A Consuming Fire

 Christ Episcopal Church, Needham, Massachusetts            The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling 

             Come Holy Spirit and kindle in us the fire of your love. Amen.

             Somewhere, I seemed to have taken a turn, and to be honest with you, I’m not sure why. I used to read only books that had happy endings, little violence, and some sort of spiritual message. I think my change in reading habits all began with a colleague’s recommendation for a murder mystery, the latest in a series by Louise Penny. That first book led to another book until all 20 books had been consumed by me in short order. Like potato chips or french fries, I couldn’t stop after consuming only one.

            Perhaps I was comforted by the fact that the primary detective in these murder mysteries was a decent and good man. He actually felt called to this particular vocation and, unlike some of his colleagues, he was someone who could see the possibilities in other people. He was willing to take a risk by adding people to his team who had been short-changed, wounded, or ignored by their families and/or co-workers. Conversely, he wasn’t afraid to uncover immoral, powerful people in his own organization. This detective was a boss who gave people a great deal of trust; and these people often responded to him with deep loyalty.

          My enjoyment of these murder mystery series began to spill over into real life events. I started listening to the details of horrific crimes, ones I used to avoid like the plague. Most recently I was horrified by the murders of four university students in Idaho over 3 years ago. The trial finally came to a conclusion last month after a plea deal was agreed upon. The murderer would avoid the death penalty but he would serve 4 consecutive life sentences in prison with presumably no chance of parole.

          There was a great deal of back and forth about the plea deal. A family member of one of the deceased students claimed she had already forgiven him, while another family member described him as “pure evil” and hoped he would burn in hell. Some people felt this murderer deserved the death penalty and nothing less. Others were concerned that after many years of “good service” in prison, he might eventually be released; and yet he would be tormented by fellow inmates beginning on day one. So what was justice in this set of circumstances? And what about the issue of judgment by us? Or by God? I wondered.

          Justice and judgment are often conjoined. The definition of justice in its broadest sense is the idea that individuals should be treated fairly, and assumes that the administration of the law will maintain justice. Similarly, the definition of judgment means the ability to make considered decisions, come to sensible conclusions, and may involve the decision of the court or a judge. (Wikipedia)

          Now according to Bible Hub, “Judgment, in the biblical context, refers to the divine evaluation and decision-making process concerning human actions, thoughts, and intentions. It encompasses both temporal judgments, which occur within history, and eschatological judgments, which pertain to the end times, reflecting God's holiness, justice, and sovereignty.” Today’s New Testament passage from Hebrews refers to God as the judge of all.

          At a very young age most of us learn that there are consequences for our words and actions. Now God’s judgment includes both justice and mercy; and it seems to me that if you don’t believe in the justice and judgment of God, then why not “eat, drink, and be merry?” Why not do whatever we want regardless of the effects on other human beings? And yet, in reality, we all fall short; we all sin; we all plead for mercy before the judgment seat of God.

While you may not identify yourself with a murderer, there are different kinds of sin. “Racism or any other kind of “ism”, greed, false teaching, misuse of wealth, and degrading words to a fellow human being—are these things that damn people to hell? According to Scripture, and the authors of the book Erasing Hell, the answer is yes.” (Erasing Hell, Francis Chan and Preston Sprinkle) 

Scriptural literalists will point to passages that claim “unless you believe this” or “unless you do that” you will not be saved. It’s known as the “turn or burn” theology. Unfortunately, scripture passages vary widely; one section will claim that everyone will be saved by God’s grace and mercy, while other passages say that God’s consuming fire will be the final judgment for our lack of faith and our deplorable actions.

What are we to do, you might wonder? A Sunday School teacher was questioning her class of 1st graders about salvation and began by saying, “If I give up all my money, give everything I have to the church, and to the poor and needy of the world, will I get into heaven?” “NO,” says the class. “How about if I teach Sunday school; serve on the vestry; visit nursing homes and hospitals; and feed the hungry with good food, will I get into heaven then?” “NO,” says the class. “OK, how about if I go to seminary, and become the rector of Christ Episcopal Church in Needham, surely then I will get into heaven?” For the third time, the class of 1st graders yell, “NO!

“All right,” the teacher says, thinking that these kids are smarter than she realized, “Then how do I get into heaven?” she asked. And the little girl in the back of the room yells, “YOU GOTTA BE DEAD!”

By now you may be wondering why I’ve taken you down this difficult journey of reflection about sin and death, about judgment and justice, but I tend to be an “end-game”, mission-focused kind of person. Indeed, “Christians should think seriously about salvation, judgment and life after death,” argued Paul Dafyydd Jones in A Hopeful Universalism. “While we mustn’t ever lose sight of God’s grace, we are obliged also to acknowledge the gravity of sin. We cannot suppose that God overlooks or condones our myriad failings. Just as sin matters in human life, sin matters to God. It is the very reason that God’s saving grace passes through the horror of Calvary,” he continued. ( A Hopeful Universalism, Paul Dayffd Jones, Xian Century, June 27, 2012)

The author of the letter to the Hebrews refers to God as a consuming fire. Unlike the devastating fires that are repeatedly reported in our news, or the blazing fires of hell, I like to think of God’s fire as an eternal flame like the one that appeared in the burning bush, a fire that did not consume Moses or indeed even the bush. It is a fire that kills sins but not the sinners. It is a fire that mercifully burns off the dross of our sins, revealing the pure gold of our creation. It is a fire that reveals the passionate love of God that seeks to restore a kingdom that can never be shaken; indeed that can never be burned to the ground.

Jesus’ fiery messages throughout the gospels were not just about destruction and division, as we heard last week. No, God’s fire is also a purifying flame, naturally cleaning up our messes, warming our souls, shedding light in times of darkness, empowering us for loving action, delighting us with joyful campfires, and bringing new life into the world. Indeed, the final judgment of the cross revealed resurrection life in a blaze of divine glory on Easter morning!

William H. Willimon entitled his book “Who Will Be Saved?”

Indeed, who will be saved? By whom? How? When and Why? While these questions remain far above my pay grade, I offer them to you this morning, not with clear answers, but with an invitation for your further reflection, questions, and conversation.

However, I do believe that God’s judgment of humanity was revealed in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus and that justice was served by the mercy of God. In effect, Jesus made a plea deal with God on our behalf in which we did not receive a death sentence but rather a commuted life sentence in God’s eternal home.

Perhaps I was comforted by the fact that in Luke’s gospel the primary detective was a decent and good man named Jesus. Like Louise Penny’s detective, He felt called to this particular vocation and was faithful to that mission to the very end. Unlike some of his colleagues, He healed and set people free, offering mercy and second chances to his followers; and these people often responded with deep loyalty.

Therefore, as the author of Hebrews once wrote, “since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us give thanks, by which we offer to God an acceptable worship with reverence and awe.” (Hebrews 12:29) Amen.

 Hebrews 12:18-29                     Luke 13:10-17

 

 

 

 

 

 

           

 

Hosea

 Grace Episcopal Church, Newton    The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling    Hosea 1:2-10    Luke 11:1-13

            I must confess to you that I am particularly fond of the prophets. Hosea was one of the minor prophets living in his hometown in the northern kingdom of Israel around 750 BC. At that time, the country was divided into two kingdoms; the northern one was called Israel, and the southern one was called Judah. Both kingdoms were ruled by various kings; and their people often resorted to a culture of violence and social upheaval as they “anxiously searched for kings and allies who would save them from the dangers that threatened their national existence.” (HCSB, 1329-30)

Hosea accused his people of being unfaithful in both their religious and political lives. They did not trust God and began to worship any cultural god that promised them prosperity, good weather, and fertility. (HCSB intro) They forgot about their God who had liberated them from slavery and replaced their God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob with the worship of local deities or their royal rulers.

Living in a country of virtual anarchy, the Israelites saw four of their kings assassinated within 14 years. After a foreign invasion by Assyria (current day Iran), they were ruled by the king in Assyria. Imagine Hosea living in Ukraine today. Imagine Hosea living in Israel or Gaza today. Imagine Hosea living in our own country during the Civil War, or maybe even today. Would Hosea accuse us of being unfaithful in our religious and political lives? Would Hosea accuse us of looking for a cultural god or a human ruler to be our savior?

They say a picture is worth a thousand words; and so Hosea used the metaphor of whoredom, portraying God as the aggrieved husband of a faithless wife. He believed that God had told him to marry a prostitute named Gomer. “So Hosea, being a faithful man, did as he was told,” wrote Barbara Brown Taylor. “He went down to the local brothel and asked to meet some of the women who worked there.” (Gospel Medicine, pp55-62)

“The madam was glad to oblige him, thinking she was about to get herself a new customer, but when Hosea proposed to Gomer right there in the perfumed parlor and Gomer said yes, the madam threw them both out onto the street. (Back at home with Hosea) Gomer bore three children in short order - two boys and a girl.” (Gospel Medicine)

 It was God who told Hosea to name his children. The oldest boy was called Jezreel, which was the name of the town where God had promised to put an end to Israel. The middle child, who was a girl, was named Not Pitied, because God was saying that God would no longer have pity on them nor forgive them. Finally, the baby boy got the worst name of all: Not My People because God would no longer be their God. (Hosea 1:2-11)

While Gomer spent nights away from her family with multiple partners, Hosea remained at home, faithfully cooking and cleaning, and waiting for his unfaithful wife to come home. “Look, this is who you are,” Hosea told the Israelites. “You are whores and adulterers, infidels who have broken your covenant with God. And God is angry, roaring like a lion, begging for God’s people to come home.” (Hosea 11)

Prophets are known to turn up the heat in the lives of God’s people. They are known for presumably speaking the truth to power, in faithful obedience to God’s call, no matter the cost to their personal lives. A prophet will describe the realities of what he or she sees going on in the people’s lives and encourage people to change their behavior. Like people who stand at various parts of an elephant, prophets will see our world, our problems, and our solutions differently, and yet they still point to the elephant in the room! Unfortunately, the Israelites had repeatedly broken their promises to God, and Hosea, among other major and minor prophets, was now calling them out.

 Infidelity never starts with the physical aspects of love. We stop going to our meetings, our churches, our synagogues, or our mosques. We start listening to the wrong voices and believe in the wrong things. Our spirits start moving away from God, and our God-centered world slowly becomes a self-centered world. Even in theocracies and democracies too much ego means “easing God out" of our lives. We become haters rather than lovers. We think violence is the answer; and we forget that diplomacy involves persistence.

Our minds wander; and we begin to think we’ve made a mistake, or that “they” are a mistake. There must be a better partner, a more powerful king, a wiser president, a more pure and perfect union or nation, who can save us from ourselves and be the answer to all our problems.

“Apparently, Gomer didn’t change her ways after leaving the brothel and marrying Hosea. Time and time again she would leave the house and go to other lovers who would make promises they couldn’t keep. Then knowing the character of her husband, she would return home to him, sorry and promising him that she would never be unfaithful to him again.” (Gospel Medicine)  Like people caught in the grip of an addiction, she couldn’t stay clean for very long before her old behaviors crept back in. It was as if the Israelites had begun going to the local bar looking for spirits rather than staying in their Temple and remaining faithful to the Spirit of God. 

“It had happened over and over again, until Gomer’s heart was running on empty. He had entered into a covenant with her. He had promised himself to her forever and it was a promise he meant to keep. What would it take, to get her attention, to change her ways? Should he shake her until she came to her senses? Should he lock her in her room? Or should he divorce her and send her packing, before she had the chance to shame him again?” asked Barbara Brown Taylor (Gospel Medicine pp 56-7)

Hosea didn’t wallow in the  self-pity of victimhood, however; nor did he succumb to the temptation of domestic violence. Hosea went after Gomer not to stalk her, or kill her, beat her or shame her, but rather Hosea brought her back into his life to forgive her and love her once again. Grace may be free but it’s not cheap.

Hosea claimed that God is different from our political and religious leaders. Indeed, God is different from all of humanity, different from every single one of us; for God is a god of divine compassion, forgiveness, and unrelenting mercy. God will never let us go, despite our infidelity; for our God is eternally faithful to God’s covenant, even to the point of death upon the cross.

At the heart of Hosea’s preaching is a gospel message of redeeming love. No matter what we do or what we have done, God will never forsake us nor abandon us. In the end, God will not only seek us out in all the wrong places but also bring us home and restore us to new life.

Hosea reminded the Israelites of what God had done for them. “I have been the Lord your God ever since the land of Egypt; you know no God but me and besides me there is no savior.” (Hosea 13.4) Fortunately for us God’s love is stubborn, persistent, and faithful, like the friend who bangs on our door in the middle of the night asking for some loaves of bread. Ask, search, knock and God will give us good things, St. Luke had proclaimed.

According to Hosea, God seals the covenant once again when God changes the names of Gomer’s children. Jezreel shall no longer mean the place of destruction. It shall mean ‘God sows.’ Henceforth, Not Pitied shall be known as ‘I will Have Pity’, and Not My People shall become ‘You Are My People, Children of the Living God,’ prophesied Hosea.

Like the Israelites, in times of social, political, and economic instability, we may disavow our trust in the Lord. And yet, Hosea saw beyond the infidelity of the Israelites to the compassion of our God. In the end, he proclaimed that God would restore God’s people through a new covenant.

Centuries after Hosea, God sent God’s people a new prophet, a new priest, and a new king who would govern God’s people and save them; for Jesus stretched out his arms of love on the hard wood of the cross so that everyone might come within the reach of God’s saving embrace. And so today, we pray once again, as Jesus taught us, “Forgive us of our sins, and do not bring us to the time of trial.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Martha and Mary

 

Martha and Mary        The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling             Christ Church Needham

 

But I am like a green olive tree in the house of God; *
I trust in the mercy of God for ever and ever.

Today's gospel passage from Luke reminds me of my family. I have four grandchildren, three of whom live in Minnesota. Peter and Nathaniel are not identical 6 year old twins and they are truly not identical in so many ways. Peter is a mover and shaker who also loves to draw. Nathaniel is quieter, a child who loves to explore God’s creation like a scientist. Spiritually, Peter is an evangelist like St. Luke; Nathaniel is a monk. Meanwhile, their 3 year old sister named Lili has accumulated the traits and behaviors of both of them while maintaining her own unique style and character. She’ll probably run for political office someday!

Martha is like Peter. She is busy in the kitchen with no air conditioning, slaving over a hot stove in the middle of the summer, preparing for a visit from Jesus. Like someone with ADHD, she is distracted by many things. She wants to welcome Jesus into her home and feeding him physically is important to her. Meanwhile, her sister Mary is like Nathaniel. She is sitting on the floor, with a long cool drink in her hand, and listening carefully to what Jesus has to say.

Part of the blessing of the summer days in this part of our country is the abundance of fresh summer fruit that becomes available locally. I always look forward to the ‘east coast strawberries’ that appear in Friends supermarket on Cape Cod. And then there are those tiny little Maine blueberries that seem to have a slightly different flavor than their bigger siblings. Easily popped into my mouth, I let my blender take the summer off from making those mid-winter smoothies.

“This is what the Lord God showed Amos-- a basket of summer fruit. He said, "Amos, what do you see?" And I said, "A basket of summer fruit." Now Amos was an 8th century BC prophet who lived in the northern kingdom of Israel, which was divided from the southern kingdom of Judah. He who was saying that the Lord God showed him this basket before God launched into all the doom and gloom that was about to befall his people. Amos was not painting a very pretty picture for the future of his people. This was not a good news prophecy.

Amos claimed that the end was about to come for the people in the kingdom of Israel. There will be wailings of grief instead of songs of joy in their temple. Dead bodies shall be many. On that day the sun will go down at noon and darken the earth like a full solar eclipse. God will turn their feasts into mourning and there will be famines, droughts, and lamentations throughout the land. It sounds like Israel on October 7 2024 to me.

Apparently, the people in Israel, the northern part of the kingdom at that time, had been busy, like Martha, but busy with all the wrong activities. They had trampled on the needy and brought ruin to the poor in their land. And so, God showed Amos a basket of summer fruit which was about to become like mine when I leave it sitting on the counter in the humid heat for too long. The mold appears. The fruit goes bad; and the garbage disposal becomes its destination.

I find it also interesting that the psalmist in today’s lesson refers to himself like “a green olive tree in the house of God.” Here’s another image taken from creation; and yet in this one the fruit remains on the tree. It has not yet been picked. It’s still green, not yet ripe, and not ready for consumption. And so, I wonder, is Martha like the basket of summer fruit wilting in her busyness, while Mary is like the green olive tree sitting at the foot of Jesus? Is she still connected to the living tree of the Son of God?

 Last week, we heard Jesus tell a parable about the Good Samaritan, the man who was moved by pity to stop and care for a wounded stranger lying on the side of the road. According to the story, neither a priest nor a Levite stopped, but Jesus didn’t tell us why. Now the road to Jericho was known for its robbers, and maybe they thought he was a decoy for those lying in wait. Or maybe, like Martha, they were simply distracted by their “to do” lists.  Too busy with her own life to care for the life of another or to listen to God.

 I imagine Martha walking with her head down, in deep thought about how to provide properly for her guest. Maybe she was looking down at her cell phone for the latest news, or a new recipe, and blind to the needs of those around her. In a rush to get to what she needed to do for her future guest she wasn’t paying attention to the people in her current life.

Was Jesus accusing Martha of being unfaithful, rebuking her for her busyness? What does Jesus mean when he said that her sister Mary had chosen the better part? Like whiplash, the gospel stories from last week and this week encourage us to behave in two very different ways. “So, which is it?” I ask myself. “Am I supposed to “get up and do something” or “sit and listen?”  Am I ripe for picking or am I past my due date? And which, exactly, is the better part?

I must confess that I have a lot of Marthas in our family. As busy beavers, we multitask to get the job done. When Jesus says, “Get up and go,” we can’t get going fast enough, that is, until we begin to feel resentful about the loads that we are carrying without any help. Turning to Jesus, and pointing to a family member, we will say, “Please tell him to get up and help me.’ However, in today’s passage, Jesus doesn’t tell Mary to get up and get going; but rather he tells Martha to come out of the kitchen and sit down. Spend some time with him. “Sit down and listen to me for a little while,” he says to her.

I can relate to both Mary and Martha. When worried and distracted, I am reminded to be like Mary, to sit at the feet of Jesus and listen. When I find myself demanding help from others, or when the kitchen gets too hot, I tell myself to go to another room, sit down for a little while to listen and pray. I turn to the serenity prayer, to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Initially, people may think that Jesus was saying that Mary is the better disciple, and yet this is not true. Rather Jesus is saying that everyone is called to be his disciple, and our discipleship will take many forms. It is not an either/or engagement - a “pots and pans Martha” versus a “googly-eyed listening Mary.”

Our society and culture, indeed many of our families, will encourage us to stay busy. They say that being “idle” is the devil’s playground. And faith without works is dead. At times, we may even feel unworthy if we aren’t helping the poor and the needy, like good Samaritans. Our value then becomes defined not by who we are, beloved and unique children of God, a big, beautiful basket of summer fruit, but rather by what we do. And when we see people just sitting there, or taking handouts at our own expense, it fuels our resentments.

When our busyness becomes a burden and we start making demands of others, Jesus invites us to sit down for a little while, and listen to the voice of the Spirit. Jesus wants us to know that we are like a basket of summer fruit, diverse, unique, and beautiful in the eyes of God. We are containers that can receive the love of God and the fruits of the Spirit, so that we might also share those gifts with others as good Samaritans.

There is a well known story about a man who seeks advice from a wise man. The tale goes like this: A well-educated, scholarly man approached a Zen Master, seeking the secrets of enlightenment. The man boasted about his extensive knowledge of the scriptures and the many practices he had mastered over the years.

Eager to share his wisdom, the Zen Master offered to serve tea. The Master began pouring tea into the man’s cup, but even after the cup was full, he continued to pour. The tea overflowed, spilling onto the tray, the table, and the floor. The scholar exclaimed, “Master! The cup is full! No more will go in!”

The Zen Master replied, “Like this cup, you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?”

Before we get up and go, and be like good Samaritans or like busy Marthas, Jesus invites us to let our cups be filled first. Today, just for a little while, be like Mary. Stay connected to the Tree of Life. Sit down and listen to what the Spirit is saying to you. And then go and do something, even a small act of kindness. Get back in that hot kitchen and be like Martha. And do not worry. Jesus will be with you on your journey.

 Amos 8:1-12        Psalm 52        Colossians 1:15-28        Luke 10:38-42

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Foxhole Companions

Christ Episcopal Church, Needham, Massachusetts            The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling      
Colossians 1:1-14            Luke 10:25-37

          My husband Paul occasionally comments on people. He says, “That’s the type of person you want to have next to you in a foxhole if you find yourself in a battle.” This person is one who will hunker down with you, when you find yourself in a war, surrounded by the enemy, with bombs dropping, sirens wailing, bullets flying, and your life is on the line. Terrified, perhaps even critically wounded, you see no means of escape, and you long desperately for a miracle. You pray that someone would save you from the pain, terror, and what appears to be your imminent death.

          Perhaps wounded, trapped, or just unable to move because of your fear, you are amazed that the person next to you, perhaps your best buddy or a total stranger, maybe even an emergency responder, appears by your side. This person, for whatever reason, has chosen to stay with you, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, until death do you part or at least until the danger passes.

          It is no surprise to me that my husband Paul often uses such language to describe certain people; for when he has been “under fire” in school, at work, or at home (I confess that I can “fire away” with the best of them), he feels as if life is a war. You know what I mean - you envision a long and happy life in one place, one job, one relationship, and suddenly something changes. You send your child off to camp and she never returns. Life is no longer a bed of roses. Your “happy place or person” is gone.

 Perhaps we’ve grown accustomed to our safe little foxholes when the unexpected happens: a new diagnosis, a peaceful protest turns violent, an accident takes a life, a flood causes mortal injuries, and someone we love suddenly dies. We feel violated. We feel like victims. And we look for someone or something to blame.

The effects of our lifelong battles are not always obvious. Worries about money, health, and our family members can drain us just as quickly as any physical wound. Indeed, we don’t need to live in another country to know the reality of violence on our streets or in our homes. And so, we hunker down and isolate ourselves from our own communities. It’s safer, we say to ourselves, to just stay at home.

Jesus was a foxhole person. When the lawyer asked him what he must do to inherit eternal life, Jesus answered in true rabbinic fashion. He asked him a question. “What is written in our law? What do you read there?” Well-educated in his religious upbringing, the lawyer responded correctly with one big, beautiful answer. Obey the first two commandments. That is, love God with every part of your being: your heart, soul, strength, and mind. And while you’re at it, love your neighbor the same way you love yourself.

Sidestepping the obvious challenge about how we actually love God, our selves, and our neighbors the lawyer tested Jesus once again. Like a journalist at a white house press conference, he asked another question. Who is his neighbor? He wanted to know because he wanted to get it right. Or maybe he just wanted to test Jesus with a gotcha kind of question.  Which, to my mind, begs more questions. Who is my neighbor? Is it the person in the pew next to you? The homeless person on the street begging for food, money, or drugs? Is it the political extremist on your far right or far left? Is it anyone who isn’t just like you?

Jesus was asking the lawyer if he would be a good foxhole companion. He wanted to know if he would run away to protect his own life, or would he hunker down, valiantly fighting the enemy of life and love for the sake of others? For the love of God and for the love of country, would he fight for what is right, good, and true? Would she help a stranger while risking her own personal safety, showing up to volunteer in the flood waters of Texas?

That lawyer’s one simple question begs more questions. Will we help those who have been wounded, beaten, and robbed of their human dignity, for their right to live and love as they do? Will we engage in respectful dialogue, honoring the choices of others even if they are different from our own. Will we be brave angels and foxhole companions? Or like the priest and the Levite, will we just walk on by?

As told in an internet joke, a Sunday School teacher was telling the story of the Good Samaritan to her class of 4- and 5-year-olds. She was making it as vivid as possible to keep the children interested in her tale. At one point, she asked the class, "If you saw a person lying on the roadside all wounded and bleeding, what would you do?" A thoughtful little girl broke the hushed silence and said "I think I'd throw up."

Honestly, I would probably avert my gaze, maybe even feign interest in another direction. I might possibly break into a run or do an about face. Maybe I would retreat to a safer place. No good Samaritan here confesses this priest on this Sunday morning in Needham. I might just walk on by.

Perhaps you are aware of the animosity between the Jews and the Samaritans during this time in history. In fact, oftentimes, they would eschew each other’s territories for the sake of their personal safety. Imagine today how a Jewish person might feel living in Iran or Gaza? Or conversely, a Palestinian living in Israel? How might our young people feel about walking on a college campus where anti-semitic words and actions are prevalent? Where protests or simple large gatherings of people can turn dangerous?

The point of Jesus’ parable about the Good Samaritan is pointing not only to the reality of our human choices, when faced with the people we hate or fear, but Jesus also wanted to redirect our vision to God. If we are to love God, our neighbors, and ourselves, indeed even our enemies, then we will not only fight for justice, but we will also show mercy. There is a wideness to God’s mercy that is often beyond our human reach when we are faced with war and hate, when we are faced with political vitriol and violence.

In Ladder to the Light, Steven Charleston writes about a vision he once had:

I saw an older man standing alone by the side of the road. He kept looking down that road as if he was expecting a bus, but no bus stopped there. When I mentioned that to him, he said that he was not waiting for a bus. He was waiting for a parade. He had heard that if you wait long enough, the parade would come back down your street. He had missed it before, and he did not want to miss it again. I looked at him. He was different from me. Different color. Different religion. He looked a little grubby and he had an accent, but I decided it didn’t matter. He was a person. I was a person. He needed a parade. I needed a parade. He had hope. I had hope. So, I waited beside him, looking down the street in the same direction; and the minute I did, we both heard music in the distance.” (Xian Century, July 2025, p24)

As they say in the trenches, there are no atheists in the foxholes. As Christians we can claim that Jesus is in the foxhole with us. We can show justice and mercy by standing by someone’s side, literally or figuratively, in our words and in our actions, in our thoughts and in our prayers. We can remind someone that they are not alone.

In truth, we are never alone; for Jesus promised that He would send His Holy Spirit to accompany us. Held securely in the palm of God’s hand, we can trust that this Spirit will provide for us and protect us. Whether we’re in the thick of battle or experiencing a temporary cease-fire, we believe that the war is over and that our victory has been won.

For Jesus stretched out his own arms of love on the hard wood of the cross so that everyone might come within the reach of his saving embrace. As our own good Samaritan and a faithful Jew, Jesus will carry us to the inn, where God has many rooms. He has paid the price of our salvation with his own sacrificial love. We have inherited eternal life through Him.

Until then, as St. Paul wrote in his letter to the Colossians, “May you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light. God has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.”

 Through Jesus we can also fight for justice, show mercy, and walk humbly with our God. We too can be foxhole companions. Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waiting

June 1, 2025        7th Sunday of Easter    The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling
Revelation 22:12-14,16-17,20-21
 

Waiting for what, I keep asking myself? For Peace? Understanding? Truth? For change?

Waiting for Godot? God? Someone or something else? For Israel and Palestine to live in peace. For Russia and Ukraine to reconcile and rebuild. For love to overcome hate once and for all?

There are benefits in waiting, they tell me. Learning patience. Trusting that answers will come. Hoping that something better is in store?

 I wonder.

When is it time to move on, or just wait? How do we know? Who and/or what will guide us? Does it take pressure…..Political? Personal? Medical? Legal? Internal….Eternal?

Jesus said there would be signs. False prophets. Nations rising against nations. The destruction of cities and changes in the climate. Fig trees will die, smoke will fill the air, and “the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven. And the powers in the heavens will be shaken.” (Mark 13:24-25) There will be great suffering!

So Jesus ascended, leaving us comfortless; and yet He promised. The Force would be with us! The Power of God’s Holy Spirit would arrive. Like a personal breath of fresh air, mouth to mouth resuscitation, it would bring us back to life! And it would be epic! Not just a personal gift but a communal one too. This Power would be disturbing our crowds. Not in violent, destructive ways. Not by throwing bombs or molotov cocktails. Not terrorizing and weaponizing anyone. But like waves of goodness and peace that wash over us, cleansing us, healing us, renewing us, this Force would be with us. This Holy Spirit fire would create new life, a burning flame of eternal love. There would be people speaking in tongues, in various languages from all around the globe, from all the peoples of the earth, and we would understand each other in new ways. Bring it! I say in desperation.

Enough. Maintenance. Virtue signaling. Speaking to chambers that echo with the same old, same old. I’m tired of it all, which has nothing to do with my age and location. My privileges. My family. My friends. Even my enemies. Enough.

I’m done. But where to go? And why? And for what? How long must we wait before we go on living?

“Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden. And I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

 Bring it, I say to God. I’m waiting.

Revelation 22:12-14,16-17,20-21

At the end of the visions I, John, heard these words: 

"See, I am coming soon; my reward is with me, to repay according to everyone's work. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end."

Blessed are those who wash their robes, so that they will have the right to the tree of life and may enter the city by the gates.

"It is I, Jesus, who sent my angel to you with this testimony for the churches. I am the root and the descendant of David, the bright morning star."

The Spirit and the bride say, "Come."

And let everyone who hears say, "Come."

And let everyone who is thirsty come.

Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.

The one who testifies to these things says, "Surely I am coming soon."

 Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!

 The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all the saints. Amen.

Living Witnesses

 

Easter Day, April 20, 2025                                        The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Acts 10:34-43;       1 Corinthians 15:19-26;   Luke 24:1-12;         Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24          

 In the Acts of the Apostles, we hear a lot about the disciples’ actions after the Resurrection of Jesus, and more importantly, their experience of Him after the empty tomb was discovered. Jesus met them in the garden and on the road to Emmaus. He invited them to join him on the beach in Galilee and share a meal with him before he ascended into heaven. Suddenly showing up in a room in Jerusalem, where the disciples had locked the doors and gathered in fear, Jesus showed them his scars. Supposedly, the peripatetic Jesus appeared to over 500 witnesses after He was raised from the dead.

          According to this scripture passage (Acts 10:34-43), God “raised Jesus on the third day and allowed him to appear, not to all people but to us who were chosen by God as witnesses. He commanded us to preach to the people and to testify that he is the one ordained by God as judge of the living and the dead.” So Jesus is our judge. The late Pope Francis, God rest his soul, when asked about LGBTQ people, had replied, “Who am I to judge?”

We’re hearing a lot about judges these days, local and federal judges, who are making decisions about what is legally permissible or not, and what is morally right or wrong. Presumably, they will guide us in matters of justice and the law. Witnesses take the stand in court rooms, bully pulpits, and social media, swearing to tell the truth; and yet sometimes one wonders. Pilate, governor of the province of Judea who oversaw the trial of Jesus and condemned him to death, may have once asked “What is truth?”

In the psalm appointed for this Easter Day (Ps 118: 17), one verse proclaims “I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord.” Faithfully arriving at the tomb to care for the dead body of Jesus, Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James and other women were sad. They had lost a beloved teacher. They were surprised to see that the tomb was empty, and assumed that someone had taken him away. Perplexed at first, and then terrified, they were suddenly joined by two men in dazzling clothes. Were these heavenly beings dressed in white robes, perhaps even members of the Heavenly Court? Were they witnesses to what had happened that Easter morning?  Were they pointing to the Way, the Truth, and the Life? “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” they asked these women.

          In her Easter sermon at Christ Church Cambridge, the Rev. Kate Ekrem raised that same question several times. She is familiar with Mt. Auburn Cemetery, within walking distance of the church, and where she had celebrated the lives of many parishioners who were laid to rest there. The cemetery is a place of peace for visitors; and it is also a place for those who have died. But why look for the living among the dead? They are no longer there, those two men had proclaimed; for if the good news of the gospel is to be believed, the dead have found new life in the risen Christ. They’re on their Way to God through Jesus.

          St. Paul, the rogue killer of first century Christians, who turned state’s witness, became the 1st among the apostles, testifying to the Resurrection of Jesus. He proclaims our Easter faith in his 1st letter to the Corinthians. “If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.” (1 Corinthians 15: 19-26) There’s more to life than what you see and fear claims St. Paul. He writes about our enemies; and yet he doesn’t point to any military power or human ruler, but rather to Jesus as the ultimate and final power over everything and everyone. Over life and death. Over friend and foe alike. He is our Judge, who speaks truth and chooses life. Who shows us the Way of love.

Our enemies, whatever kind they may be, and from wherever they may appear, are dead or will be through the power of God. The post crucifixion mission of Jesus was to hand over the kingdom of God to God, but only after “he has destroyed every ruler and every power. For he must reign until he has put all enemies under his feet. Our last enemy to be destroyed is death.” This is our King of Kings, Lord of Lords, and Prince of Peace. This is our Christus Victor. This is Jesus, ordained by God, to be Judge of the living and the dead. To raise us to a new life.

           If Jesus is alive, if Christ is Risen, then Jesus Christ is with us even now. He is everywhere, throughout our world and even beyond that. No longer limited by human life but rather expanded by divine love, Christ is universally available to all people and to all of God’s creation, to every language, tribe, people and nation.

The message of Easter, through its many messengers, is a witness to the hope and joy that we can claim for ourselves every day. We can look for the living in our daily lives and even among the dead. We can witness to the power and love of God that overcomes all enemies of life. We can burst into song, like Spring flowers, singing “He is risen, he is risen! Tell it out with joyful voice: he has burst his three days’ prison; let the whole wide earth rejoice: death is conquered, we are free, Christ has won the victory.”

The phrase "Who is your daddy?" is a slang expression used to show dominance over someone else. It has historical roots dating back to the early 17th century, where it referred to any controlling figure, not just biological fathers.” (slang by dictionary) Who is your enemy? Is it a cause or a country? A disease or a demon? A person or a policy? And who then is your Daddy? “He is the one ordained by God as judge of the living and the dead.” He is Jesus, through whom we “shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord.” Given that good news, can I have a witness?

         

 

 

 

 The Big Dig    3 Lent, March 23, 2025             The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

 “The Big Dig was a megaproject in Boston that rerouted the then elevated Central Artery of Interstate 93 that cut across Boston into the O'Neill Tunnel and built the Ted Williams Tunnel to extend Interstate 90 to Logan International Airport. The project constructed the Zakim Bunker Hill Bridge over the Charles River, created the Rose Kennedy Greenway in the space vacated by the previous I-93 elevated roadway, and funded more than a dozen projects to improve the region's public transportation system. Planning for the project began in 1982. Construction work was carried out between 1991 and 2006. The project concluded in December 2007. The project's general contractor was Bechtel, with Parsons Brinckerhoff as the engineers, who worked as a consortium, both overseen by the Massachusetts Highway Department.”

“The Big Dig was the most expensive highway project in the United States, and was plagued by cost overruns, delays, leaks, design flaws, accusations of poor execution and use of substandard materials, criminal charges and arrests, and the death of one motorist. The project was originally scheduled to be completed in 1998 at an estimated cost of $2.8 billion, US $7.4 billion adjusted for inflation as of 2020.The project was completed in December 2007 at a cost of over $8.08 billion in 1982 dollars, $21.5 billion adjusted for inflation, a cost overrun of about 190%. As a result of a death, leaks, and other design flaws, the Parsons Brinckerhoff and Bechtel consortium agreed to pay $407 million in restitution, and several smaller companies agreed to pay a combined sum of approximately $51 million.” (Wikipedia)

Where was DOGE then? And every year thereafter? Or how about those other institutions that are plagued by people “looking the other way,” maintaining a silence that denies the sin, inaction that not only is unhelpful but is also harmful? Perhaps this is why St. Paul wrote to the Christians in Corinth, telling them that these “failings” of people and organizations, of their leaders and our law-makers, are intended to be examples for us all. And not just examples but also invitations and opportunities for us to correct them, restore them, and renew them for the good of God’s people.

“At that very time there were some present who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, "Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them--do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did."

“Then Jesus told this parable: "A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, 'See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?' He replied, 'Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'" (Luke 13:1-9)

Our world, then and now, is literally layered with successive political, socio-economic, and religious systems that are built on the broken promises of those who have tried and gone before. We are broken people living with broken systems. These unjust and sinful systems are hard to reform and correct without clear-eyed intention, integrity, and collaboration. It is easy to point to world leaders and blame them for our wars and political ruins. It is easy to point to rebellious people and blame them for our violence. It is easy to point to immoral people and claim that they died because of their indulgences. But reform never was easy. And we are all guilty.

Jesus often levels the playing field in the gospel of Luke. He states that we are all sinners, and our Anglican moral theology reminds us that a sin is a sin is a sin, no matter how large, no matter how small. “Do you think that because they suffered in this way, they were worse sinners than you?” “No,” he says; “but unless we repent, we shall perish as they did.” The Roman armies have become Russian armies and Ukrainian armies. Terrorists of every kind destroy human lives. Diseases proliferate, and nuclear bombs level the playing fields.

Lent is our Big Dig. It is that season in some of our religious traditions when it is an opportunity to look at ourselves and our world and name some truths. We are reminded of our mortality, that we are dust and to dust we shall return. It is a time when we name and claim our sins: personal, systemic, and universal. It is a time when we repent, when we think again about who we are and the choices that we make. Do we choose life, justice and mercy, walking humbly with our God and our neighbors?

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” poet Mary Oliver asks in the poem A Summer's Day. And in her poem, from her book of poems, The Unfolding, Rosemary Wahtola Trommer offers some answers.

So I can’t save the world -

can’t even save myself

can’t wrap my arms around

every frightened child, can’t

foster peace among nations,

can’t bring love to all who

feel unlovable.

So I practice opening my heart

right here in this room and being gentle

with my insufficiency. I practice

walking down the street head first.

And if it is insufficient to share love,

I will practice loving anyway.

I want to converse about truth,

about trust. I want to invite compassion

into every interaction.

One willing heart can’t stop a war.

One willing heart can’t feed the hungry.

And sometimes, daunted by a task too big,

I tell myself, What’s the use of trying?

But today, the invitation is clear:

To be ridiculously courageous in love.

To open the heart like a lilac in May,

knowing freezing is possible

and opening anyway.

To take love seriously.

To give love wildly.

To race up to the world

as if I were a puppy,

adoring and unjaded,

stumbling on my own exuberance.

To feel the shock of indifference,

of anger, of cruelty, of fear,

and stay open. To love as if it matters,

as if the world depends on it. 

Lent is our Big Dig. As we dig around the roots of our mortal lives, we often uncover some things that invite change. As we get our hands dirty, smelling the odor of manure in our nostrils, breaking our backs on the hard work of gardening, we come to realize that digging isn’t just painful, however, but also healing and constructive. We let some things die as we plant seeds for new life. With digging and fertilizing we begin to bear fruit worthy of repentance. We grow spiritually closer to the Light and God’s Love.

Unfortunately, repentance is often considered only an individual and personal activity; but it is also communal and global. Although we can only change ourselves, living only one day at a time, we can make a difference when we join others in creative and collaborative work. Together, we become the hands, heart, and feet of Christ. Faith unrealized and unfulfilled, not actualized and embodied, remains not only dead but it also stinks!

As faithful Christians and moral human beings, we can offer simple acts of kindness and moral goodness every day. As the saying goes, “We can think globally; and act locally.” So here’s a final story from Peace Tales: World Folktales to Talk About which I’ve told before and yet it bears repeating.

 “Once upon a time, a man visited hell, where he was amazed to find people sitting around a table, with all kinds of food piled high. Maybe hell wasn’t so bad, he thought.”

“But then the man looked closely at the people; and they all looked hungry - in fact, they looked like they hadn’t eaten in a very long time. He noticed that everyone around the table had been given chopsticks that were 3 feet long; but the people couldn’t get any of the food into their mouths. And so, the man could see that this indeed was hell.”

“Next the man went to heaven. To his surprise, he saw people seated around a table filled with the same good foods. They also had chopsticks that were three feet long! But this time the man noticed that these people looked happy, full, and satisfied.The difference was that they were using their chopsticks to feed each other!”

This Lent, we can ask ourselves what fruit will we bear before our fig trees are cut down? How will we respond to the suffering of others? And will we speak and act like Jesus, the only One who was without sin, and a perfect example for us all? Repent and turn to the good news of the gospel. Our God is a God of forgiveness and second chances, of Light and Love. Repent and return to the Lord.

 1 Corinthians 10:1-13                Luke 13:1-9

Ash Wednesday 2025

 

Ash Wednesday, March 5, 2025                     The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Joel 2:1-2,12-17               Isaiah 58:1-12                  Psalm 103

Almighty and everlasting God, you hate nothing you have made and forgive the sins of all who are penitent: Create and make in us new and contrite hearts, that we, worthily lamenting our sins and acknowledging our wretchedness, may obtain of you, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

 There are times when we become more aware of our human mortality. As individuals, we may face a health scare, an accident, or a time of vulnerability and fragility when we face the prospect of our death head-on. Without such reminders of our fragile mortality, we tend to think that life just goes on until we’re faced with a hard reality that it may not. When our blissful ignorance is broken, we often turn to theological questions about life and death, about grace and goodness, about justice and mercy.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, death became real on a global scale. Fears of the virus were universal, and your age, health, and ability to access modern medicine oftentimes influenced your outcome. The value of a COVID vaccination was clear to everyone around the globe. With the flu epidemic rising precipitously in Massachusetts this year, it also became apparent that less people were being vaccinated, which contributed to the surges in illnesses. The outbreak of the measles disease in Texas, and the on-going debate about the correlation of autism with vaccinations, have also contributed to the national debate about the value of vaccinations.

Freedom to make personal choices about getting the “jabs” have entered our discourses, debates, and decisions. Moral clarity has become important and ethical decisions have been rising to the surface of our conversations. Medical injunctions to “do no harm” competed with other types of ethics. Questions about financial costs, quality of life, vulnerability, and human suffering were raised. Legal issues blossomed. Some states enacted “physician-assisted suicide laws” while some people argued that what “God has given only God can take away.” Even now, with the current Pope’s recent struggles with respiratory illness, some people have wondered aloud what his “end-of-life” directives might include. People can change their minds when faced with new realities.

What may be good for an individual (read I don’t want a vaccine) may be deadly for groups of people (read your personal choice affects our communal lives.) It may be “right” and “fair” and “just” for you to make a personal decision and yet your decisions are killing us softly, perhaps even violently. Some argue that the political leaders of various nations are doing just that, making decisions that seem “just” and “right” and “fair” but are causing greater and longer damage to their people. Do we align ourselves with just war theorists or “fight for peace” because “blessed are the peacemakers”? Which Bonhoeffer are you?

I have been reminded frequently in these past few weeks of that familiar nursery rhyme called “Ring around the Rosie.” The lyrics are “Ring around the Rosie; A pocket full of posies; Ashes! Ashes!  We all fall down!” According to Wikipedia, “the origin of the song is unknown, and there is no evidence supporting the popular 20th-century interpretation linking it to the Great Plague or earlier outbreaks of bubonic plague in England.”  It became known as a harmless and fun children’s game rather than a social commentary on a deadly disease.

What strikes me today is two-fold. Ash Wednesday is a time in our liturgical season in the Episcopal Church when we remind ourselves that we are mortal, that we are dust and it is to dust that we shall return. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. Similarly, it is a time when we remember that we are all guilty of sin: individual, systemic, and spiritual. There are forces of evil and wickedness; and when we are infected by sin of any kind, our spirits become dust and ashes.

Secondly, I think of the horrific wars going on around our world and the thousands of untimely deaths that are associated with that violence. Most notably is the recent tension between the president of our country and Ukraine. Desperate cries for peace have risen with casualties and destruction; while some voices argue that aggression must be resisted at all costs. During war, we are faced with the hard reality of ashes, both human and material. We can see these ashes in the rubble at our feet and in the landscape of our lives. While all boats may rise with the water, we all fall down with war. Everyone loses.

Why would anyone want to put ashes on their foreheads?

Why would anyone want to be reminded of the multitude of our sins, how we have fallen short of our human goodness, let alone the glory of God? Why would anyone want to be reminded of our mortality when life is beautiful, and we are alive?

Perhaps it’s not a question of want but of need? Surely those who have recently endured the hurricanes in North Carolina, and the fire damage and deaths in Los Angeles need no reminders. Surely those in the wars of Ukraine and Russia, or between Israel and Hamas, need no reminders. So too the Sudan. It’s just that some of us are protected by vast oceans on either side of our country. Powerful militaries may keep us temporarily alive and blissfully insulated from the horror endured by smaller, weaker, and more vulnerable nations but the media opens our eyes. Tragedies are undeniable.

          Our Old Testament prophets are known for their dire warnings about the impending gloom for Israel when the “day of the Lord” will be upon them. As Joel proclaimed, “Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble, for the day of the Lord is coming, it is near– a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness! Like blackness spread upon the mountains a great and powerful army comes; their like has never been from of old, nor will be again after them in ages to come.” Unfortunately, Israel has endured and continues to endure invasions from all borders of its country even to the present day.

And yet these prophets have also offered hope during days of darkness. If we return to the Lord, as Joel advises, then perhaps we can also hear the promises of Isaiah. There will be a repairer of breaches in our diplomacy. There will be a restorer of peace in our nations. There will be reconciliation between the nations. “If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday. The Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail. Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in.”

          Hope, as our current vice-president recently said, is not a strategy. However, hope is universal, and religion is intended to “connect” us with one another and to God. Spirituality reminds us, like the movie Wicked, that forces can be both good and evil. However, when and “if we return to the Lord” we may find ourselves on a different news channel, and it’s good news. Indeed, Christians claim that Isaiah identified the Repairer, Restorer, and Reconciler in Chief for all nations to have hope. His name is Jesus.

          Our Lenten season of 40 days and 40 nights begins today. It is a time for putting down some things and taking up others. Put down the hate speech and pick up the love of God, for Christ’s sake!  Don’t be a “hater” for “God hates nothing God has made and forgives the sins of all who are penitent.” Living one day at a time, letting go and letting God, offers us a spiritual serenity and a peace that passes all understanding. We may all fall down; and yet in Christ we are raised to new and resurrected life.

          “Bless the Lord, O my soul. He remembers that we are but dust.” (Psalm 103:1,14)