Weeds

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

July 19, 2020

Weeds 

Romans 8:18-25: I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us.

What exactly is the problem with weeds?

A few years ago, when I was going through yet another transition in my life, brought about by expected and unexpected changes, I decided to make a stone walkway. Changes happen every day, whereas transitions are a long game. Transitions are those times when we endure “the suffering of this present time,” waiting patiently for them to end; or we love them so much that we want to stay there forever.

The beach is a lovely place to spend time in transition, or any time for that matter. Like this long green season of COVID 19, the ocean stretches out as far as the eye can see. When I began to create my stone walkway a few years ago, I had nothing else to do, and plenty of time to do it, and time stretched out endlessly before me. It took me many months of slow, painstaking work to transfer the stones from the beach to our house. Like my indoor puzzles, I would lay down one stone, or one piece of a puzzle, at a time. Frankly, I hoped that as I created this walkway, a path would appear, leading me from one way of living to another.

There were no weeds on my stone walkway, at least back then. And yet, when I recently returned to the beach house for some self-imposed quarantine, prayers, and projects, I found plenty of weeds. They had completely overtaken my stone walkway. A sign of the times, I thought to myself. And I had plenty of time on my hands again.

At its original creation, I had placed my rocks on shallow ground. Now, not only had moss spread around the rocks, weeds had sprouted up everywhere like a bad pandemic haircut. My husband suggested that we rip the whole thing up and begin again. What?? I reminded him how hard I had worked, and that tearing things down is far easier than building them up. Such is life.

Fortunately, his enthusiasm for that complete overhaul disappeared like fog on a sunny day. Besides, he had already found something far more interesting that required his full attention. Tuna fishing! Why sweat over hard labor when you can be out on the deep blue sea? I had to work on my sprouting resentments.

I do not like to fish. I prefer solid ground under my feet. I wanted my walkway restored to its original beauty, and yet I was a little overwhelmed by the work it would take. Weeding is tedious and boring work; pulling up those suckers hurts your back, your knees, and your fingers. “Weeds, what’s so bad about weeds?” I thought to myself.

Well, for one thing, they block the beauty of the original creation. Theologically speaking, weeds are “our sins.” They block our goodness! They will eventually choke the life out of us; and like change and transitions, they will always be with us. Until the Son of Man sends his angels to collect us, we will have weeds.

Recreation is what we do for fun, like working on puzzles and fishing. If we hyphenate the word recreation, however, we get re-creation, and this is what restoration specialists do. Whether it is a house damaged by smoke, an original artwork clouded by years, or a walkway overrun by weeds, restoration specialists slowly and painstakingly clean up the mess. They do not throw it away and start all over again. With the Spirit as our restoration specialist, we can pull up our weeds every day, whether we are on land or at sea.

I have come to believe that there is a stone walkway that will lead us to a new place. Anchored safely in the harbor is a boat, and on the beach, there is a roaring fire. The Son of Man welcomes us, takes the weeds from our hands, and throws them into the fire. Then Jesus invites us to sit down and eat the fish that Paul has caught. When that great transition happens, we will want to stay there forever.

Matthew 13:24-30

Jesus put before the crowd another parable: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field; but while everybody was asleep, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and then went away. So, when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well. And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, ‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?’ He answered, ‘An enemy has done this.’ The slaves said to him, ‘Then do you want us to go and gather them?’ But he replied, ‘No; for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.’”

The Man in the Boat

July 12, 2020 The 6th Sunday after Pentecost

The Church of the Redeemer, Chestnut Hill

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Isaiah 55:10-13

Psalm 65: (1-8), 9-14

Matthew 13:1-9,18-23

In his latest book, “The Seeds of Compassion” and a recent article in the Boston Globe by the 14th Dalai Lama and Daniel Levitin, entitled “Suffering, Compassion, and Being a Perpetual Student,” they wrote, ‘Buddhist teachers remind us that each of us is a student and everyone else in the world is our teacher.’” (The Dalai Lama and Daniel J. Levitin, Globe, July 6, 2020)  I wonder, are we shut up in our own little worlds, locked away in our own little rooms, listening only to the perspectives of those with whom we agree, and seeing only the realities of our own little lives?

I guess one of the benefits of this pandemic has been that it has forced all of us, both willingly and unwillingly, to learn new things. We have become perpetual students of COVID 19 and are compelled to see our lives from different perspectives. Our virtual worship services enable us to see people at home, in empty churches, or not all. Just recently I learned how to videotape my sermons in two very different locations midweek rather than standing in the pulpit in Chestnut Hill on a Sunday morning. Times have changed!

Up until this point in today’s gospel, Jesus had been teaching people in the synagogues, where he challenged his religious leaders about their hypocrisy and lack of compassion. Although the common people were still eager to listen to him, Jesus had become increasingly unwelcome in the synagogues. So today, we first hear that he “went out of the house where he had been teaching and sat down by the sea.”

The gospel story tells us that after his family members appeared at his door, Jesus left his house, and went to the sea, where he continued to teach. There, the crowd of students was so great that he had to get into a boat and teach them from a distance. Wherever Jesus appears, whether it is in a room or by Zoom, in the cities or suburbs, on land or at sea, Jesus is there teaching. Will we look for Him wherever we are? Will we listen to Him as perpetual students of the gospel?

Today Jesus teaches us something about perspective. Socially distancing himself from his family and the crowds, he pushes out from the shore in a little boat. When we are too close to a problem, we may not see the solution. When we are enmeshed in our material world, we may not see God at work. Jesus frequently teaches his followers that the kingdom of God has drawn near; and then He invites us to make space for God’s grace at a slower pace. Today, in his boat, Jesus invites us to look and to listen and to learn from Him.

Jesus withdraws from other people so that he can listen to God. He does not isolate himself out of fear; rather he wants to understand with his heart what his eyes are seeing, and what his ears are hearing. He wants to teach others what he has learned. “Look at that man over there,” Jesus said to the crowds on the shore. “That Sower is God, and those seeds are God’s words being planted into your hearts.”

“Yes, there are many reasons why some of your seeds will not grow; for there is evil all around us, even in the air. Some people have shallow roots,” Jesus said, “and they lack perseverance. I also know that many people are tempted by worldly things, and struggle with new ideas; and yet I invite you to look, and to listen, and to learn from me; for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

I served as a chaplain in a hospital for one year before I was ordained. I was a student of pastoral care among people of different faiths, traditions, colors, and family compositions. I discovered that we were not all friends of Jesus. In fact, one person’s faith community used jellybeans and Pepsi for communion on Easter morning! At that time, and in some ways even today, I am afraid of hospitals, physical illnesses, and ultimately of death. Although I have served the homeless and those in prison, as well as people in my own church and local community, the hospital environment was a new landscape for me. I saw life and death from many new perspectives.

I was assigned to the newborn intensive care unit, where I met babies who could not tell me what was wrong with them. They were hooked up to machines and tubes and lived in little glass houses that protected them from invisible germs. I had to wash my hands and put on a mask before I even entered the room. Never did I imagine that someday in the future I would do these very same things for my own twin grandsons. Never did I imagine that such protocols would be a way of life for all of us now. Never did I realize how fragile human life is, and how important my faith has become.

 In the hospital, I tried to offer some comfort and hope to the parents of these newborn babies even though I had no idea, at that time, what they were going through. I also tried to stay out of the way of the nurses and doctors, whose purpose was clear, and whose knowledge and skills were life-giving. One night, I baptized a newborn baby boy, only hours old, who would not survive. I looked at this little new life, and I prayed that the Man in the Boat was listening. I heard the words of our closing hymn #296 and the promises of resurrected life ringing in my ears.

A man named “Who” gave me another perspective. He had been run over by a car in the city streets and lay paralyzed from his neck down. Some people claimed that he was a carjacker who got what he deserved. Violence in our cities is as old as time. I found him in the ICU, lying in bed with metal prongs sticking out of his head, and tubes inflating his lungs so that he could breathe. He was a young man, single, and in the prime of his life. It was hard for me to look at him; I had to think about what I would want if I were him. I had to think about how different my own life was from his.

When I arrived at his bed, I wasn’t even sure if he wanted me to visit. Explaining that I was a chaplain, I asked him, “Blink once if you want me to stay. Twice if you don’t.” One blink later, I was reading him scripture stories about Jesus, anointing his forehead with oil, laying my hands upon him, and praying for his healing. I hoped that the Man in the Boat was listening. I hoped that my words about Jesus would help him.

I did not like going to the orthopedic floor where people were often much older than me and recovering from surgery. I was relatively young and active at the time and I had never endured a broken bone or physical injury. I did not fully understand then or even now the challenges of rehab. “Look at my wounds,” they would say to me with pride, and I would say “No thanks, I only came here to listen and pray.” Soon enough, I found myself becoming impatient with their complaints, and I no longer wanted to listen. I was busy and I could not relate to their loneliness and feelings of isolation, as I do now. I had no idea, no perspective on what it was like to be stuck in bed all day long, for weeks on end, and in a great deal of pain. They felt useless; and so, did I.

“Look,” Jesus said to the crowd on the shore. “Look at what’s happening right over there. The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seeds on the ground, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how.” (Mt 4:26-29) “Listen,” Jesus said. “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed seeds in his field; but while everybody was asleep, an enemy came and sowed weeds.” (Mt.13: 24-30)  “Listen,” Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed; it is the smallest of seeds, but when it has grown it becomes the greatest of shrubs, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its branches.” (Mt. 13:31-32)

The Man in the Boat is teaching us today. “Look at that,” He says, pointing to some person, another event, or the most recent problem. See how God’s grace has appeared even among the weeds. See how those seeds of compassion have blossomed and grown, we do not know how. And look how that one little mustard seed has turned into a great movement of love. God’s seeds have been planted in our hearts and we are the gardeners.”

 “Listen,” Jesus says to the crowds. “Listen to the still small voice of God within you, and to the silent witnesses of protesters all around you, for they will teach you. Listen to the Sower who speaks through our prophets, the children in our marketplaces, people of all ages, colors, conditions, and traditions; for they are all our teachers. They too are cultivating and planting seeds.”

The Man in the Boat is inviting us today to zoom in and zoom out for a little while, to get a little distance, and perhaps gain a new perspective. “Look here,” Jesus says to us on the shore, “Look at me, and you will see the Sower. Listen to me,” He claims, “and you will hear the Word of God. The kingdom of heaven has drawn near to you. “The word is in your mouth and in your heart for you to observe.” (Deut. 30:14) Will you open your eyes to see God at work and your ears to listen to God’s voice in your life? Will you turn and be healed?”

“I am the Word of God made flesh and I have come for a purpose,” the Man in the Boat proclaimed. “Like the rain and the snow that waters the earth and returns to heaven, I will not return to my Father empty. I am with you until the end of the ages. So, go now and grow! Scatter your own seeds of compassion and look around you. Teachers are everywhere, and you are my perpetual students.” Amen.

This Generation

July 5, 2020  Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

Church of the Redeemer, Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Psalm 145:8-15

Romans 7:15-25a

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

It is like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling to one another,
‘We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we wailed, and you did not mourn.’

            In the gospel of Matthew, the disciples grow increasingly clueless. And the scribes and Pharisees, that is the interpreters and keepers of the law, are repeatedly and publicly denounced by Jesus, who is pretty vocal in his challenges to his own people. As for “this generation” Jesus calls them faithless and corrupt, evil and adulterous, faithless and perverse, greedy and self indulgent. He also describes them as blind guides and a brood of vipers. This generation, he says, is like that.

We gather today from many generations: Alpha, Centennials, Millennials, Generation X, and Baby Boomers. The Silent and Greatest Generations, the Interbellum and the Lost ones. I wonder, to which generation, do you belong?  What was your experience, strength, and hope? And what is your legacy? I also wonder what Jesus would say about this generation today? How would he describe us right now?

            This generation, Jesus said to the crowd, can be compared to children sitting in the marketplaces and calling to one another. They played the flute and yet no one danced. They wailed in grief and yet no one mourned. It was as if everyone around them was numb or deaf. It was as if these children were orphans, abandoned by their parents, and sold to human traffickers. Whatever these children said or did, no one responded to them.

This generation, Jesus said to the crowd, is faithless. It wasn’t growing nearer to God. In fact they were moving away. They refused to listen to the prophets who challenged them, asking them to think about what they were doing, and why. It didn’t matter which prophet spoke, whether it was John the Baptist or Jesus, the crowds would not listen. Instead, they criticized them. They called them names. John was a crazy man. Jesus was a drunk.

This generation of Jews had various social, political, and religious groups, which had many reputations throughout our scripture stories. The scribes and Pharisees were “the bad guys” in Matthew’s gospel; they were well educated and considered the rule-keepers of their community. The Zealots were the proverbial rioters and looters, passionate in their beliefs, and willing to break some things to make their point. The Essenes were overly focussed on purity, often distancing themselves socially from others. And the Sadducees were famous for not believing in the resurrection. Meanwhile, the simple, pious, and faithful Jews often didn’t make the headlines. They probably weren’t those who were heckling Jesus; rather they were asking him for help.

Some people in this generation are like children in the marketplaces today, calling to the crowds, playing their flutes, and asking us to dance. They party all night long in the city streets of Seattle, refusing to let the police respond to victims of gun violence. “It’s a free country and we have our rights,” they say, as business owners and local residents grow increasingly frustrated.

Some people aren’t dancing to these tunes of freedom; in fact they are outraged at what is happening. They hear people in the marketplaces wailing with grief when children are killed in the streets of Chicago and New York, jobs are lost, people get sick, and we all grow increasingly fearful. We have endured the loss of civility, the lack of human decency, and a disregard for disciplined behavior for too long. “Enough!” we cry. This generation is like children who have not grown up, who are not playing with flutes, but rather with fire.

            William Barclay explains it this way. “Jesus was saddened by the sheer perversity of human nature. To him, people seemed to be like children playing in the village square. No matter what was suggested, they did not want to do it; and no matter what was offered, they found a fault in it.” (end quote) Such is a society which values political opportunities over productive solutions. Such is a society that values “me” over “us.” It is a house divided, rather than a nation united, despite the claims that “we’re in this together.”

            Jesus was saddened by what he saw in his own generation. He accused the Pharisees of being hypocrites because they neglected the weightier matters of justice, mercy, and faith, straining out gnats while swallowing camels. He claimed that these religious leaders did not practice what they preached; they placed burdens on others without lifting their fingers to help. They made big shows in public, offered grand speeches, vied for places of honor, while their homes and cities burned. They were spiritually empty, and morally corrupt. This generation is like a bunch of immature children, Jesus said to the crowd.

“If we had lived in the days of our ancestors, we would not have taken part in shedding the blood of the prophets,” some people told Jesus.  How easy it is for any of us to claim that we would have behaved differently in the past under certain circumstances. “No way,” we say. “We would not have beheaded John the Baptist nor crucified Jesus. We would not have shot MLK or JFK. Slaves and women would never have been denied their right to vote, and we would never have gone to war. We would have listened to the prophets. And never, ever would we have abused our power or put a knee on someone’s neck.”

And yet, and yet, we are all guilty. We ignore prophets who speak uncomfortable truths; and we distance ourselves from the painful realities of our lives. We confess that we have sinned in our thoughts, words, and deeds; we have erred and strayed like lost sheep. We realize that we participate in systems that we created in our country and are in need of reform. Although our hearts were created by God to love, we confess to feelings of hate. “Few people can be happy unless they hate some other person, nation, or creed,” Bertrand Russell once wrote.

We know that hate will harden our hearts, and that confession is good for our souls. Occasionally we are held captive to sin, as St. Paul confesses in his letter to the Romans. Inevitably, we will think, or say, or do the very things we hate. Sitting on the Supreme Court of my own personal kingdom, wearing the white robe of my privilege, I judge other human beings unfairly. I forget that each and every one of us, including the people I hate, are unique and beloved children of God. I remember that only God sits in that seat of judgment.

During these past six months, I found that I had become increasingly irritable, distracted, critical, and judgmental. Demon possessed like John, eating and drinking like Jesus, I felt like I was going crazy. Invisible forces will affect us, like COVID 19. Unjust systems will affect us, like systemic racism. When we’re dancing to the wrong music, or playing games unfairly, we sin. And so, like St. Paul, in despair, we may cry, “Wretched people that we are! Who can save us from this body of death?”

Sanity is when we face the truth of our feelings and the reality of our lives, making changes as needed. These are crazy-making times! Our feelings are like a rainbow of colors, a combination of sun and rain, of darkness and light. Sanity is when we can sing and dance with happiness and cry and wail with grief, and don’t repeat the behaviors that failed us before. Radical events, like the murder of George Floyd, help us to hear the cries of our children in the marketplaces, and the prophets’ calls to repent.

When we come to believe that we are powerless over the cunning and baffling diseases of this generation, we will turn to God for help. Turning our lives and our wills over to the care of God brings us true freedom. When we make conscious contact with God through prayer and meditation, we are restored to sanity and empowered to act faithfully. “Call me crazy,” a friend recently reported, “but I felt all those prayers you said for me.”

Today, we hear Jesus say to us, “Come to me, and I will refresh you.”  If we sit quietly long enough, we will find a peace that passes all understanding. With God back in the center of our lives, listening to that still small voice within us, we know that the Spirit will guide our thoughts, words, and actions. We will have the courage to change. And it will be good. When we clear our minds, clean up our acts, and carry messages of hope, we will begin to restore our souls and rebuild our systems.

Jesus knows our weariness, and the heavy burdens that we carry; and so He invites the crowd to put on the yoke that is easy. Referring to the Torah, he reminds the crowd about their covenant with God, a way of life that is embodied in a set of moral and religious obligations and civil laws. And what about this generation? I asked myself. What yokes have we put around our necks? And what will history eventually call us?

We are the crowd to whom Jesus is speaking today. This generation is us. Our children are in the marketplaces, and playing their flutes. Will we dance with them? Our children are in the marketplaces mourning their losses. Will we cry with them? As grown-ups, will we uphold the weightier matters of justice, mercy, and faith? And with God’s help, will we put on the yoke of God’s commandments, and maintain our baptismal promises. When we persevere with faith, we will never forget that in the end Love Wins, and so will we; for we’re in this together. Amen.