Sunday, September 24, 2017

I Love to Work

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling Cathedral Church of St. Paul
Exodus 16: 2-15 Philippians 1: 21-20 Matthew 20: 1-16

I have a confession to make. I love to work. I always have, I do right now, and I imagine I will until the day I die. And I am well aware that many people are not like me. Some of you may also like to work but are ready for a break, re-direction, or a change of venue. Or maybe you’re looking for work, and are frustrated with the lack of opportunities available to you. Perhaps you hate work, and would prefer to be a couch potato, or a well-kept man at home. The bottom line, however, is that we are all working, all the time, whether we’re paid for it or not. In fact, we work every day just to stay alive.
Over the course of my lifetime, my work has taken on many faces and gone through various transitions. For starters, in elementary school, I worked hard to earn my mother’s love. I raked the leaves on our yard on my own without being asked; I worked hard in school, and I followed the rules. Later, in middle school, I became a candy-striper, volunteering my time in the hospital, offering reading materials and snacks to patients. I liked their appreciation, and I enjoyed wearing a uniform that identified who I was. Funny, today, I’m still wearing a uniform.
In high school, my work ethic continued despite changes in my location. Before my junior year, my family had moved from the deep south into the north, and I discovered a whole new culture. My work became very different. I was the campaign manager for the president of our student government. I lobbied for a smoking lounge in our high school. I put on a cheerleading uniform, field hockey, basketball, and softball jerseys; and I stopped working so hard in school. I took on unhealthy habits because I wanted to fit in with the “cool kids” and I was angry with my parents. Truth be told, the culture became more important to me than my faith or my family.
As a teenager, I also began to work for money; and because I love to work, I did. At first, I was a waitress in Lord and Taylor’s tea room, offering small bite-sized sandwiches to customers who wanted a break from their shopping. Later, I was one of the cooks at the Howard Johnson’s on I-95. Fish fry Friday’s were particularly busy at work, and so I loved them. While my best friend worked as the glamorous hostess who seated people, I liked being out of sight in the kitchen. I still had a uniform: a white apron, a hairnet, and fingers that were caked with batter.
Aside from work, I also love food, and so perhaps you have begun to see a pattern here. In college, I immediately got a job at Brigham’s Ice Cream, serving candy, because at that time, women weren’t allowed to scoop ice cream. I also had a work study job, which was working in the kitchen at breakfast in the dining hall. When my grades began to slip, I was encouraged to stop working for money and put more work into my studies; and so, sadly, I did.
Upon graduation I couldn’t wait to start working again: first, at a summer camp program, for inner city kids and then on to more permanent work here at Filene’s in Boston. I did a lot of grunt work, putting clothes on hangers, cleaning up after customers, and responding to their requests. When I switched to banking, thinking it would be kinder and gentler, I did a lot of the same work, exchanging the sale of clothing for the laundering of money.  And then I became a parent: two babies within two years time. Like I said, I continued my work of putting clothes on hangers, cleaning up after people, and responding to a lot of requests. In my opinion, however, there is no harder work than being a parent; and no greater joy.
Before seminary, I helped create affordable housing and spent a year working in a hospital as a chaplain, which was intense, challenging, and wonderful at the same time. After seminary, I couldn’t wait to get back to work. I thought work in the church might be different. You know, kinder and gentler. No complaints or grumbling. No hanging of clothes, lots of people helping to clean up, and although I knew there would be plenty of requests, I thought they wouldn’t come to me, but to God. And so upon graduation, I couldn’t wait to put on my new uniform, and start working in the vineyard of God.
Human life, despite our diversity, is often similar, no matter where we live, or work, or study, or have our being. God’s vineyard, despite our location in time or place, seems to have similar workers. The Israelites complained when they worked as slaves in Egypt, and then complained again when Moses led them to freedom. When they grumbled that bread wasn’t enough for their daily food, God gave them meat. Comparing themselves to other laborers in the vineyard, some workers grumbled against the landowner, despite their original covenant with him. With envy, they compared themselves to their fellow human laborers rather than being grateful for what they had. Did they not have enough? Or did they just want less for their neighbor? And more for themselves?
In a book entitled Extraordinary Relationships, a New Way of Thinking about Human Relationships, Dr. Roberta Gilbert wrote, “Places of work, like families, also go through periods of unusual stress, which tend to cause relationship patterns and postures to be more in evidence than usual. Periods of unusual stress might include a transitional time around changing of leaders, a period of economic change, or a company reorganization. At these times, it is more difficult for each individual to stay on course in the organization; that is, it becomes harder to stay out of triangles or out of polarized positions with or against factions that develop. But a goal during (these times) is to retain competent (work), by working for emotional calm, and by staying in emotionally neutral contact with everyone in the system, regardless of their positions or factions.”
This was no less true for the Israelites fleeing Egypt, or for the people following Jesus, than it is today in our world, in our country, and here in our Church. We are all laborers, and yet we are often tempted to be pulled into critical factions, which grumble and complain, rather than becoming more generous and productive workers. Jesus is fond of telling parables to make certain points; and a friend of mine argues that this parable is a bad one. She claims that because we get so caught up in the unfairness of the landowner, we miss the generosity of God.
Jesus uses parables to subvert, to shatter, and to expand our world views, and to challenge the cultural and religious assumptions we have about life and about people. Jesus encourages us to change. Yes, life is unfair; and yet such inequity may be God’s invitation for us to get to work!
This parable isn’t just about us, however, it’s also about God. Distracted by our anger, we don’t see our God, who is the Good Shepherd and the Liberator, our God who is the generous landowner, our God who provides not only daily bread and meat, but also a Eucharistic feast of His own Body and Blood.
It’s not fair that Jesus died on the cross. It’s not fair that each and every one of us is forgiven our daily sins against God and our neighbor. It’s not fair that the drug-dealers on our steps make more money than our sextons, who routinely clean up after them, risk their own health and safety on our behalf. It’s not fair that pop stars and sports heroes make more money than health care workers and teachers.
Fortunately for us, God’s grace is free and unmerited. We didn’t earn it, and we don’t deserve it. God’s grace is also unexpected. It comes like a thief in the night, or at the end of a parable. God’s grace is new every morning; and in the end, it doesn’t much matter how hard I’ve worked, or how much money I’ve made, or how much suffering I have endured. In the end, all that matters to me is that I have picked up my cross, and followed Jesus.
In today’s culture, we think being idle means hanging out on the streets, looking for excitement, or mischief, or just time to be a couch potato, resting from our day’s labor. In today’s gospel, however, those who were idle were actually looking for work. The market-place was their labour exchange, a place where vineyard owners would go when they were looking for people who wanted to work.
God chooses generosity. God loves us equally; and yet our human needs will vary. In the Caribbean, in Florida, Texas, and most recently in Mexico, the needs of God’s people are greater than other parts of God’s vineyard; and they are no more or less loved than we are. God calls us to work, to help others, to strive by side for the faith of the gospel, however we can, and wherever we can. Shall we stand idle while others suffer? Or will we work together for building up the kingdom of God, no matter the hour in which we are called, and no matter the wages that we are promised.
In the end, and every day until then, I believe that I have been saved by grace, and not by my works. In the end, I also believe that as common laborers in God’s vineyard, we’ll all be paid the same: that is our salvation and eternal life. For me, “living is Christ and dying is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor.” And if “I depart and be with Christ, that is far better.” For as we proclaim in our burial rite, “happy from now on are those who die in the Lord! So it is, says the Spirit, for they rest from their labors”. Yes, life is unfair, but now and together, let’s celebrate the feast that God has provided for us, and then labour on, for the best is yet to come. Amen.








Monday, September 11, 2017

Becoming Better Evangelists

13 Pentecost, September 3, 2017 Exodus 3: 1-15
Cathedral Church of St. Paul Romans 12: 9-21
The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling Matthew 16: 21-28


Open my lips O Lord and my mouth shall proclaim your praise. Amen.

I’ve been to Texas twice in my life. The first time was when I was part of a mission trip to Galveston, Texas. Together, with the youth of our Episcopal church and the youth of the United Church of Christ, we traveled to a non-denominational church in Galveston. Their church provided us with a place to eat, sleep, and worship. They also connected us with local people who were still in need of help, after the devastating effects of Hurricane Katrina, even three years later.
I’ve been on mission trips many times after a disaster: there was a trip to South Carolina; a trip to Ohio, a trip to Mississippi, to New York, and then once to Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Having endured 8 days of lost power in Connecticut, once after a blizzard in the winter, and then another time after a tornado-like micro-burst in the summer, I remember being so very grateful for people’s help during those difficult and dangerous times. Our parish was less affected by these storms than some of us, and so we opened our Church for people to get water, to get warm, and check in with one another. Today, we pray throughout our country for those who have been affected by hurricane Harvey, and for those who have responded in many and various ways to their distress.
The second time that I traveled to Texas was this past November. As part of my continuing education, I decided to attend a conference in Dallas entitled Evangelism Matters, which was being held for Episcopalians from all over our country. To be among so many people
interested in evangelism was truly inspiring. Now in our baptismal covenant, we promise to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ; but if you are anything like me, I would much rather pick up a paint brush, hammer a nail, or serve a meal than talk about Jesus. Someone might just think I’m a Jesus-freak.

But, truth be told, I am! I love Jesus, except, unfortunately, I would prefer to keep Jesus in my closet. Or on my bumper sticker. Or around my neck, and then let others make some assumptions about me and my relationship to Jesus. Hopefully, they will think that I am like those Christians that St. Paul is describing in his letter to the Romans. Perhaps they’ll see me and think, isn’t she a good Christian because she’s doing all that good work. I suspect some might think that I’m on a fool’s errand or that my cross is just a meaningless symbol. I’ve learned that assumptions are never helpful, especially based upon outward appearances.

As baptized Christians, we promise to proclaim the Good News of God in Christ in our words, and not just by our actions and symbols, as important as they are. Evangelism, in part, is about telling our faith stories because we want to share the life-giving, liberating love of God that we have experienced in our own lives, and we want others to hear that good news too. The Black Seed writers’ group is a case in point. I wanted to become a better evangelist, which is why I went to Texas.
The Rev. Canon Stephanie Spellers, Canon to the Presiding Bishop for evangelism and reconciliation, and once a missionary and evangelist right here at our Cathedral, claims that evangelism has to be rooted in our congregations, regardless of our size or location, and not in individuals. Evangelism is everybody’s call from God, just as God called Moses in the burning bush. As Christians, we must be a community of people who are willing to share our faith stories of how we came to know God in the person of Jesus. And this Jesus can’t just be “the nicest guy ever”, or a political revolutionary, or a prophetic witness, or a great teacher, as much as he was all of those.

We proclaim that Jesus is our savior, and the savior of the world, which has nothing to do with our human efforts or beliefs, but rather about Jesus’s efforts and about God’s power. This Jesus is the one that Peter confessed to be the messiah, the one who reconciled us to God and to each other by giving up his own power and surrendering to the will of God. This is the Jesus who was raised from the dead, and people couldn’t stop talking about him afterwards. What happens when we think about Jesus like that?

Proclaiming the good news of God in Christ takes practice. It means getting over our fears of being rejected, looking tacky, being vulnerable, and getting hurt. It means giving up ourselves and losing our lives for God’s sake, no less than Jesus did. It means picking up the crosses which burden us and weigh us down, and then telling stories about how God’s amazing grace and unfailing companionship set us free. How God led us through every terrain and territory of our lives in all sorts of weather conditions. It means knowing that God is with us, even through the valley of the shadow of death, and will carry us home.

I came to understand the God of all creation through Jesus because he was human like me. Jesus taught me how to forgive. Jesus taught me how to love. Jesus healed me and gave me hope, and showed me that I have nothing to fear, not even death itself. With that blessed assurance, I no longer try to save myself, or prove myself, or even earn my own salvation. I just ask Jesus for help.

Stephanie taught us an easy way to share our faith stories with others. It’s called “Cardboard Testimonials.” On one side of a card, you write (in only a few words) about a struggle, or a challenge, or a valley that you have experienced in your own life. You need not bare your soul, or tell your deepest, darkest secret. Your words could be as simple as a time in your life when you were sick, or scared, or lonely, or just wrestling with a problem or a decision. Then on the other side of the card, in only a few words again, you write down how you believe God responded to you.  

For example, on my way to work this week, I was wrestling with a problem and asking God to give me a sign like the burning bush. Suddenly, a family that I had known from my parish in Connecticut appeared. After a brief conversation, I told them that they were my burning bush, that they were a sign to me that God was present. They didn’t solve my problem, nor did I solve theirs, but we assured each other that God shows up, not only in bushes but also in the people who show up in our lives. Now I’m not suggesting that God always responds to us so quickly or in such easily identifiable ways, but I am suggesting that we need to pay attention. We can call these appearances as nothing more than a coincidence, or we can share them with others as a God moment in our lives. That’s when we become evangelists.

Here are 3 examples from our conference in Texas. I was paralyzed by fear; I was freed by faith. Guilty as sin, I knew I was forgiven. I hated myself, I knew God loved me. And my cardboard testimonial from 4 years ago: I left parish ministry; God gave me a new call: to be a missionary and evangelist, without borders.

During the silence that follows my sermon, I invite you to create your own cardboard testimonial. If you want, you can share it during our coffee hour, or put it in the offering plate, or take it home with you as a reminder. Today we are all practicing how we can become better evangelists.

Shawnthea Monroe, a UCC minister, once wrote, “The worst haircut I ever received was a $7 special at a local salon. I was in my thirties and my hair was thick and curly, the kind of hair that could hide a multitude of styling sins - but not after the $7 special. It was short in back and uneven in front, with tufts sticking out in random places. I looked like I had mange.”

“No one at church said a word until Linda, a dear woman in the choir, came up to me after worship. Lifting a misshapen curl from my face, she said kindly, “You need to see Nan.” When Linda saw my disastrous haircut, she didn’t tell me about the benefits of finding the right stylist or hand me a leaflet featuring haircuts; she sent me to Nan. While it may be easier to spot someone who’s having a bad hair day than someone whose soul is in turmoil, there are people all around us who are hungering for a word they can take to heart. We must be ready and willing to speak the word: “You need to see Jesus.” Amen.
(Christian Century, July 26, 2011, p. 23)