and tracking every day are really about being flexible and not so hard on myself. And, at less than a week in, I've already been tested on both of those fronts:

On Friday, I had a plan to go to the gym for a class. I missed it, so I made a plan B to go to a later class. Then, something came up and I missed the second class too (aka: the last class of the day). Undeterred, I pulled out a workout DVD I hadn't used in ages and got a (surprisingly challenging) workout at home. Score one for flexibility!

This morning, I woke up way too tired to go to my usual 6am class at the gym. I hit the snooze button, thinking I would go to the 8:30am class. Then, when I woke up at 7, I remembered that I had a doctor's appintment at 9 and needed to head to work right afterward. So, I'm not going to get a workout in today. In the past, I might have let this minor setback end my whole endeavor, but that would be all-or-nothing thinking and I'm not falling for that anymore!

So, that's two lessons learned in about 5 days. This could be next year's Lenten sermon!


Mark 1:9-15


9In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. 10And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. 11And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” 12And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. 13He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.

14Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, 15and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”

It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better

A few months ago, I started a job as a family therapist. So far, I’ve only worked with a handful of families, but I already see some patterns. When I first meet with a family, I find one of two situations:

In some families, it takes awhile to get every family member to the table. For the first session or two, at least one crucial family member will be missing. The family members who do come blame most of the family’s problems on the missing person. They say that everything would be better if only that one person could change.

In other families, everyone comes together, but they avoid certain topics. In early sessions with these families, it seems like nothing is wrong. They assure me that they have some problems, but they are working on them, and things are getting better all the time. Anyone listening in might wonder why these families even need therapy.

With every family I see, my first job is to get everyone to the table and to get everything on the table. If family members are missing, I find ways to get them there. If I sense that topics are being avoided, I probe deeper. Once I succeed, things get interesting. Families start really working through their problems- often for the first time. Secrets are revealed. People who are usually quiet speak up. Conflicts emerge. Tears are shed and voices are raised.

This is when I get a phone call. It usually comes a few weeks into therapy, after a particularly difficult session. Someone from the family calls me and says “I don’t think this is working. Talking about our problems is making everyone upset. I think we all need individual therapy because talking as a family is too hard.” My response to this call is always the same. I tell the caller that solving family problems is hard work. I tell them that it takes a lot of courage to sit down as a family and face those problems. I remind them that their problems didn’t develop overnight and they won’t be solved overnight. And I tell them that a family problem is like a cold: it gets worse before it gets better.

Today’s Gospel lesson from Mark reminds me a lot of family therapy. At the beginning of the passage, Jesus is anointed for his ministry. He gets baptized by John the Baptist in the Jordan. During the baptism, the heavens open up, the Holy Spirit descends on Jesus like a dove, and the voice of God rings out: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” At the end of the passage, Jesus sets out on his ministry. He goes into Galilee and starts proclaiming his message: “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.” It seems simple and straightforward: God blesses Jesus’ ministry and Jesus sets out to do that ministry. God says “I believe in you, Jesus” and Jesus goes off to do God’s will.

But, of course, it isn’t that simple. I’m leaving out the part in the middle. After Jesus’ baptism, the Holy Spirit drives him out into the desert to be tempted by Satan for 40 days. 40 days! To me, that seems like an awfully long time. If God already believes in Jesus, why does Jesus have to spend more than a month proving himself? If Jesus’ message is so important, why not send him out right away? Why take more than a month out of a ministry that’s only going to last 3 years? Why does Jesus have to travel through the desert before he can start his ministry?

Thinking about these questions makes me think about my work as a therapist. The families who come to me for help often feel like they’re wandering in a desert. Their lives feel harsh and barren and they can’t find a way out of their problems. When someone calls me for the first time and asks me to help their family, it’s a big moment. It takes wisdom to know when we’re lost, and it takes courage to ask for help. Beginning therapy with a family is like anointing them for a mission. They have decided to fix what’s broken in their relationships and I’m there to tell them “You can do this- I believe in you.”

When they get started in therapy, many families feel excited, hopeful, and ready to change. They’ve been wandering in their deserts for a long time, and now they’ve finally called in a guide to help them out. They consider me an expert on deserts: someone who knows the terrain and can show them the shortcuts. They hope I’ll give them a map and a couple of camels and they’ll be out of the desert in no time.

The truth is more complicated. Yes, I am a bit of an expert on deserts. I’m enough of an expert to realize that there are no shortcuts. The only way out of the desert is through. I know that crossing a desert takes time and that you’re going to face heat, wind, and thirst. My clients want me to lead them out of the desert, but I know that I need to lead them through. And if I’m going to do that, I need to give them a good reason. If they are going to face all of the perils of that journey, they need to know why.

For Jesus, the time he spends in the desert is a test. Mark doesn’t give us many details of what happens there, but Matthew and Luke tell us more about the temptations Jesus faces:

When Jesus is hungry from fasting, Satan tempts him to turn stones into bread. By this point, Jesus has been living in the desert heat for days- possibly weeks- without any food at all. Just hearing the word “bread” probably sets his heart racing and his mouth watering. But Jesus resists. He decides that the purpose of his fast is worth the agony. With this temptation, Jesus learns that he can endure pain and suffering in order to serve a higher purpose.

Later, Satan takes Jesus to the top of a high temple. Satan tells Jesus to prove that he’s the son of God by throwing himself off the temple and relying on angels to save him. Jesus faces this temptation just a short time after his baptism. Jesus went into the Jordan as a carpenter, and now he’s been claimed as God’s son. I can only imagine that he has some doubts. Part of him must be wondering if God will really look out for him. To have proof- for himself and the rest of the world- must be a wonderful idea. Yet, Jesus resists. With this temptation, Jesus learns he can be obedient to God, even when God feels distant and mysterious.

Finally, Satan tempts Jesus with power. He takes Jesus to the top of a high mountain and shows him vast lands and kingdoms. Satan promises Jesus that he can rule over everything he sees, if only he will forsake God and worship Satan. God is asking Jesus to be a servant: a loyal son who will humbly do God’s will. Satan offers the exact opposite: power, wealth, luxury, and the chance to be a ruler rather than a servant. Yet, Jesus resists again. With this temptation, he learns that he will not forsake his mission for power and wealth.

By the time Jesus emerges from the desert, he has faced all the temptations he will face in his ministry. He has faced his fears about the work ahead, and he knows he’s up to the job. He is ready for his mission in a way he never could have been without his time in the desert.

We often think of a mission as an individual thing, but families have missions too. There are some missions almost all families have in common: loving and supporting one another, having fun together, raising happy and healthy kids. Other missions are unique to individual families. Some families want to travel the world together, or learn new things, or serve the needy. And, just like individuals, families face temptations and challenges as they work toward their missions:

I see families so afraid of conflict they barely talk to each other. They let hurt and anger fester and poison their relationships. They have a problem with one person in the family and talk to everyone except that person.

I see families ripped apart by a secret or event from the past. A couple goes through a messy divorce and pushes their children to take sides. The children take up the conflict and wind up passing it on to their own children. I’ve seen families who can’t get along today because of what happened between Grandma and Grandpa 50 years ago.

I see families where parents give their children anything and everything they want. They only want to make their children happy, but they wind up making them spoiled and unable to accept limits.

Much of what I do as a family therapist is helping families face and overcome their temptations. If a family is tempted to silence disagreements, I help them to face their conflicts and work them out. If a family is holding on to a grudge from the past, I help them let it go. If parents are tempted to give in to their children, I help them learn to be strong.

None of this is easy. Its not easy for a mother to stand her ground while her child throws a tantrum. Its not easy for a father to hear how his divorce hurt his children. Its not easy for estranged family members to get together and talk. In fact, I think the biggest temptation most families face is the temptation to stay the same. Crossing the desert often feels too hard, even if something wonderful might be waiting on the other side.

Fortunately, we have today’s Gospel text to inspire and encourage us. We know that Jesus did the long, hard work of facing his temptations. We know that his time in the desert gave him what he needed to begin his mission- a mission that changed the world forever. And, to remember that time in the desert, we have the season of Lent.

During Lent, we are called to embark on a 40-day journey just like Jesus. As we prepare for Easter, God calls us to think about our own temptations. Lent is a time when each and every one of should ask: “What’s in my desert? What mission is God calling me to, and what do I have to overcome before I can start that mission?” We can ask this as individuals, or as families, or as churches.

Lent also calls us to face those temptations: to spend 40 days wrestling with our own personal demons. During Lent, many people choose to give up a bad habit or take up a good one. Unfortunately, many Lenten resolutions are a lot like New Year’s resolutions. We pick them without much thought and begin them expecting to fail. But, if we choose our resolutions carefully, Lent can be a powerful time of spiritual growth. On Ash Wednesday, I saw an article online suggesting some unconventional Lenten resolutions. Here are a few examples:

-Get to know your neighbors.

-Everywhere you go, leave a post-it with a positive message.

-Wear the same 4 outfits for all of Lent.

-Stop using your phone, computer, and TV after dinner.

What I like about these resolutions is that they target specific temptations. If your temptation is vanity, wearing the same 4 outfits for 40 days will be humbling. If you tend to be shy, knocking on your neighbors’ doors will be scary. If you spend all day attached to your devices, spending 40 evenings in quiet will be hard. These resolutions are challenging, but they have the potential to change someone forever.

We’re already a few days into Lent, but we still have over a month to go. That’s more than enough time for each of us to make at least one meaningful change. So, take some time and think about it: What is in your desert? Your family’s desert? Your church’s desert? And what could you find if you traveled through that desert? It won’t be an easy journey, but we know that we won’t make it alone. Amen.

Introducing Lydia.

If you read this blog with any regularity, you know that I am running the NYC marathon on November 6th. What you may not know- because I haven't mentioned it yet- is that I am dedicating my NYC run to a cause very close to my heart.

I had the privilege of going to Yale Divinity School with many bright and talented people, full of passion and creativity. Two of those people, Emily Scott and Rachel Pollack, have spent the past three years building a church in Brooklyn called St. Lydia's. According to their website, "St. Lydia’s is a Dinner Church. We gather every Sunday evening to cook and share a sacred meal, just as the first followers of Jesus did. We eat, explore scripture, offer prayers, and sing together...St. Lydia’s is an experiment in what the Church might be when the meal we share is at the center of our life together."

I have never been to St. Lydia's, but I have diligently followed their website and blogs from the very beginning. What my friends are building helps me think more creatively about what church can and should be. I think they are bringing something exciting and vital to the table of Christianity, and I want to support their ministry in two important ways: First, I want to spread the word about St. Lydia's to those who might find a home there. Second, I want to help St. Lydia's raise the funds they need to survive and grow.

With those goals in mind, I'll be writing more about St. Lydia's from time to time in the weeks ahead. I encourage you to visit their website to learn more about who they are and what they do. Then, if you feel so moved, pay them a visit and/or offer a donation. I will also be running the marathon in a St. Lydia's t-shirt, designed by Rachel, and hoping that some fellow runners follow me to their table!

To begin, I want to offer some background on St. Lydia herself. Below is a sermon I preached at my church, St. Andrew's UMC in Edgewater, MD on Mother's Day 2010. The text is Acts 16:9-15, which tells the story of Lydia and her role in the early church. I do not mention St. Lydia's explictly, but they were definitely on my mind as I wrote about Christian hospitality. Within this sermon, I mention two great books: Making Room: Recovering Hospitality as a Christian Tradition by Christine Pohl, and The Boneshaker by my friend Kate Milford. Follow the links to learn more about those books.

Thanks for your support!

Acts 16:9-15

9During the night Paul had a vision: there stood a man of Macedonia pleading with him and saying, “Come over to Macedonia and help us.” 10When he had seen the vision, we immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them. 11We set sail from Troas and took a straight course to Samothrace, the following day to Neapolis, 12and from there to Philippi, which is a leading city of the district of Macedonia and a Roman colony. We remained in this city for some days. 13On the sabbath day we went outside the gate by the river, where we supposed there was a place of prayer; and we sat down and spoke to the women who had gathered there. 14A certain woman named Lydia, a worshiper of God, was listening to us; she was from the city of Thyatira and a dealer in purple cloth. The Lord opened her heart to listen eagerly to what was said by Paul. 15When she and her household were baptized, she urged us, saying, “If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come and stay at my home.” And she prevailed upon us.

Welcome Home:

Acts 16: 9-15

When I was a little girl, I loved nothing more than having friends over to my house. I loved to walk them through the house for the first time, showing them all my toys, books, and pictures, and telling the well-worn stories that went with each room: how my dad made my dresser in the basement but couldn’t get it up the stairs, how he built me a 2-story playhouse when all I wanted was a tent, how a friend once tried to call her mom from the mixer mounted on the kitchen wall. When I had taken my friend through the whole house, we would go for a walk around the neighborhood, where the show and tell would continue: here’s where I learned to ride a bike; here’s where my neighbor found baby ducks in her pool and I walked them to the beach. I wanted my friend to know all about me: my family, my things, my stories, my home.

I also loved going to other people’s houses. There was always something fascinating about meeting my friends’ families, seeing their rooms, eating at their kitchen tables. The most interesting parts were the differences: I couldn’t believe that one mom would let us walk to the drugstore all by ourselves or watch whatever we wanted on TV, while another mom never let us out of her sight and only allowed pre-screened, G-rated videos. Some houses had pools, some had trampolines, and some had hidden rooms left over from “the olden days.” Macaroni and cheese tasted a little bit different in every house.

Something about going over to someone’s house, or having them over to yours, cemented a friendship. You could talk to somebody at school every day, but it wasn’t the same. Once you saw each other’s rooms, met each other’s dogs, ate food cooked by each other’s moms, then you were really friends.

For me, its not so different now. I don’t have my own family yet, so I spend a lot of time with my friends. And I still find that nothing cements a friendship like having someone over your house. My best friends have spent so much time at my house that they can fix their own drinks and snacks and pull out the sofa-bed without any help. When I have parties, I’ll often find my oldest friends giving my newer friends tours, and telling their own stories about things that happened in this or that room. In many ways, they feel like my house is their house too, and I love that.

Given how much I like having friends over, its no surprise that I chose to go into ministry. As we see in this morning’s text from Acts, this is how many of the first churches got started: with people inviting other people over to their houses. In many ways, the story of Lydia inviting Paul and his companions into her home is typical of the early church.

Jesus grew up studying the Hebrew scriptures, which are filled with rules and instructions about welcoming the stranger. In Genesis, Abraham and Sarah provide hospitality for three mysterious travelers, only to learn that they are actually angels in disguise. In Exodus, the Israelites rely on God’s hospitality to provide food, water, and shelter as they wander in the desert. Once the Israelites reach the Promised Land, they are instructed by God to always remember the stranger, since they were once strangers in Egypt. For the Jewish people, providing hospitality is a way of honoring God and their history.

In his own ministry, Jesus honors his Jewish heritage by both offering and depending on hospitality. Over and over again, Jesus gives everything he has to anyone who asks: his attention, his healing touch, his food, and finally his own life. At the same time, Jesus and his disciples rely on the hospitality of strangers to meet their basic needs. They travel without food, extra clothes, or money. When they visit a new place, they depend on kind strangers to take them in and provide for them. In his teachings, Jesus emphasizes hospitality as the sign of a true believer. Perhaps the most famous example of this is Matthew 25, when Jesus says “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me…” At the Last Supper, Jesus teaches his disciples to remember him by practicing the most basic act of hospitality: sharing bread and wine.

So, really, Paul and Lydia are just continuing a long-standing tradition. Paul and his companions travel to Phillipi not knowing how they will get by. They meet Lydia, and share their Gospel message with her. Lydia, in gratitude for the word, offers Paul and his friends food and shelter. It seems like a simple, nice story with a simple, nice message, perfect for Mother’s Day. Welcome new people, listen to them, treat them with kindness, and share what you have.

When I first read this text, I was tempted to fill a sermon with simple, heartwarming stories of women being generous and hospitable and call it a day. But I don’t think that would do justice to this story, or to the idea of Christian hospitality. The more I study this story and read about hospitality in the early church, the more I realize that true Christian hospitality isn’t always nice, and its almost never simple. If we take a closer look at the story of Paul and Lydia, we learn a few things about Christian hospitality which make it a new and challenging idea, both in Paul’s time and in ours.

First, Christian hospitality brings people together in new and unexpected ways. During Paul and Lydia’s time, society was totally centered around the family. People lived, worked, traveled, and worshipped with their families. Women, like Lydia, had no identity apart from family. As children, they were the property of their fathers. When they got married, they became the property of their husbands. Living independently was not socially accepted, or even safe, for a woman.

Yet, Lydia defies these customs. Maybe she’s a widow, or maybe she’s never been married. Either way, at the time of this story, she is a woman living independently, supporting herself by selling cloth. Even more unusual, she is a Gentile woman worshipping with Jews. The Jewish community in the city of Phillipi is tiny- we can tell because they celebrate the Sabbath at a river instead of in a Temple. They are almost certainly outcasts. Yet, for whatever reason, Lydia is drawn to them. By the time she meets Paul, she is a social oddball in two ways: a Gentile woman living on her own, celebrating the Sabbath with Jews.

Paul is an oddball too. Before his conversion, Paul was a Pharisee, a devout keeper of the Jewish laws and customs. After his conversion, Paul rebelled against the other early church leaders. Many of them believed that only Jews should become Christians. If a non-Jew wanted to become a Christian, the church leaders required that person to adopt the Jewish laws and customs first. Paul made the radical move of deliberately preaching the Gospel to Gentiles, and making faith in Christ the only requirement for new Christians. This is why Paul goes to Phillipi in the first place: he is on a mission to spread Christianity beyond the Jewish communities, into the whole world.

Choosing to work together is a risky move for both Paul and Lydia. Without the protection of a father or husband, Lydia makes the brave choice to go from one persecuted religious minority to an even smaller and more persecuted minority. She opens herself up to gossip and scandal by housing strange men in her home. For Paul, Lydia’s home is not the ideal place to set up his base in Phillipi. He is also opening himself up to scandal by staying with an unmarried woman. Lydia doesn’t exactly give his movement credibility- a wealthy and prominent man would make a more appealing leader for his new church. Yet, Paul doesn’t worry about any of this. He offers the Gospel to anyone who will listen, and accepts the leader that God provides for him. Christ’s message takes these two people, who are strangers in every possible sense of the word, and turns them into a new family.

This story also teaches us that Christian hospitality doesn’t count the cost. Lydia doesn’t tell Paul and his friends to come and stay at her house for a couple of nights until they find a hotel. She just tells them to come and stay. She instantly drops whatever plans she had for herself, and invites this group of strangers to stay in her home, sleep in her beds, use her bathrooms, and eat her food, for as long as they want. I think that’s pretty generous.

In a book about the history of Christian hospitality, Methodist scholar Christine Pohl identifies this radical generosity as the single most important thing which set Christian hospitality apart from other traditions. During Paul’s time, the kind of hospitality practiced in Greek and Roman cities, like Phillipi, reinforced the social hierarchy. People were expected to offer hospitality to their families, members of their religious communities, and prominent citizens, with the idea that their hospitality would be reciprocated. In other words, people welcomed their friends and neighbors, with the expectation that they would be welcomed in return. Less prominent members of the community offered hospitality to more prominent members, in the hopes of improving their own social standing. No invitations were issued without the host asking “what’s in it for me?”

Early Christians, on the other hand, offered hospitality to anyone and everyone, with no expectation of receiving anything in return. In fact, they went out of their way to offer hospitality to people who could not possibly return the favor. The early Christians saw offering hospitality to the poor as one of the holiest things a believer could do, because it involved giving without the expectation of gain. Also, rather than using hospitality to reinforce social hierarchies, the early Christians used hospitality to make everyone equal. In early churches, everything was shared in common, so rich and poor community members sat around the same tables and ate the same simple food. Believers like Lydia, who were used to being the heads of households, took turns serving the community just like everybody else. Early Christians used hospitality to reinforce and demonstrate a very powerful, radical idea: that all believers are equal in God’s eyes.

Finally, this story teaches us that Christian hospitality is about opening up to one another completely, without reservation. When Lydia tells Paul and his companions “come and stay at my home,” she doesn’t say “but give me an hour to clean up first.” Knowing that Paul is coming to her house, Lydia doesn’t run ahead of him and start hiding things in her closets. She invites him to see her home and her family just as they are. Similarly, the book of Acts and the letters of Paul invite readers to see the early Christians just as they are. Take some time to read these books, and you’ll see that they are chock full of arguments. Paul and the other church leaders engage in passionate and not always civil debates with one another about everything involved in the new church: who should be in charge, who should be allowed in, and what they should believe. Rather than giving readers a cleaned-up, flattering look at the early church, Paul and the other leaders open themselves up completely, inviting us to see the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Our founder, John Wesley, believed that this kind of openness was at the heart of Christian life. He organized all of the early Methodist societies into small groups, called “classes” and “bands.” These groups met for at least an hour each week so that members could share their faith journeys. It sounds like a nice, simple idea, but Wesley’s groups were not the kind of faith-sharing groups you see at churches today. These were not groups of church members who gathered over coffee to share joys and concerns. Wesley’s groups were more like public interrogations or confessionals.

At every weekly Methodist band meeting, members pledged “To speak each of us in order, freely and plainly, the true state of our souls, with the faults we have committed in thought, word, or deed, and the temptations we have felt since our last meeting.” Once each member had shared, a leader asked everyone in the group probing questions. Wesley required each person to be asked these five questions at every single meeting:

1) What known sins have you committed since our last meeting?

2) What temptations have you met with?

3) How were you delivered?

4) What have you thought, or said, or done, which you doubt whether it be sin or not?

5) Have you nothing you desire to keep secret?

Just in case group members were tempted not to answer these extremely personal questions honestly, other group members were encouraged to chime in and offer their comments. New members who wanted to join a group had to submit to a highly personal interview, designed to prepare them for the level of scrutiny they would face. Here are some actual questions from that interview:

Do you desire to be told of your faults?

Do you desire to be told of all your faults, and that plain and simple?

Do you desire that every one of us should tell you, from time to time, whatsoever is in his heart concerning you?

Consider! Do you desire that every one of us should tell you, from time to time, whatsoever we think, whatsoever we fear, whatsoever we hear concerning you?

Do you desire that, in doing this, we should come as close as possible; that we should cut to the quick, and search your heart to the bottom?

Wesley, like Paul, Lydia, and the other early church leaders, believed that being a Christian meant opening yourself up completely to other people: not just your home and your wallet, but also your mind and your heart.

Now, as I’ve gone over these important points of Christian hospitality, I imagine that some, if not all of you, have started thinking about our own church. How do we measure up? Have we created an environment in which anyone and everyone is truly welcome? Are we open to whomever God brings to us, no matter how strange or unlikely they seem? Do we consider everyone who walks through our doors an equal and give to one another without counting the cost? And finally, do we open ourselves up to one another completely, without reservation?

On the first points, I think we can all agree that we have some strengths and some weaknesses. These are things we talk about a lot. We’re proud of the way we welcome the stranger and give to the needy through programs like VIM and the food pantry. At the same time, we know we need to work harder to bring new people into our community and to encourage more generosity to support our missions. These are very important points, and there’s a lot more to say about them, but today I’m more interested in the final point: how well do we open ourselves up to one another?

When I compare the church of Paul and Lydia’s time, or the church of Wesley’s time, to the church of our time, this is where I see the most obvious difference. We know that we should be more welcoming and more generous, but do we even believe we should be more open? In our modern church and our modern culture, we’ve made a virtue out of not sharing too much. Teenagers- and some adults- make fun of each other for giving “TMI:” “too much information.” We judge our leaders if they show too much pain or weakness. In our church meetings and offices, we’re so concerned about being polite and agreeable that we often have trouble saying what we mean. I struggle with that all the time. In church council meetings, I have a hard time voicing concerns about the most innocuous budget items. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to go to one of Wesley’s meetings, where church members took turns looking each other in the eye and saying “You know what your problem is?”

From our modern viewpoint, it can be hard to understand why the early Christians thought this kind of openness was so important. Why is sharing our hearts and souls a central part of Christian hospitality, as important as sharing our time and resources? I’ve thought and read a lot about this question over the past few days, so here are a few ideas:

First, sharing invites more sharing. When we’re open about our own thoughts, feelings, dreams, and fears, we give other people permission to open up too. This is one of the reasons Pastor Dave is so effective. Many pastors give sermons that are like public service announcements- they talk about difficult things like family problems or mental illness as if they’ve only read about them in books. It takes a brave person like Pastor Dave to get behind the pulpit and share about his own family or his own depression. But who makes the bigger difference? Which pastor are you going to with your own problems? This is the reason I love having people over my house. Once I welcome someone into my space- let them see my things, look at my pictures, and hear my stories- they feel more comfortable sharing themselves with me. We go from being acquaintances to being friends. Opening ourselves up gives others permission to do the same, and that creates an environment of hospitality.

Also, opening up to one another makes it easier to work together. The early Christians often lived and worked in small, very close communities. In Phillipi, Lydia’s house became the central hub and gathering place of a new church. This community, like the other early churches, had no paid leadership. The early Christians built and sustained it themselves. They cooked and ate together, planned and conducted worship together, went out into the community to preach together, and tended to the poor together. I imagine that things felt a little close for comfort sometimes. I’m sure that Paul got on Lydia’s nerves, or that the two of them disagreed about how to carry out their mission. Airing their differences openly and regularly helped the early Christians vent their frustrations and move forward together, without devolving into gossip and cliques. The same could be said for the early Methodists. A member of a Methodist class might not have liked what the other class members had to say about her, but at least she could trust them to speak to her openly, and to give her the opportunity to air her own grievances. Sharing their thoughts and feelings with one another helped the early Christians stay unified, so they could go about the business of welcoming others.

In today’s church, I think we worry sometimes that the truth is dangerous- that it might be hurtful or divisive. But if we pay attention to the lessons of the early church, I think we see how the truth can bring us together and set us free. If you need further proof, I have a book to recommend:

Over the past few days, I had the great pleasure of reading The Boneshaker, written by Kate Milford. Many of you knew Kate back when she was called Katie Chell and she went to Sunday School here at St. Andrew’s. Kate has always dreamed of being a writer, and this week, her dream came true. After church today, you can all go to any bookstore and buy her first book, and I really hope you will, because it is brilliant. Kate has a lot to say about the truth, and the power it has to either bring people together or keep them apart.

The Boneshaker is about a family and a town with a lot of secrets. In the beginning, Kate’s heroine, a 13 year-old girl named Natalie, is scared to ask about those secrets. But then things start to happen which put Natalie’s family and town in danger. Gradually, Natalie realizes that she can only save the day by finding the courage to ask questions and uncover the truth. Over the course of the book, she finds the courage to question adults, stand up to the town bullies, and even confront the Devil himself. In the end, though, the hardest question for her to ask is directed at her own mother, Annie. Annie is very sick for most of the book, but she hasn’t told Natalie what’s wrong with her, and Natalie has been too afraid to ask. Finally, after all of her adventures, Natalie has the courage to look her mother in the eye and ask “Mama, can you tell me how sick you are, really?” Natalie’s brave question gives Annie the courage to answer truthfully: “Natalie we aren’t sure what it is… its very scary when you know something’s wrong but you don’t know what it is.” The truth doesn’t cure Annie’s body, but it repairs her relationship with Natalie. Sharing their deepest thoughts and worries brings mother and daughter closer than they’ve ever been before.

Paul and Lydia have many things to teach us, but I think the most important is that true hospitality begins with our own closest relationships, with our friends, our families, and our church communities. If we’re going to open ourselves to anyone and everyone, the way God calls us to, we much first be able to open ourselves to one another. Today is Mother’s Day, and I think that the greatest gift any of us can give our mothers or our children is to say something we’ve never been able to say before, or ask a question we’ve never had the courage to ask. Try it, and I bet it opens things up in ways they’ve never been open before. Then, over the next few days and weeks, try to share just a little more of yourself with your church family, and invite others to do the same. Risk voicing your opinion in a meeting, and try to have a more open and gracious heart when other people voice their opinions. If we all work on opening things up just a little more, we’ll have that much more space to welcome others into our home.

  

Amen.

Still Speaking.

I preached this sermon at St. Andrew's United Methodist Church in Edgewater, MD on August 14th, 2011.

For this sermon, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Dr. Daniel Deffenbaugh of Nebraska for his blog post "Gathering Others," which you can read here. I really had no idea where I was going with this text before reading his post.

I also mention fellow Bryn Mawr alum Beth Stroud in this post. You can read more about her here. As a postscript to her story, I should mention that she served in ministry in a lay capacity for some time after being defrocked by the UMC and is now working on a PhD at an institution almost as illustrious as Bryn Mawr.  


Matthew 15:10-28

10Then he called the crowd to him and said to them, “Listen and understand: 11it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.” 12Then the disciples approached and said to him, “Do you know that the Pharisees took offense when they heard what you said?” 13He answered, “Every plant that my heavenly Father has not planted will be uprooted. 14Let them alone; they are blind guides of the blind. And if one blind person guides another, both will fall into a pit.” 15But Peter said to him, “Explain this parable to us.” 16Then he said, “Are you also still without understanding? 17Do you not see that whatever goes into the mouth enters the stomach, and goes out into the sewer? 18But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this is what defiles. 19For out of the heart come evil intentions, murder, adultery, fornication, theft, false witness, slander. 20These are what defile a person, but to eat with unwashed hands does not defile.” 

21Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. 22Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” 23But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” 24He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” 25But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” 26He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” 27She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” 28Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.

Still Speaking:
Matthew 15:10-28        

I won’t be here with you next Sunday. Instead, I’ll be in Columbia competing in my first triathlon: a .6 mile open-water swim, followed by a 17.5 mile bike ride, and a 3.3 mile run. I registered for this event on November 1st, so, for almost 9 months now, August 21, 2011 has been burned into my brain as the day I face one of the biggest challenges of my life.

August 21st will be a big day for me. Yet, I may end up remembering August 14th as the day I faced an even bigger challenge: preaching on this morning’s Gospel text. In the United Methodist church, preachers aren’t required to preach on the Gospel text from the lectionary. In fact, we don’t have to preach on the lectionary at all. We can choose a different Scripture text, or just pick a topic. Yet, Pastor Dave has always chosen to preach on the lectionary, and so do I. We each have our own reasons, but I know we have at least one in common: When you choose to preach on the lectionary, sometimes you have to preach on difficult texts. Texts you don’t really understand or like. Texts you would just as soon avoid. As a lectionary preacher, you have to face those texts and see if you can find some truth in them. For me, today’s Gospel is one of those texts.

It starts out well enough: In the first part, Jesus talks to his disciples about some of the purity laws that they observe as Jews- rules about what to eat and how to stay ritually clean. Jesus doesn’t condemn these rules. In fact, He probably follows them himself. But he warns his disciples that simply following the rules doesn’t mean a person is leading a Godly life. What a person puts in his or her mouth doesn’t reveal what is in that person’s heart. Instead, Jesus says that people should be judged by the words that come out of their mouths.

It makes sense to me. Imagine two hypothetical people: Person A goes to church every Sunday, tithes 10% of their income, reads the Bible every day, and makes something delicious for every bake sale. Yet, Person A also gossips about friends and neighbors, is rude and abusive to co-workers, and never has a good word to say to anyone. Person B, on the other hand, has never even heard of Jesus. Person B has never been to a church or read the Bible. Yet, Person B is honest, kind, and charitable. Person B chooses words carefully, only saying what will help and encourage friends and neighbors. Person A may be ritually pure, but Person B has a pure heart.

Jesus spends much of the Gospels exposing the hypocrisy of the Person A’s in his community, and reaching out to the Person B’s. Yet, in the second half of today’s text, Jesus seems to do just the opposite. A woman approaches him on the road. Her daughter is tormented by a demon, and she is desperate for help. By this point in the Gospel, Jesus has performed many miraculous healings, so we know he can heal this woman’s daughter. Yet, he ignores her. Why? Because she is a Canaanite and he believes he’s been sent only to the Jews. Jesus tries to sends the woman away. Then, when she persists in her request, Jesus does the unthinkable: he calls this desperate woman and her child “dogs”! When I hear these hurtful and demeaning words come out of Jesus’ mouth, I have to wonder- what is in his heart? What causes him to treat this woman so badly? And then, what causes him to change his mind and grant her request?

As confused as I am by Jesus, I’m just as confused by the Canaanite woman. She approaches Jesus for help and gets rejected four separate times: First, Jesus ignores her. Then, the disciples try to send her away. Then, Jesus says that he can’t help her because she’s not from Israel. And finally, Jesus calls her a dog. Four rejections, but she doesn’t give up. She keeps asking for help. Would you do the same? Would you beg for help from someone who insults you and your child? Or would you say “Fine, we don’t need your help anyway!” Personally, I think I would walk away.

 Imagine if this story happened today. Imagine that a woman brought her troubled daughter to someone like me- a pastoral counselor. I would have no right to refuse her based on where she comes from. To turn her away like that would be immoral, unethical, and illegal. I would be violating the ethics of my profession- opening myself up to being fired, or sued, or both.

Imagine if a friend or relative told you a story like this one. What if a woman from here in Edgewater tried to take her child to a famous doctor in Washington, DC? And what if that doctor called them a couple of rednecks and told them to go back home? Would you tell that woman to keep going to that doctor? I know I wouldn’t. I’d tell her to take her business elsewhere, and maybe even to file a complaint.
Yet, the Canaanite woman doesn’t walk away. She doesn’t seek help elsewhere. She wants Jesus’ help, and she argues until he gives in. Why? I think the only possible answer is that she believes in Jesus and Jesus alone. She believes that Jesus can help her daughter, in a way that no other person can. She is willing to swallow her pride and do whatever it takes to get Jesus’ attention because she believes that he’s the real deal. She needs his help, and no one else will do.

As I worked on this sermon, I came across an essay by a religion professor named Daniel Deffenbaugh. Dr. Deffenbaugh points out the Canaanite woman’s persistence in the face of rejection, and compares it to the persistence of people who are marginalized by their own churches. We all know that there are religious communities who have to fight to practice their faiths: Christians in China who defy the state by meeting in secret house churches. The Christians in Pakistan that Usha tells us about, who face the possibility of violence every time they go to church. These communities are incredibly courageous and important, but they aren’t who Dr. Deffenbaugh is talking about. Dr. Deffenbaugh isn’t talking about people whose faith is attacked from outside their churches; he is talking about people whose faith is attacked from within their churches. People like the Canaanite woman, who stay and fight for what they believe in even when they have every reason to walk away. 

When I think about marginalized people in the church, many examples come to mind. I think about African-American Christians. During slavery, many African-Americans found strength and hope in the Christian faith. This is amazing to me, because Christianity was the religion of slave-owners. Christianity was used to defend the practice of slavery. After slavery, Christianity was used to defend the continued oppression of African-Americans. For centuries, African-Americans have witnessed the worst kinds of hypocrisy from fellow Christians. Yet, instead of turning their backs on Christianity, generations of African-Americans have seen a truth in Jesus more powerful than any hypocrisy. They believe in that truth, and they’ve used it to fight for their rightful places, in the church and in society. 

The Canaanite woman also reminds me of the Roman Catholic women I met in seminary. Many of these women would love to be ordained clergy. They have the education for it, the passion for it, and the skills for it, but their church doesn’t allow it. If they wanted to, my friends could leave the Roman Catholic church and join a church that ordains women. There are many churches that would welcome them as clergy. Yet, they consider the Catholic church their home, so they stay. They believe in their church, even in the face of what feels like rejection. 

I also think of my friend Beth Stroud, a fellow Bryn Mawr alum and a former United Methodist pastor. Several years into Beth’s ministry career, she made the decision to tell her congregation that she is in a committed lesbian relationship. Under the rules of our denomination, Beth’s relationship makes her unfit for ministry, and her credentials as an ordained pastor were revoked. Beth fought this decision all the way to the highest governing body in our church, the Judicial Council, which ultimately ruled against her. The case went on for several years. It drew a lot of attention, both within and outside our denomination. Much of that attention was positive, but much was negative and hateful. At any point in this difficult process, Beth could have walked away. Like my Roman Catholic friends, she could have found a denomination that would welcome her service. She could have left ministry altogether and been successful in a different career. But Beth didn’t leave. She was baptized United Methodist, raised United Methodist, and she believes in the United Methodist Church. Despite everything she has been through, she still considers our church home.   

Now, I realize that some of these examples are controversial. I realize that that people of good faith and conscience have different opinions about them. I bring them up not to advocate for one point of view over another, but to highlight what they have in common. In all of these cases, people love and believe in their churches. They believe in them enough to stick with them, even when they have good reasons to walk away. Whether we agree with these people or not, I think we have to acknowledge the faith and courage and love it takes for them to keep fighting. We should all love our churches that much. 

I think that Jesus recognizes this kind of faith in the Canaanite woman. In writing about this text, many scholars suggest that Jesus is merely testing the woman’s faith. They explain away Jesus’ rejections and harsh words by saying that it’s all part of a bigger plan. Personally, I don’t buy that. To me, the idea that Jesus is just testing this woman takes away the wonder of what really happens in this story: Jesus changes his mind.

When Jesus first sees this woman, he has one idea about his mission, and it doesn’t include her. His followers agree and want to send her away. But Jesus doesn’t send her away. He listens to what she has to say, and what she says changes his mind. It changes his mind about her, and it changes his mind about his mission. The Canaanite woman is not from Jesus’ community. She doesn’t share the same beliefs or follow the same rules as Jesus and his disciples. Yet, Jesus hears the words that come from her mouth, recognizes what’s in her heart, and decides that she deserves a place at his table. 

This story reminds me of an ad campaign from the United Church of Christ. The slogan is “God is still speaking.” I’ve always liked this slogan because I think it expresses a real truth: Our God is a living God. We don’t worship a God who said his piece and moved on. Our God is still engaged with us, still listening to us, and still communicating with us. To me, that’s what today’s text is all about. Jesus and the disciples live by a set of laws that tell them one thing. But, every once in awhile, God breaks in and tells them something else. At first, Jesus believes he is only called to the people of Israel. Then, God breaks in, in the form of the Canaanite woman, and changes his mind. 

Of course, this isn’t always easy. Take a look at the Book of Acts, which is the history of the early church. In that book, we learn that the first Christians spent much of their time debating who should and should not be allowed into the church. And these debates are still going on today. Across all denominations, Christians of good conscience still disagree about who does and does not belong. God is still speaking, but sometimes it seems like he’s telling different people different things.

Still, I think today’s text is an important reminder that we Christians should never get too comfortable with our structures and our rules. We might think that our mission is clear and straightforward. We might be comfortable with our churches the way they are. But God might have other ideas. God might send people into our churches who look, act, and think differently. God might call leaders with new ideas and new ways of doing things. We might see these people in our pews or hear them in our meetings and want to tune them out. But today’s text reminds us that Jesus didn’t tune people out. Even when Jesus was skeptical about people, he gave them a chance. He listened to them, and he was open to being changed. We need to do the same.

In just a few minutes, we’re going to celebrate Communion, like we do every Sunday. In some churches, people have to believe specific things or go through certain rituals to participate in Communion. But our church is different. Our Communion table is open to anyone who wants to come. It doesn’t matter who you are, where you’re from, or what you have done or believed in the past. If you want to come to our table today, you are welcome. And we don’t leave anyone to gather crumbs under our table. At our table, everyone gets to pull up a chair, settle in, and feast on the abundance that God has given us. This is truly good news, and it should set the tone for everything else we do and say as Christians. 

As we go about our mission and our lives, we should strive to be open to whomever God puts in front of us. We should listen to the words that come out of their mouths, and give them a chance to show what is in their hearts. And we should take care that what comes out of our mouths reflects the grace and love that we take in every week around this blessed table. 

Amen.