16th
Sunday after Pentecost; Yr. A, September 28, 2014
Exodus
17:1-7; Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16; Philippians 2:1-13; Matthew 21:23-32
Sermon
preached at St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church
Before
writing this sermon, I went back and re-read the one I wrote for my last Sunday
in June. I wrote about making
space. I prayed that we would all have a
sabbatical that would allow us to make space to hear and see God in our
lives. And then I read that story from
Exodus. The Israelites are wandering in
the wilderness after being released from slavery and they’re complaining to
Moses. “We’re in the middle of a desert
here, Moses. And there’s no water around here to drink. What are you going to do about it?” Moses was raised in the palace of the
Pharaoh’s daughter. After fleeing Egypt
himself, he was a shepherd. Moses has no
idea what to do about it. Moses goes to
God, frustrated, angry, and feeling a little threatened by the mob’s
demands. “They are almost ready to stone me.” He says. God tells Moses to go
ahead of them and strike a rock. God
will bring water from the rock to satisfy the people. So Moses does what God commands, and God does
what God has promised. God provides
refreshing water for everyone.
It occurred
to me that part of hearing God results from seeking God. I spent my sabbatical seeking God. I had become so busy with stuff that hearing
God was really difficult. I was hearing
a lot of demands, like Moses, not necessarily from all of you, but from the mob
that was inside my own head. From the
beginning, starting with those first three days at Cobblestone Retreat Center,
I tried to put the demanding side of me to bed, and rekindle a relationship
with the side of me that knows and seeks God’s voice. It was a journey of the heart, not the
head.
I don’t
think I realized how much I was missing.
It took a few weeks for me to feel comfortable leaving my cell phone at
home. I almost always have it with me …
just in case someone calls and I need to respond. For the first time in a long time, I felt
like I had time to read something and reflect on it or journal about it, and
contemplate what it might mean for me, and for my relationship with God. I found myself leaning into whatever
experience I was having, paying attention to what was going on the moment, and
nothing in the future was pulling me away from the present. The mob was stymied. They had nothing to complain about. I was doing all I was supposed to do … giving
myself over to the moment and whatever that moment entailed … playing with my
daughter, embroidering, reading, kayaking on the lake, painting the back wall
of the cottage, laughing so hard my face hurt, inspecting my bee hive,
listening to someone else’s sermon, walking on a country road in Vermont, experiencing
church in different places, spending time with old friends, walking and talking
for hours, rekindling a love affair with daily prayer, sleeping soundly every
night and not waking to an alarm. I’m
sure some of you are jealous, and if I were sitting in your seat, I would be
too! But I am here. Standing in the front, and I am feeling
incredibly grateful. I had no idea how
very tired I was. You gave me time to
rest, time to go look for God, and I found that I could find God all over the
place. The Israelites ask Moses, “Is the Lord among us or not?” Well, God
is.
The
Lord is among us.
On sabbatical, I remembered that helping us
experience that as a faith community is one of the things that excites me most
about being a priest. I am really
excited about looking at our Sunday worship and experimenting with it, to see
if there is anything we need to do to make “us
with God” more evident. I want our
worship to say something about those of us in this place, something more than the
fact that we are an Episcopal congregation.
That’s why I’d like to have a Kirkin’ of the Tartans in November to
celebrate those among us who share a Scottish ancestry. Maybe our Jamaican members will help us put
together a Jamaican celebration, with some of their hymns and tunes, and with many
of their voices heard in the service.
That’s why we’ll celebrate the Children’s Sabbath in October and have
our own Blessing of the Animals next week.
I want our worship to reflect us.
I want
to spend more time with you than I do
with my computer. That’s another reason I
became a priest, because I love people.
I want to hear more about the struggles and joys in your lives than I do
about the building, or conflicts in the diocese. I want to have the time to visit you in your
homes, to see where you live and get to know you as spiritual companions. I want
to earnestly pray with you to hear what God has in store for us and to hear
what God is speaking into our hearts.
I want
to find ways to be with people in the neighborhood, to be a church of the neighborhood, not just in the
neighborhood. People in the neighborhood
know us because we do a lot here. We
give and give and give to them. I want
to be with people just to be with them, not because they
show up to get something from us, like gift cards for Tops, or bus passes or
help with their rent. Should we still do
that, of course! But I also want to hang
out with people and invite them to serve
with us. I want to hear what’s
important to them in the neighborhood. I
want to hear what God is already doing there.
When Georgia told me that five or six people came back to church to sit
at the Farm Stand on Thursday evenings, I was thrilled! We’re out there, talking with people, giving
them something they can’t get anywhere else … us and ears to listen! We’re
there to be with them, just as God is
with us. We discover God in each other.
When I
was at Cobblestone, I mentioned to one of the sisters that I was looking at
this sabbatical time as a time of discernment.
She told me this story. She said several
years ago she was asked to run for a position in their congregation. It was an honor to be nominated, but it was
also a big responsibility. When someone
wanted to nominate you, they wrote you a letter. In it they outlined all the gifts and talents
that they saw in you that fit the needs of the position. This sister got a letter. She agreed that she had the gifts that the
other sister saw in her, but she had just started working on Cobblestone. She knew it was going to take a lot of her
time.
So like
Moses, she went to God. She decided to
use her experience with Ignatian spirituality to help her. St. Ignatius encouraged his followers to use
their imagination in partnership with scripture in discernment. So she chose the story of Jesus walking on the
water toward the disciples in the boat.
She remembered how Peter had recognized Jesus and Jesus had called him
to step out of the boat and walk to him on the water. So she set herself to the task. In her mind she
imagined herself in the boat, and when she recognized Jesus walking toward her
she held the question in her heart, and waited for an answer. She expected to see herself step out like
Peter and maybe splash into the water … or walk, but instead … as clear as day …
she heard Jesus yell, “Stay in the boat!”
She knew in that moment, he was right.
Her heart was in the work she was already doing. She wanted to create a place of respite for
people, and it was going to demand everything she had to give. It was a horrible time for her to allow
herself to be nominated for anything.
She respectfully declined the request.
I was in Maine when Steve Burrows called and left a
message telling me that we had gotten the grant to replace our old boiler, the
one I’ve been waiting to blow up under me one day. I couldn’t believe it. I called him back and said, “Did you say that
we got the grant? That we got all the
money?” Well, we sure did. I was ecstatic! As I sat there on the porch, with a big smile
on my face, and let that information sink in, I heard as clear as a bell,
something in me say … it is finished. It is finished. It felt like a message from God. That was in July. I spent the rest of my sabbatical time trying
to figure out what exactly that meant.
What … exactly … was finished?
Well, I think I’m done worrying about the building. That boiler was the one big thing that would
just about force us to close our doors or go running to the diocese to borrow
money we can’t afford to repay in my lifetime.
Getting that grant was a huge relief.
It made me realize how much that weighed on me. It was like realizing I was really thirsty
for water when I’d been drinking Coke.
The building sucks me dry, and it’s sucked a few others dry too. But, the building is now in pretty good shape
and it’s used extensively for mission.
Oh sure, we could still do something with the parish hall, but that old
floor and those dark walls aren’t going to prevent us from continuing our
ministry here. We can take our time with
that one. For the first time in seven
years, I feel like we’re free. Now what?
That’s our task … finding the answer to now what God. That’s always the task
of the church, to listen for the voice of our ultimate authority and then pray
for the will to follow it. Now what? It’s a fascinating question. One I hope, the vestry and I and all of you
will be asking a lot more often now. One
I’m sure we’ll hear an answer to … at least answer enough for us to take the
next step. I am happy to be back, and
happy to be walking this way with you.
Amen
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