Bethany Tableau

5 Lent, April 7, 2019

St. Paul’s Lynnfield, Massachusetts

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

It’s good to be with you again this morning here at St. Paul’s in Lynnfield! Before I begin my sermon, I’d like to thank you for your prayers and support this past week. For those of you who were not here last Sunday, I spoke about the premature births of my daughter Megan’s and her husband Josh’s fraternal twin boys. After spending this past week in Minnesota with them, I’m happy to report that both Peter and Nathaniel, at 3 weeks old, continue to be stable, and growing in their health and strength, albeit not without some challenges. So, like Father Rob, who is recovering from total knee surgery, and spends his days growing in health and strength as well, I am grateful for my own opportunities for growth each and every day, and for your continued prayers.

            My daughter Megan and Josh have a black lab puppy named Izzy, who, like Father Rob and the twins, is learning to grow in her own ways. She is clearly motivated by food and will do almost anything to get some. In addition to basic training, Josh has taught her various tricks, like sitting, pawshaking, twirling, and waiting patiently for her dinner. Waiting patiently is, of course, a spiritual discipline. In addition to eating, Izzy also likes to play, and sees everyone as a potential playmate. Not everyone, however, is interested in being her friend.

            One afternoon, Josh and Megan were in their backyard playing with Izzy when another dog-owner walked by with her dog. Seeing this dog, Izzy immediately bounded up to play. This “mean” dog, as my daughter would later call him, grabbed Izzy by the neck and forced her to the ground. Crying loudly, Izzy lay helpless until Josh arrived. Clearly this dog had very different intentions than Izzy. Given today’s gospel story, let’s call this dog Judas.

            In the morning, hoping to provide Megan and Josh with a little extra sleep, and waiting for them to get up, I would take Izzy out for a walk. Not looking back, but rather pressing forward towards her goal of finding playmates, she would pull me along on her leash. One morning I saw a large dog barreling down the path towards us from a distance. Not sure of her intentions, nervously, I turned Izzy around and headed the other way. Within seconds, a golden retriever was upon us. I was glad to see Izzy and her playmate jumping all over each other (and me) in playful devotion. I delighted in their joy. Given today’s gospel story, let’s call this dog Mary.

Every day we would go to the NICU to see the twins. At the hospital, there are many people who serve in various ways: doctors, nurses, nutritionists, pharmacists, food and cleaning services, volunteers and paid employees. Patiently, indeed prayerfully, I would wait by the twins’ bedsides, trying to control my impulses to get up and eat, even though I wasn’t hungry. Feeling powerless, I wanted someone or something to fill the fear and sadness that occasionally would rise up within me. Don’t just sit there and wait, the voice within me would cry; go find a playmate. And then along came the hospital chaplain, offering me some soul food. Let’s call these people in the hospital Martha.

 In today’s gospel story we hear that Lazarus is in the house but he is silent. Perhaps, like me, he was a little confused and dazed by the events that had happened before. Perhaps, like me, he was waiting patiently at the dinner table, praying quietly to God. You see, just before this party, Lazarus had been dead. He had already spent four days in a tomb, lying bound and helpless on the ground, until Jesus arrived to rescue him from death’s grip. Let’s call Jesus Resurrection and Life.

Whether you interpret this story literally or metaphorically, Lazarus, like the twin boys, was dead to the world, unaware of what others were doing and saying. Suddenly brought out of their tombs or their womb, they faced the bright lights of the world and their future playmates. Stunned by the appearance of their brother, Martha and Mary are overwhelmed with joy and invite everyone back to Bethany, where they gave a dinner party for Jesus.

And so now, six days before the Passover feast in Jerusalem, they are all gathered in the home of Lazarus. Martha is buzzing about, preparing the meal, attending to basic needs. Mary is gratefully and lovingly anointing Jesus’ feet. The disciples are inhaling the fumes of Easter lilies and the fragrance of expensive oil. And Lazarus, like all the other disciples except Judas, is silent. Watching everyone, Jesus is waiting patiently at the table.

Jesus is straining forward to what lies ahead for him. He is not resting in the glory of what he has done. He is not bathing himself in the adulation that Mary pours onto his feet. He is not scolding Martha to stop being so busy and to sit down and listen to him. He is not asking Lazarus to tell everyone about what just had happened to him, nor is Jesus accusing Judas of what he is about to do. No, Jesus is actually thinking about himself - his own suffering, his own death, and his own resurrection. “Leave her alone,” Jesus said to Judas. “Mary bought this perfume for the day of my burial” and her intentions are good.

I love looking at the inconsistencies that exist between the gospel stories. For example, in Matthew and Mark, the house in Bethany belongs not to Lazarus but rather to a leper who had been healed by Jesus. In Luke it belongs to a Pharisee. The woman who anoints Jesus is not Lazarus’ sister, but rather an unnamed woman, and she pours the ointment not on the feet of Jesus, but rather on his head. In Luke, this woman is a sinner, who washes his feet with her tears first, and then kisses them before anointing them. In Mark, some people indignantly ask why she does this, while in Matthew it was the disciples who were angry. And John identifies this disciple as Judas, the one in particular who questions what Mary has done. Parenthetically, John warns us that Judas’ intentions were not good.

From the very beginning of John’s gospel, Jesus knows exactly what he is doing, where he is going, and why he does what he does. He knows his intentions, as well as ours. He knows that fundamentally we are human animals who want food and playmates. He knows that we sin in our thoughts, words, and deeds, and He promises us that every suffering that we endure will be redeemed. Every trespass and transgression will be forgiven. And new life awaits us. Like Izzy during this season of Lent, we are all in basic training, being disciplined to trust God for our growth, strength, and spiritual health.

 Remembering his own story, St. Paul encouraged the Philippians to forget what lies behind and strain forward to what lies ahead. Not looking back at the deaths that he caused, the betrayals he made, St. Paul wants to be like Christ, and press on for the goal of that heavenly call. Nothing else matters to him now. He seeks life with a purpose. A life that is filled with the surpassing value of knowing Christ and making him known. Writing to the Philippians from prison, he encourages them to have faith in Christ.

St. Paul expresses his gratitude to this Christian community, writing that he appreciated their prayers and it was kind of them to share his distress. Waiting patiently, he had learned to be content with whatever he had, of having plenty and having little, of being well-fed and going hungry. He exhorts them to “Rejoice in the Lord, always. Do not worry about anything,” he wrote. “But in everything by prayer and supplication let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

Our Bible stories, like our family stories, are tableaus of people, who have gathered in different places, for special events, at various times in our lives, or like us who gathered this morning for worship as a matter of spiritual discipline. Sometimes we are joyous; and sometimes we are not. Sometimes we are angry, mean, and not at peace with ourselves or with others. Always, these times provide us with opportunities for spiritual growth each and every day.

Today, Jesus waits patiently for us at this table in this house. Regardless of whether you’re feeling like Mary, or Martha, Judas, or Lazarus, or any one of the unnamed disciples, don’t look back but press forward; for the lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, will feed us today and help us to grow.

Isaiah 43:16-21

Philippians 3:4b-14

John 12:1-8

Psalm 126

           

           

The Parable of Amazing Grace

4 Lent, March 31, 2019

St. Paul’s Lynnfield

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Let us pray:

Lord Jesus Christ, you stretched out your arms of love on the hard wood of the cross that everyone might come within the reach of your saving embrace: so clothe us in your Spirit that we, reaching forth our hands in love, may bring those who do not know you to the knowledge and love of you, for the honor of your name. Amen.

            The gospel of Luke is famous for its parables. It’s also known for balancing the feminine with the masculine. In chapter 15 of Luke, the shepherd, who lost his one sheep, is followed immediately by the woman, who lost her one coin, and then there is this parable about the lost son. At our clergy conference last year, Dr. Amy Jill Levine talked about parables, and made some suggestions. Ask questions. Read between the lines. Play with the names that are given to the parables, she said.

            In my Bible, today’s parable is entitled “The Parable of the Prodigal and His Brother.” Most people think of it as “The Return of the Prodigal Son.” Some scholars have called it “The Parable of the Running Father” or “The Parable of the Forgiving Father.” Provocatively, Dr. Levine wondered why it wasn’t called “The Parable of the Absent Parent.”

            T.S. Eliot wrote about a journey in his poem called “Little Gidding.” He wrote, “With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this Calling, we shall not cease from exploration. And (at) the end of all our exploring, we will arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time.” (T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding” (1942)) Is this not the story of the prodigal son, indeed the story of all of us, who occasionally go exploring and get lost along the way? And when we arrive home, do we not we see it in a whole new light? Is this not the story of our human family? The story about freedom and forgiveness. The story about parent and child. The story about God and us.

            I find the word prodigal interesting, and so I googled it. As an adjective, it is defined as “spending money or resources freely and recklessly; being wastefully extravagant.” It claims that

"prodigal habits die hard." To be prodigal is to be irresponsible, self-indulgent, and wanton. Clearly the younger son in Luke’s parable is described by this definition. He took his father’s money and ran, hurting those he left behind. Who among us does not know a prodigal son? Or who among us has been one ourselves?

Defined slightly differently, prodigal means “having or giving something on a lavish scale.” For example "the dessert was crunchy with brown sugar and prodigal with whipped cream." To be prodigal is to be generous, liberal, unsparing, and bountiful, like the prodigal son’s father. Renamed, we might call this parable “The Feast of the Prodigal Father.” Or “The Feast of the Generous Parent.” “Bring out the best robe. Put a ring on his finger, sandals on his feet, and kill the fatted calf” cried the prodigal father. Let us celebrate with unsparing generosity. Let us lavishly feast together.

            “Really?” said the older brother, returning from the fields where he had been working hard for many years in the family business. He too was the son of this prodigal father; and yet, unlike his brother, he had not wished his father dead, nor asked for his inheritance early, and then squandered the property with wine, women and song. This older brother was still a family member in good standing, with sweat on his brow and dirt under his nails, while his younger brother was living it up.

Eventually, having lost everything, the younger brother was forced to become a hired hand, a Jew feeding pigs and eating their pods in a foreign country. He got what he deserved, I imagine the older brother thought to himself; and yet, their father throws this very same prodigal son a lavish party! Perhaps the elder son thought his brother was trying to manipulate his father once again, instead of being truly repentant. Who wants to be a slave or a servant or even a hired hand when you can be a favored son? Distancing himself from his brother, the older son refused to go into the party that was in full swing. Standing there in his work clothes, teeth clenched with resentment, hands in angry fists at his side, the elder son fumed at his prodigal father.

In a book called, The Return of the Prodigal Son, a Story of Homecoming, the late Henri Nouwen wrote about a famous painting by Rembrandt. In this painting, one’s eyes are initially drawn to the father and the prodigal son, who kneels at his father’s feet. The son is wearing only the tattered undergarments of a beggar. One foot is bare, and both feet are parallel to the hands of his father, who has placed them upon the back of his younger son. In a dimmer light, the older brother stands by, watching with hands closed across his chest. The light in the painting shines most brightly on the father’s open hands.

I was intrigued by what Henri Nouwen had to say about the father’s hands, and I remembered  Dr. Levine’s comment about the absent parent. Unlike the parable that Jesus tells in Luke, the mother of these sons is actually painted into Rembrandt’s picture. She is leaning against an archway in the dark, slightly off to the right behind the father. On closer inspection we see that Rembrandt has painted the father’s two hands very differently, one appears to be more masculine and the other more feminine. The right hand is strong and muscular, and holding the son’s shoulder gently, with a firm grip. The left hand “does not hold or grasp. Rather, it is refined, soft, and very tender, wanting to caress, to stroke, and to offer consolation.” Both hands are open.

Two weeks ago, my daughter Megan and her husband Josh became the parents of fraternal twin boys. Born prematurely at 25 weeks, they are fragile and in need of intensive care. Nathaniel was the smaller twin, and it was his move into the birth canal that precipitated the emergency C-section. His brother Peter was the larger twin, and ended up being the first one to be lifted out of Megan’s belly, into the open and loving hands of the medical team. Peter would have been the younger brother, if Nathaniel had succeeded in his efforts, but with the C-section, Peter became the older brother instead. In moments of light-heartedness, we joke about their sibling rivalry that began before birth.

I am fascinated by the hands of Peter and Nathaniel. Like his father, Peter has arms that are extremely long for his age. When he was in utero, with ultrasound technology, we could see him waving at us. In one live stream, he was seen fist pumping, while sitting on top of his brother. Now in the NICU, he firmly grasps his mother and his father’s finger, or the tube that provides him with oxygen. He holds one hand up in what I thought was a high five; although my daughter tells me that this is a signal for distress. Stop touching and poking me, he is saying angrily. Leave me alone, so I can rest and grow.

When Peter and Nathaniel become anxious and fearful, or they are hurting and scared, they can’t tell us; but they do give us signs of their distress. Their blood pressures go up, their heart rates increase, and their lungs demand more air. When they are angry and frustrated with the way things are, they are comforted by the loving hands of their mother and father. Gently holding them firmly, consoling and caressing them tenderly, and loving them prodigally, Megan and Josh offer their hands to their Minnesota twins. No longer sibling rivals, each one can hear the familiar voice of their parent saying to them “You are my beloved Son, upon whom my favor rests.”

Henry Nouwen was prodigal in his writing, and wrote another book entitled “With Open Hands.” Our hands are not always open, however, and for good reasons. Indeed they can remain closed to protect us or folded in prayer. Shaking my fist at God, perhaps even at a few politicians, I express my outrage over the loss of life, a chronic illness, wanton self-centeredness, reckless choices, and my grief at being a powerless parent and grandparent. As an explorer in this foreign country, I want to find my way home, where open hands will receive me, where strong and gentle hands will hold me, and where prodigal hands will love me lavishly. I want to come home to a prodigal parent who will shout for joy and celebrate my safe and sound return with a fatted calf.

We are all siblings in this journey that we call life, and we shall not cease from exploration.  Fortunately, our God is always running out to meet us, no matter what shape we’re in, or the various feelings we may have, whether we are lost in a foreign country, working in the fields, or standing right outside the house. Home is where the heart is and our true home is with God, who is never absent but always present. We are all God’s beloved children, upon whom God's favor rests.

Perhaps then, we should call this story “The Parable of Healing Hands” or “The Parable of the Prodigal Love of our Divine Parent.” For God so loved the world that God gave God’s only Prodigal Son to the end that all who believe in Him will have eternal life. Call this parable what you want. I call it amazing grace.

Joshua 5:9-12

2 Corinthians 5:16-21

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

Psalm 32

Endurance Tests

3 Lent, March 24, 2019

St. John’s, Newtonville

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Endurance tests, oh boy. Have you ever had one? Or two? Or three? During this past week, I’ve had many endurance tests, and I know for sure that some of you have had them as well. With apologies in advance, I’m sharing some of my personal story with you this morning. Last Sunday night we had a call from our daughter Megan and her husband Josh in Minneapolis. Twenty-five weeks pregnant with fraternal twin boys, Megan had gone into premature labor. As as neonatologist, that is a newborn intensive care doctor, Megan knows the risks of premature birth, and her early labor was something she definitely did not want. Her labor came on unexpectedly and quickly, like a thief in the night. She feared losing the lives of her twin boys.

            Her colleagues at the hospital tried everything in their power to prevent the birth of these two boys. But the boys wanted out; and it became clear that an emergency C-section was necessary. At 8:54 p.m. last Sunday night we learned that Peter Josiah had entered into our world weighing in at 2 lbs. And his brother Nathaniel Joshua came 2 minutes later at 1 lb. 13 oz. Atypically for a baby that small, Nathaniel let out a cry. And so did we. Then the Lord said to Moses, “I have heard their cry. I know their sufferings, and I have come down to deliver them.”

Today, one week later, Peter and Nathaniel are both doing very well for their ages and sizes. And yet, their journey remains under a cloud of worry and hope, of sadness and joy, and these feelings will remain with our family for many days to come. Each day, we pray for the twins’ health, and strength, and growth. Each day we thank God for wonderful caregivers and modern medicine. And I thank you today for including Peter and Nathaniel in your prayers. In his letter to the Hebrews, the author wrote, “So then, with endurance let us also run the race that is laid out in front of us.” And together, we will. Together, we will pray for all who are enduring any kind of tests on this day.

My husband Paul and I took the first flight out of Boston on Monday morning and went straight to the hospital. There we met Megan and Josh, who belong to a Lutheran church in Minnesota, and their pastor who had just arrived. Pastor Toby found us all weary from too little sleep, emotionally fragile, and standing in the need of prayer. Life is fragile at all ages, but most especially with preemies, and so we handle them with care. Life is fragile at all ages, and so we handle us with prayer. Alone and together, we pray.

Peter was born first. As you may know, Peter means “rock” and he was one of the first disciples to be called by Jesus. In today’s new testament lesson, St. Paul wrote to the church in Corinth about a rock that was Christ, that followed the Israelites during their journey through the wilderness. Our ancestors were all under a cloud, passing through the Red Sea together. They were all baptized in that cloud, ate the same spiritual food, and drank the same spiritual drink from this rock. As they endured their own suffering and testing, God said to the Israelites, “I will be with you.”

Nathaniel, also known as Bartholomew, is one of the lesser known disciples, and whose name means “gift from God.” He was the second twin born to Megan and Josh last Sunday. “And who shall I say sent me?” Moses asked God in the wilderness, and God replied, tell them “I am who I am.” I am God, the very Being of all beings, the very essence of Life. I am the Creator of Life, and I am the One who will save you. Yea, though you walk through the valley of the shadow of death, you shall fear no evil, for I am with you. And so, with that blessed assurance, under our own cloud of worry and hope, Pastor Toby baptized Peter (the rock) and Nathaniel (the gift from God) with water and the Spirit, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Many people know that I am a sports fan in general and a Celtics fan in particular. My least favorite sport is boxing. On Thursday, the NICU at the hospital in Minnesota has a “Superhero Day” in which all the preemies are celebrated as “wee warriors.” Having seen Peter and Nathaniel so soon after their birth, I can understand why. They were beaten up in the birthing process, and yet they came out swinging and fighting for their lives. Punching at this and pulling at that, looking for their victory in the ring, they had plenty of coaches in their corners.

            Endurance tests of any kind require physical health and continuing care. Like fig trees, we all need a little digging around our roots, and nutrients to help us bear fruit. We need mental toughness to get through those dark and rainy days.  Emotionally, we swing from one end of the spectrum to the other, and so we need shoulders to cry on, and people to celebrate with us. In my night prayers, when sleep is escaping me, or worries are waking me, I pray to God, asking that those I love will be “defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul.” I remember God “upon my bed, and meditate on God in the night watches” knowing that weeping may spend the night, but joy comes in the morning.

Until the boys lungs are more fully developed they will occasionally need some assistance in breathing. Periodically connected to a ventilator, the boys have air that is pumped into their lungs, keeping their lungs inflated and their blood supply well oxygenated. Without a ventilator, Jesus taught his disciples to pray by breathing. The 1st word of the Lord’s prayer, translated in Aramaic, begins and ends with these words:

            One breath breathing

            May I contain the essence of this One

            May I exist for this One

                        Let me not forget who I am,

                        Made in your image and likeness.

At various times in our lives, and under certain conditions, we all need help breathing. Deep-sea divers, lung-disease sufferers, Mount Kiliminjaro hikers and space astronauts, people with sleep apnea or about to have surgery, folks on airplanes, body-pumpers and marathon runners, hyper-ventilating mothers and fathers, and everyone at all ages occasionally need oxygen. Life is both fragile and hard, and when we are undergoing these kinds of endurance tests, we may need help with our breathing. Breathe, my prayer partner reminds me. Just slow down and breathe. Hook your machine up to God and breathe, She says.

It is tempting to think sometimes that God is punishing us for a reason. Or testing us purposefully. We feel guilty for things we did or didn’t do. We are ashamed for what we said or did not. We think that we deserve our endurance tests, and today’s lessons can tempt us to think that God is a “Gotcha God.” We begin to believe that God is our destroyer rather than our creator, a grim reaper who can’t wait to cut down our fig trees, because we have not borne fruit, or we have behaved irresponsibly, perhaps even immorally.

I don’t believe this. Rather I believe that we are all fundamentally good, and that God created us with free wills to make our own choices. God wants us to choose life and not death, to choose a life that is productive and not destructive, a life that bears a variety of fruit at different times. And while we all know that there are consequences for our choices, we also know that rain falls on the just and unjust alike, and that our God is a forgiving God who loves us unconditionally. With warnings to the church in Corinth, St. Paul reminded them not to judge; for if “you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall. (There) is no testing that has overtaken you that is not common to everyone.”

Perhaps you recall our very first lesson in Lent, when Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness and tempted by the devil. Do not put the Lord your God to the test, replied Jesus. And later, St. Paul wrote, “We must not put Christ to the test.” God is faithful, and trustworthy, and true, even when we are not. “God will not let us be tested beyond our strength,” claimed St. Paul; “and with this very same testing God will also provide the way out, so that we may be able to endure it.”

In his letter to the Romans, St. Paul encouraged them, “Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God, and also in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us.” When we have faith and hope in the life-giving, liberating, love of God, we shall not fall; for nothing can ever separate us from that Love, not even death.

There is a Swedish proverb that claims that shared joy is doubled and shared grief is cut in half. We cannot endure our tests alone. We all need God; and we all need other human beings. We need creatures, great and small, and the natural beauty of creation to restore us to our universal health.

The way out of our clouds of worry, fear, and sadness is Christ. The way out of our endurance tests is Christ. Standing on the rock that is Christ, we remember that life is a precious gift from God. For through the waters of our baptism, we are reborn into eternal life, both now and in the days to come. And so we pray to our God who creates, saves, and sustains us with one breath breathing. 

Exodus 3:1-15

1 Corinthians 10:1-13

Luke 13:1-9

Psalm 63:1-8

Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves: Keep us both outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls, that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Foxes and Hens

2 Lent, March 17, 2019

St. John’s, Newtonville, Massachusetts

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

During the time of Jesus, the country of Israel was ruled by the Roman emperor Tiberius, and divided into regions which were governed by various leaders. Pontius Pilate, who was the governor of Judea, was known for condemning Jesus to death. Herod Antipas was a Jew who ruled over the region of Galilee, and was in Jerusalem when Jesus appeared before Pilate. A political enemy of Pilate, Herod was also known for killing John the Baptist; and so for Jesus to call Herod a fox on his way to Jerusalem was a dangerous insult for him to make.

            Near our family home on Cape Cod we frequently see red foxes roaming the landscape. In folklore, foxes are typically characterized as cunning creatures sometimes having magical powers; and the red fox's resourcefulness has earned it a legendary reputation for intelligence. Last year I spotted a family of three foxes hanging around the doorstep of a neighbor’s home. Another fox would occasionally appear at our door and then curl up on our deck as if he were the family pet. After napping in the sun for a little while, he would then casually saunter down the driveway in search of who knows what. He seemed to have no fear of me.
            The word “fox” can be used in many ways. For instance, when a man calls a woman a “fox” he is suggesting that she is beautiful. Before animal rights activists became more vocal, wearing the fur of a red fox around your neck was a sign of elegance and wealth. My grandmother owned one of these; quite frankly the face and its claws around her neck gave me the creeps. And then there is that cable network called Fox (which I mention without affirmation or degradation!). Words that describe foxes from these particular examples include adjectives like cunning, resourceful, beautiful, magical, elegant, powerful, wealthy, intelligent, fair, balanced, and unafraid.

Jesus wasn’t flattering Herod, however, when he called him a fox, even if Herod could be described with some of these adjectives. In fact some of the Pharisees encouraged Jesus to stay away from Herod, for they claimed that Herod wanted to kill him. Jesus, a fellow Jew, was on his way to Jerusalem for the Passover and, despite their warning, he remained undeterred. He identified with the prophets who had gone before him and knew that his calling was risky business. Prophets were not afraid to speak truth to power, and they were quick to point out how the people of Israel had strayed from their faithful relationship with God.

Tell Herod that I will “keep on, keeping on” said Jesus. Like the prophet Isaiah, he felt called to open the eyes of the blind, to heal the sick, to cast out demons, comfort the afflicted and grieving, and to let the oppressed go free. Jesus knew that prophets were routinely killed in Jerusalem and yet he said that he must be on his way. His mission was to walk in the Way of Love, fair, balanced, and unafraid.

There is an expression, “There is a fox in the henhouse.” This warning is like the one that the Pharisees gave to Jesus. “Stay away from Jerusalem, Jesus,” they said, “for Herod the fox will kill you.” According to Elyse Bruce, “If there’s a fox in the henhouse, you’ve got problems brewing. Someone has been put in a position where he or she can exploit the situation to his or her own benefit. And what’s more, it’s not that the opportunity is there, waiting to be acted upon, it’s more likely than not that the person in charge absolutely will exploit the situation.”

Bruce goes on to write that “having a fox in the henhouse is no different from asking a thief to guard the bank vault, or expecting the wolf to guard the sheep, or asking a monkey to watch your bananas. Or leaving your dark chocolate around me.They all mean the same thing, and in every instance, the watcher can’t be trusted to do the right job.”  The bottom line? Don’t assign a job to someone who will be in a position to exploit it for his or her own ends. Servant leadership means self-sacrifice not self-service.

Pilate, Herod, and the Jewish religious leaders of their time were all foxes in the henhouse. As our Presiding Bishop recently said, they protected their self-serving political, religious, and economic interests at the very expense of the people and God they claimed to serve. Is this not true today? Are not some of the leaders in our churches, governments, and businesses still guilty of these things, of being foxes in our henhouses? Not just in our own country but throughout the world? (Fox in the Henhouse, posted by Elyse Bruce, March 6, 2013)

Jesus was critical of the various foxes that he saw in his own time. Roman leaders used military aggression to expand their power. Emperors set up people like Pilate and Herod to maintain control over the people in their regions. They set up systems that would fund their treasuries. They maintained power with iron grips, killing anyone who threatened their positions, spoke a different truth, or caused political unrest. The religious leaders neglected issues of justice, and ruled with legalistic demands and unrelenting guilt, even abusing vulnerable people in their care. “Woe to you, Pharisees and scribes,” Jesus said. “You, who like the seats of honor and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces.”

Jesus is aware of the danger in which he places himself when he calls Herod a fox. In parable after parable, Jesus warns his disciples about rejection, hypocrisy, and evil. “I am sending you out like lambs in the midst of wolves,” he tells them. He also encourages them with stories about good Samaritans, lilies of the valley, and birds of a feather. He reminds them that the lost will be found and that they should not fear those who kill the body. “God is the greater power,” Jesus declares. Someone who counts every hair on our heads, and can even raise the dead. “Do not be afraid, little flock,” said Jesus, “for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom of heaven.”

How often Jesus desired to gather the children of God together under his wings as a hen gathers her brood. But they were not willing. Rather seeking their own wills and their own power and their own greed, these religious and political foxes continued to raid the henhouse and kill the chickens under their roof. Seeking justice for them, and showing God’s mercy to them, Jesus continued his journey to Jerusalem, where Pilate and Herod were waiting.

My husband Paul often refers to some people as foxhole people. These are the people who will stay with you when the bullets start flying and the bombs start dropping. They are people with good intentions, who stand by you through thick and thin. They are prophets who do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God.

 Foxhole people are people like Jesus. They will speak truth to power despite the danger. They will shower you with God’s loving mercy when you’ve messed up and are in need of forgiveness. When you’re terrified and need comfort, they will hold out their wings for your protection. They are people who follow the Way of Love despite the political and personal cost to themselves.

Barbara Brown Taylor, one of the greatest preachers of our time, offered some reflections on this passage from Luke, using her own experience of living on a farm. She had a henhouse that carried many species of chickens; her favorite one was the Silkies. Since they do not fly, Silkies nest on the ground, are not free range, and are known to make good mothers. Barbara had an orphaned guinea chick and wanted to provide her with some protection, and so she bought a “Blue Silkie” from the chicken lady.  “The blue-gray hen was a stunner,” Barbara said, “with soft herringbone feathers the color of Irish tweed.”

“When the Silkies and I got home, I saved her for the orphaned chick,” wrote Barbara. “First I lay on the grass while she and the baby watched each other through the mesh of the cage.Then I placed her inside. Both she and the baby froze. The baby cheeped. The hen did not move a feather. The baby cheeped again. The hen stayed right where she was. The baby took a few steps toward her, and I held my breath. The gray hen then lifted her wings, and the baby scooted right into that open door.”

“This is counterintuitive, I might add,” wrote Barbara. “If this hen is into the preservation of her own species, then she ought to be looking out for her own babies and letting the others hang, but she does not. She accepts all comers, no questions asked. She has never seen a chick she didn’t like.”  (Christian Century, September 19, 2006)

We are all called by Jesus to be prophets, speaking truth to power and facing the foxes that find their way into our henhouses, into our churches, our synagogues, and our mosques. Prophets also need protection. Hide under the shadow of God’s wings, Jesus said. And keep on strutting towards Jerusalem. There God will accept all comers, no questions asked, and Jesus has shown us the Way.

Genesis 15:1-12,17-18

Philippians 3:17-4:1

Luke 13:31-35

Psalm 27

           

           

           

Promises Promises

1 Lent, March 10, 2019

St. John’s, Newtonville, Massachusetts

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Whenever I promised my father that I would change my behavior, or do something differently, he would tease me with the words, “Promises, promises.” As I grew older, I realized that life is like a rose garden, and that my father never promised me one. He just promised to stay with me through thick and thin, sometimes even changing his own behavior in response to mine. After a long and faithful life in the UCC, Presbyterian, and Episcopal churches, after my ordination to the priesthood, my 80 year old father decided to confirm his faith in the Episcopal Church.

            The book of Deuteronomy is part of the covenant that the Israelites made with God on their own lifelong journeys. Their story started with Father Abraham, who was called by God to leave his settled life in Syria and travel south. He believed that God would keep God’s promise, that Abraham’s descendents would be as numerous as the stars in the sky. Israel’s story continued with Jacob, who reminded them that wrestling with God is part of the journey, and that such encounters will not only show them a ladder to heaven but also cause them to limp.

Despite betrayal by his brothers into slavery, as well as a famine in Egypt, Joseph believed that God had a plan for them all; that God’s promise of liberation and salvation would eventually lead them across the Red Sea, and through the wilderness under the leadership of Moses. As we hear today in the lesson from Deuteronomy, God had promised them a land, flowing with milk and honey, where they would live with resident aliens and Levites, and establish themselves as God’s chosen and beloved people forever. They would be united under one starry sky, with pillars of clouds during the day and pillars of fire at night, guiding them through thick and thin. 

“Promises, promises,” my father would say. And you and I know that gardens are full of both roses and crowns of thorns. We know that gardens hold more than flowers, and that even deserts can bloom. Gardens have trees and snakes and plenty of temptations. In God’s garden, we all are alien residents, beautiful and diverse creations. We are all migrants, having left God’s original garden to settle into various places throughout our world. We pass through one promised land in search of another, or maybe we plant down our tent stakes and settle in.

“Promises, promises,” my father would say. I remember so many of them over my own lifetime of both wandering and settling. I remember the vows that I made to my husband 45 years ago, and the promises I made at my ordination in 2000.  I recall the promises that I made at the renewal of my baptismal covenant in 2017. Like every year at Lent, I have made promises to myself and to others, and then broken them time and time again. I remember that God has promised to be with me through thick and thin.

Miracle grow can work wonders, I think to myself, as I drop to my knees in prayer. Pruning can help too; and then disaster strikes, or bad news comes, and I recall that a swarm of locusts can wipe out an entire crop, and that famines are real. In times of trouble, I begin to wonder about God and my own journey. Are these plagues inviting me to move on, or is it time to hunker down, and settle in for the long haul, trusting that God has promised to be with me through thick and thin?  In the wilderness, it’s easier to succumb to the voices that tempt us. In the wilderness, food is scarce, thirst is real, and the destination and outcome remain unclear.

Jesus was one of those wandering Arameans that the book of Deuteronomy mentions. His ancestors were from Aram, current day Syria, and Mary and Joseph had traveled from their home in Nazareth to Bethlehem, then to Egypt, and finally settled in the Galilee region of Palestine.  Eventually, Jesus became an itinerant preacher, traveling all over the region to proclaim the good news of God, but first he went to the river Jordan where he was baptized and filled with the Holy Spirit.

            John had promised his followers that through the baptism of repentance their sins would be forgiven. Washed clean, they could then enter the Temple in Jerusalem and make sacrifices pleasing to God. But Jesus didn’t go to the Temple, nor did he return home. Rather, Luke tells us that Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness, where for forty days and nights he was tempted by the devil.

            My father also talked about being led down the primrose path. Perhaps you’ve been on one. You walk into something thinking one thing and then suddenly you find that you’re in a whole different kind of situation. You’re promised a rose garden and then you find yourself in a barren desert. Perhaps, you made a covenant with good intentions but circumstances changed. Or people did. Or I did.  You hoped to be holding a bouquet of roses at the end of the day, and find yourself stripped naked with a crown of thorns on your head.

For whatever reason the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness, Luke’s gospel tells us that it was the devil who tempted Jesus. And the devil was making promises to Jesus. “Promises, promises,” my father would say. If you do this, then I will give you that. Show me your power and I will give you mine. Ask God to save you and the whole world will be yours. “Trust me,” said the devil. “My promises will lead you on a primrose path, into a rose garden kingdom, where the power and the glory will be yours, now and forever.”

            Temptations in the wilderness will come to us in various sizes and shapes, from various people and spirits. People will make us promises for different reasons. As Christians, we are invited into a season of Lent, led by the Spirit of God, to repent - to think again about our lives and our relationships. We are invited to rend not our garments but our hearts. We are asked to turn back to God.

Jesus quotes a passage from Deuteronomy, reminding the devil that it is written in scripture that “Man does not live by bread alone.” I never promised you a rose garden, said God, but I will provide you with daily bread. The psalmist reminds us that God takes no delight in burnt offerings, rather the sacrifice of a troubled spirit, a broken and contrite heart, is pleasing to God; for that is how God’s grace can enter in. We remember that God is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and of great kindness; and so we offer our sacrifices of praise and thanksgiving. This is the primrose path to follow. We trust that God is with us through thick and thin.

            The devil tempted Jesus with appeals to his pride, to his power, and to his control. And yet, as our collect of the day reminds us, God knows the weaknesses of each of us. We will make promises that we cannot keep; and so God sent His only Son who would keep the promise for us. The old covenant became a new covenant.

God promised to save us, to help us to recover our sight from our own blindness, so that we can see God’s hand at work in the world about us. God promised to liberate us from those things that enslave us, we who are oppressed by our sins and weighed down by our guilt. God promised to love us and forgive us even as we put a crown of thorns on His head and pierced His side. “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do,” said Jesus. “Through thick and thin, even death,” said Jesus, “I promise to be with you always.”

            The story of our salvation began with Adam and Eve. No one who believes in God’s promise of salvation will be put to shame, wrote St. Paul. The Word of God is very near to us, in our hearts and on our lips. That Word of God became incarnate in the person of Jesus, who took us down the primrose path into a new garden on Easter morning. There, forgiven and free, the Master Gardener awaits us.

“Promises, promises,” my father would say. Yes, indeed. Promises are broken by us; and so we confess our sins. Promises are kept by God; and so we confess our faith in life of the world to come.

Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Romans 10:8b-13
Luke 4:1-13
Psalm 91:1-2, 9-16

Rocky Mountain High

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

March 3, 2019

St. John’s Newtonville, Massachusetts

Last Epiphany

When I served as the Acting Dean of the Cathedral Church of St. Paul in Boston, I had the opportunity to witness many things on the Boston Common. There were parades, protests and politics, marches and sit-ins, drug dealing and cup shaking. My journey from home to work involved walking through the Common, which gave me an opportunity to reflect on many things. One memorable day was a Saturday afternoon when the Cannabis Society occupied the Common. There was loud blaring music, lots of food trucks, and a significant veil of smoke that hung like a cloud over the public square. I walked home through that veil of smoke.

My husband Paul has been in recovery from the disease of alcoholism since 1989, a journey that he takes one day at a time. As a grateful member of al-anon, I walk with him. We have seen first hand the dangers of marijuana for some people, and the benefits for others. We have known people who have used it at the end of their lives in order to ease their pain from cancer. We know youth who made marijuana their drug of choice because they could drive home from parties without fear of being arrested for a DUI. We know an 85 year old nurse who was given a joint at a food pantry to take home to her husband, who had always wanted to try it. And of course, there’s the recreational buzz that some people enjoy without the calories of alcohol. Marijuana, for whatever it’s use, is a mind altering substance that changes your body, mind, and soul.

And so it is with interest that I read stories about legalizing the use of marijuana. Public and private properties are involved in political considerations. Who wants a pot shop in their own town? What will community gardens grow? What are the risks and benefits of legalizing marijuana, and for whom?

Of course, we know the bad effects of smoking cigarettes on our bodies, and so we have warnings and public policy changes everywhere, at least in our country. A friend recently told me that he started using the drug called Chantix to help him quit smoking, and proudly told me that he was down to 5 cigarettes a day. Having known someone else who tried Chantix, I asked him about his sleep and if he had any nightmares. Laughing, he said, yes, but they weren’t nightmares, only vivid dreams, which reminded him of his days when he used LSD, a well known psychedelic drug, and a mind altering substance.

It was with continued interest about marijuana that I read an article in the Boston Globe in January. Teresa Hanafin wrote, “In 2012 Colorado became one of the first two states to legalize recreational marijuana. Now Denver is starting the process of eliminating low-level marijuana convictions and the city could become the first in the nation to decriminalize psychedelic mushrooms. Supporters say psilocybin isn't addictive, and could reduce opioid use as well as psychological stress. Just be careful with that mushroom pizza you scarf down after smoking pot.” (Teresa Hanafin, Globe Staff, Fast forward Jan. 10, 2019)
By now, you might be wondering, what all this has to do with the scripture lessons for today. Known as Transfiguration Sunday, today’s lessons talk about mountains, clouds, and veils, and their effects on the body, mind, and spirit. Veils are used to cover people’s faces to protect them from the elements, or for religious reasons, as Moses did. St. Paul refers to veils that lie over people’s minds, hardening them from receiving the good news of Christ. On mountains, clouds can confuse us. We may wonder, “Is this the voice of God that I’m hearing, and are these people real, or just a drug-induced hallucination?”

As part of our spiritual journeys, we climb mountains. Like Moses and Jesus, either literally or figuratively, we climb mountains in search of God. One received God’s commandments for the Israelites; the other received affirmation of his identity. When he climbed Mount Sinai to talk with God, Moses took off his veil. With vulnerability, he stood before God and allowed God to transfigure him, that is to change him. After Moses descended the mountain, he took off his veil in order to share what he had received from God, and then covered his face until he spoke with God again. He wanted to protect God’s glory from fading away.  
In the gospel of Luke, we hear Jesus repeat this same pattern. He went up on the mountain to talk with God, not alone this time, but rather with Peter, John, and James. “And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white.” A cloud overshadowed them all, and from this cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, my Chosen. Listen to him.”

Today’s scripture lessons about Moses and Jesus describe alternate states of consciousness that come to us when we talk with God. We call this prayer. And when we listen to God, we call this meditation. Alone or with others, we can ascend spiritual mountains in search of God, longing to receive direction or affirmation. Hopefully, we descend our proverbial mountains, and share what we’ve seen and heard with others. Since it is by God’s mercy that we are engaged in this ministry, we can act with boldness. Sometimes, we keep silent, like Peter, John, and James. Maybe we’re afraid of what people might think, or we’re confused by what we’ve experienced. Either way, hopefully, people will see in our faces, through our words, and by our actions the glory of God that we’ve received. Hopefully, we will be changed for the better.

On Wednesday nights at our Cathedral Church of St. Paul in Boston there is a 12 step group called Conscious Contact. These two words refer to the 11th step, which states that “through prayer and meditation we seek to improve our conscious contact with God, praying for knowledge of God’s will, and the power to carry that out.” The 12th step states that “having had a spiritual awakening because of all these steps, we carry our message to others and practice these steps in our daily lives.” We attract others by our way of life.

I have a sign in my office at home that proclaims, “Prayer changes things.” Some people argue that prayer doesn’t change anything but rather people, like Moses, Jesus, and the disciples, like you and me. The word transfigure means to change the body. When we pray, our bodies, minds, hearts, and souls are changed. When we enter into the presence of God through prayer, we are transformed more and more into the likeness of Christ. The contemplative life means that we engage in this ongoing cycle of spiritual renewal.  “What good is our receiving God’s glory if it doesn’t produce righteousness, healing, and freedom beyond ourselves?” wrote Denise Anderson. “What good is our healing if the people around us stay sick?” Or as the 12 step community is fond of saying, “You can’t keep it unless you give it away.”

My daughter lived and worked in Denver, Colorado for 5 years and I was excited to visit her. The mountains are legendary, and we had several occasions not only to see them from a distance but also to do some skiing and hiking up close. I recalled John Denver’s famous song called, “Rocky Mountain High.”

I looked at the lyrics again this week. On mountains, acting with boldness or with carelessness, we can either fall to our death, or reach new heights. On a clear day, we can see for greater distances and with better perspectives. We can hear the voice  of God in the solitude of forest and streams; we may even see fire raining down from the skies. In the silver clouds below us, we may remember those we’ve lost or left behind. Our rocky mountain highs can excite us, scare us, depress us, and comfort us. All of them will change us.

This week, we will enter into the season of Lent with our Ash Wednesday service, joining with the good people from Trinity Church and St. Paul’s. Our spiritual journey begins today on this Transfiguration Sunday, and it ends with the mountaintop experience that we call Easter. We are people who naturally resist change, wanting to stay at the base camp, or build booths on high. Rather we are invited into a daily cycle of prayer and meditation, allowing ourselves to be transfigured by God’s glory. As we ascend and descend these holy mountains, we can seek God’s grace in every step that we take.

Like Moses, Jesus, and his disciples, we can go to the mountain and talk to God every day. We can take the veils off our minds, and listen for God’s voice in the clouds. This Lent, we can let God’s grace transform our lives in a rocky mountain kinda way.

Genesis 45:3-11, 15
1 Corinthians 15:35-38,42-50
Luke 6:27-38
Psalm 37:1-12, 41-42

Without Love

7 Epiphany, February 24, 2019

St John’s, Newtonville, Massachusetts

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

We have platitudes for when we don’t understand something, especially when suffering is involved. For instance, we say. “This is my cross to bear.” Or “God has a reason for this happening to me.” Or we say, “This was part of God’s plan.” Such was Joseph’s reframing of his brothers’ betrayal of him. Because of jealousy, rivalry, and envy, his brothers had sold him into slavery to merchants returning to Egypt. For years, Joseph would work for the enemy of his own people. And yet, Joseph said that this was all part of God’s plan, not only for Joseph but also for his family.

When we live in hostile territory, we must be careful. We learn when to speak up and when to be silent; we decide who we can trust and who we should fear. Joseph, in his wisdom and over time, had managed to gain the trust of the Pharaoh and move from a position of slavery to a high level of administration in the Egyptian government. Depending upon God for guidance through dream interpretation, Joseph had predicted years of famine in Egypt, and so he prepared the Egyptians for their future by collecting food for everyone, and storing it in national barns.

Two years into the famine, Joseph’s brothers suddenly arrive from their own country, seeking to buy food from this foreign government. With dismay, they find that their brother Joseph is in charge of food distribution and sales. They were so fearful about him taking revenge on them for their past behavior that they could not speak in his presence. They could not even answer his simple question, “Is my father still alive?”

There is another common phrase that people will use when someone does something hateful. “Where’s the love?” we ask. A parishioner once confessed to me his discouragement because he had not heard the word ‘love’ in the first 6 months of their new priest’s sermons. In fact, all he heard was a message of judgment, exclusion, and condemnation. And yet, today’s collect reminds us that our Lord teaches us that ‘without love’ whatever we do is worth nothing. Which begs the question for me. What does life look like without love?

I recently finished reading a book called “The Nightingale” by Kristin Hannah. It’s an historical fiction novel that tells the story of two sisters who struggle to survive the German occupation of France during World War 2. Emotionally destroyed by his military service in World War 1, their father had returned to his family a changed man. Light seemed to have gone out of his life, and despite the best loving efforts of his wife and two girls, he sank into an existence of despair. When his wife died, he shipped the girls off to live with a stranger. Bereft over the loss of their mother, and feeling abandoned and unloved by their father, each girl responded to the German occupation in very different ways.

The story of the Jewish people and people’s responses to them, like our own shameful history with slavery, is a story that cannot be forgotten so that history cannot be repeated. Just this past week in France, swastikas appeared on Jewish tombstones and business storefronts. We all know how people are complicit with systems and powers that are greater than us. We all know that unhealthy dynamics are at play when people are fearful. We all know that some people benefit from certain privileges while others are oppressed by them. We all know about prejudice, abuse, oppression, and hate - don’t we?

Fear and anxiety are especially prevalent during unsettled times; and there are many techniques that we use for survival. Some of us join the enemy, judging and condemning people who are different from us. Perhaps, like Joseph’s brothers, we “go silent” for fear of judgment, condemnation, and retaliation. We may have feelings of guilt when we try to protect ourselves at the expense of others. Some of us feel powerless and do nothing, while others go “underground” actively but secretly resisting the enemy, providing safe places to preserve life, and helping others to find new life.

Denial is not a river in Egypt, as they say, but rather a very human response to particularly painful situations; and fantasy is its twin sister. We imagine the “what-ifs.” What if we no longer had Jews or Muslims, conservatives or liberals, Donald Trump or Nancy Pelosi, guns or drugs, immigrants or native Americans? What if we had a society where everyone was the same, and we all agreed, wouldn’t our world be so much better? How do we preserve life when when we’re fighting battles in our courts and behind closed doors, through social media and public policy, when the enemy has many faces and various allegiances. We raise our flags and bend our knees, protesting and supporting this one nation under God in very different ways, and hot spots are everywhere. We never know who the enemy is. And so I wonder, “Where is the love?” “And does God have a plan for us all?” Friends and foe alike.

I recently lead a vestry retreat for another parish in Massachusetts, in which we focussed on their identity and vocation. I asked them to break into two small groups and look at the seven “I am” statements spoken by Jesus in the gospel of John. Pick only two of them that most represent your identity as a church, I said, and then let’s talk. No one chose the statement that Jesus made when he said, “I am the Resurrection and the Life.” “Why?” I asked.  And I learned that they only heard it at funerals and so it reminded them only of death.

Last week, we heard St. Paul, in his first letter to the Corinthians, write, “If there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain.” Today, St. Paul writes about the resurrection of the dead using the metaphor of a seed. We can plant seeds of hate and seeds of love, both of which grow in the dark, and often start underground. Both need light. Hate needs the light of day to die; and Love needs the light of day to grow.

I don’t like to think of myself as having many enemies, but I do, simply by the fact that I am an American. I also confess that there have been times when I have “hated” people and counted them as my enemy. I have responded in fearful ways, and said those things and done those things that I wished I had not. As we move from the season of Epiphany into Lent over the next few weeks together, it’s a good time for us to reflect. What light can we shine into those dark places of our lives? What light will help the seeds of love to grow. And what plan does God have for you and me? 
Joseph claimed that God sent Joseph into Egypt for a reason: to preserve life. So too did God send Jesus to be among us: to show us the Way of Love. “Listen,” he said. “Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who abuse you. Do to others as you would have them do to you.” Yes, life is complicated and love is not easy, and yet “when we know that we are loved, we will quite naturally love in return,” said Brother David from SSJE.

We are a people who can tell the story about God’s Love, how we receive it and how we can share it. We are a people of faith, with the hope of resurrection and new life, because Jesus has shown us the Way. We know that there is enough hate in our lives to make the world go round; for the seeds of hate are very real. And yet, "I have decided to stick with love,” said Martin Luther King Jr. “Hate is too great a burden to bear.” Or, as our Presiding Bishop is fond of saying, “We are the Episcopal Branch of the Jesus Movement, and if it’s not about love then it’s not about God.”

Love is not always about chocolate and red roses, sweetness and light. It endures all things, believes all things, and hopes all things even when war is raging in our hearts, in our country, and throughout our world. Our churches are intended to be sanctuaries, safe places for people who are on the journey from birth to death, from our earthly home to a spiritual one. Our churches are intended to be sanctuaries where all people are welcome, all people belong, all people are accepted because together we reveal the beauty, diversity, and unity of God’s creation. Made in God’s image, from dust to dust, we are preserved now and forever in Christ Jesus, who is the Resurrection and the Life.

The Trappist monk, Thomas Merton, once wrote “Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone – we find it with another.” (Love and Living, 1965) As members of this Christian community, receive God’s love today, and then share God’s love with others wherever we go, for “the measure we give is the measure we get back,” said Jesus.

God has a plan for you and me. To forgive and preserve life like Joseph. To shine light in darkness like Martin Luther King Jr. And to be seeds of Love like Jesus; for without love, whatever we do is worth nothing.

Genesis 45:3-11, 15
1 Corinthians 15:35-38,42-50
Luke 6:27-38
Psalm 37:1-12, 41-42

Catching People

Trinity Episcopal Church, Melrose, Massachusetts

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Isaiah 6:1-8

1 Corinthians 15: 1-11

Luke 5: 1-11

Psalm 138

250 years after the death of the martyrs in Nagasaki, when Japan was again opened up to trade and commerce with the West, there were discovered families who carried on vestiges of the Christian faith. Without the support of an institution called ‘church’; without contact with Christians outside of Japan, there were Japanese families who had continued to baptise their children and to pass on the rudiments of the faith. Today we give thanks - not so much for their deaths, but for their faith and for the faith which they passed on to future generations. May we all have such a faith.
Br. James Koester, SSJE, February 5, 2019

            There seems to be a lot of emphasis these days on “catching people.” For instance, some people brag about how many Twitter followers, Instagram, or FaceBook friends they have. Insurance companies offer clever advertisements promising to protect us from hard times. Business people market their brands and make promises about their products, how they will improve our health and increase our wealth, and even extend our lives. Our churches do the same things. We try this new service or that one, appeal to this group of people or another, analyze the demographics and follow the trends. We put on friendly faces and offer benefits, all in an effort to bump our numbers, and catch more people, because Jesus invites us to do that, right? Sometimes I wonder, is it all in vain?

            My husband, Paul, likes to fish on the waters off Cape Cod. He’s always on the hunt for the right place, the right time, and the best tides in order to catch fish. He talks to friends who are commercial fishermen to find out “where the fish are” and how best to catch them. There have been times when his hooks have come up frustratingly empty, and other times when he couldn’t reel them in fast enough. In times of scarcity, Paul has tried new lures, brighter colors, and live bait.

The landscape has changed as well. With warming water temperatures, along with protective government regulations, Paul has seen more seals and sharks than ever before. Whales, once far off, have come near. Once, with a friend named Bruce, who is a commercial fisherman, he went tuna fishing in deeper waters. He was stunned by the beauty of this fish, impressed by its battle to break free, and yet he couldn’t catch and release it. This fish was part of Bruce’s income, and sold to local markets as well as international brokers, as good food for many people.

            Fishing during the time of Jesus in Palestine was a common occupation. According to author John J. Pilch in The Cultural Dictionary of the Bible, “fishing at the Sea of Galilee became a government-regulated activity that involved catching, preparing, and distributing the fish.” The boats that they used were a little smaller than Bruce’s boat: 26.5 feet long, 7.5 feet wide, and 4.5 feet deep. Like our churches in this diocese, James and John were partners with Simon and part of a local fishing syndicate located in Galilee. They, like Bruce, sold their fish for income.

There are a variety of techniques for catching fish. According to Pilch, “Sometimes fishermen used lines with fish hooks whereas the corporations would use the sweep-net for fishing in deep waters and the dragnet for surface fishing or fishing from the shore.” Ever at the mercy of brokers who capitalized them, 1st century Mediterranean fishermen had no control over their activities because of storms, or unfavorable conditions, and were nearly always in debt.” (p188) And so, like Bruce and many people in our churches, they often had more than one vocation and many skills to survive.

Then here comes Jesus, presumably a local carpenter turned rabbi, and tells Simon Peter how to fish. It would be like me telling Bruce how to fish in the waters off Cape Cod, or telling you how to be the church in Melrose. No wonder Simon initially responded as he did. Perhaps with a heavy sigh, maybe even an eye roll or two, he graciously said to Jesus, “Look we’ve been doing this all night, but if you say so, we’ll give it another try.” I can’t help but draw analogies between these fishing vocations and our churches today, and while I’m making some comparisons, I invite you to continue to do that work on your own as well.

Like Simon Peter, sometimes we’re tired after doing things repeatedly and getting no results. With nets that keep coming up empty, we’re ready to quit. Our numbers aren’t changing; indeed we’ve spent years trying to shift a trajectory from down to up, from scarcity to abundance, from poverty to wealth and we’re ready to call it a night. Larger forces weigh us down; and then suddenly someone appears and says, “Put out (again!) into the deep water and let down your nets.” 

Angrily, we may want to throw in our towels and say, “You do it then!” Or we may cast a wandering eye for a simple solution, a new community, or a different leader. In our dry seasons, and we all have them, we look for new fishing grounds where our nets will be full and we have, as the saying goes, “No worries!” In gospel story after gospel story, however, Jesus repeatedly invites people not to give up, to push out a little farther, and to fish a little deeper.

During such dry seasons in Palestine it was not uncommon for preachers and teachers to roam about trying to catch people. And so, after teaching the crowds on the shore, Jesus invited James, John, and Simon to catch people with him. Does this mean that Jesus is suggesting that we quit our day jobs to follow Him? No. Or leave our current vocations to become teachers or preachers? No. Does this story mean that if we obey Jesus that our nets will suddenly become full and we will have no worries? No. Rather, I think this story is about Jesus inviting us into deeper relationships with God. And sharing our stories.

Jesus’ message about “catching people” was not one of quick fixes or simple solutions; for he knew that transforming lives, and making changes involves long and hard work. His gospel message is not about how to accumulate more people in the pews or balance our bottom lines. Rather Jesus invites us to listen to the word of God, to keep on fishing, and to walk the Way of the cross with hIm. Follow Him by imitation. Follow Him on the journey.

People in the crowds were pressing in on Jesus because they wanted to hear the word of God. Especially when times are hard, we want to believe that there is something more, something greater, and something deeper than just the superficial realities of our lives and in the world. When we’re tired, Jesus gives rest to the weary. When we’re running on empty, Jesus fills our spiritual nets. When we are afraid, Jesus tells us to have faith, not in material things, but in God.

When we’re “catching people” we know where our true treasure lies. We seek first the kingdom of God, knowing that all else will be given unto us. Despite our feelings of sinfulness, we know that we are forgiven, once and for all, because Jesus came proclaiming a forgiveness of sin to all people.

St. Paul reminds the church in Corinth, as well as us, about the good news that he proclaimed to them long ago: that Christ died for our sins, that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day. St. Paul tells us to hold firmly to this message, unless we have come to believe in vain. Together, with God’s help, we come to believe in the story of our salvation through Christian community.

Resurrection life is not found in a building or on a boat but rather in people like you and me. In Christ we have been caught and released; and we are set free to live life and live it abundantly.This message of Resurrection life has been passed down from generation to generation through scripture and now through us. We are all preachers and teachers. We are all fisherfolk. We are all evangelists; for we all can be messengers of God’s saving grace. We catch people by sharing how our lives were once empty and then became full. How we once were lost and now have been found. How we were caught and then released.

Are we in the business of catching people or sharing the good news of God in Jesus Christ? When we answer the call to serve like Isaiah did, “Here I am! Send me”, we don’t literally have to drop everything in order to follow Jesus. We don’t need to sell anyone a special package, or a specific program, or a new service. We just need to share our lives and our faith with others. The Rev. Lauren Dow Wegner wrote, “Cast your nets, write your papers, teach your students, balance financial accounts, design the buildings, pour the concrete, make the lattes, lead the meetings, administer the IV’s, answer the phones, sing the arias. Do what you know how to do, and Jesus will use it to draw others into the kingdom of God.” (Christian Century, January 16, 2019)

We are the Episcopal branch of the Jesus movement; and God’s grace is manifest in our lives when we tell people where we found the fish. We catch people when we give thanks to God for all things and in all circumstances, both when our nets are empty and when they’re full.There are plenty of fish in the sea, for sure, and there are plenty of techniques to catch them. Today, I just think we need more fisherfolk who are willing to proclaim by word and example the good news of God in Christ.

“Do not be afraid,” said Jesus; for God’s grace is never in vain.