Cancel Culture

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling            August 2, 2020                    Cancel Culture

 Romans 9:1-5: I am speaking the truth in Christ-- I am not lying; my conscience confirms it by the Holy Spirit-- I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my own people, my kindred according to the flesh. They are Israelites, and to them belong the adoption, the glory, the covenants, the giving of the law, the worship, and the promises; to them belong the patriarchs, and from them, according to the flesh, comes the Messiah, who is over all, God blessed forever. Amen.

What is it like to be cut off from your own people? To be cut off from your own flesh and blood? St. Paul claims that for him it is a great sorrow and unceasing anguish in his heart. As a Jew who came to believe that Jesus was the long-awaited Messiah, he felt cut off from his own people. Ever felt that way too?

Cut offs are common in our relationships. It happens when we are so angry, bitter, and resentful that we cut people out of our lives. We stop speaking to them. We avoid them. We “unfriend” them. In today’s jargon, we call this our “cancel culture.” “The truth is,” as St. Paul once wrote to the Romans, “I am not lying, my conscience confirms it,” everyone is bleeding. Everyone is hurting when there are cut-offs. And it doesn’t have to be so.

“One can tell that the people who hear these words from St. Paul are people who have gone through deep and long-term continuous suffering of some sort,” wrote Gary Simpson in Christian Century. You know who they are, right? People of color and abject poverty, victims of violence and unrelenting oppression, groups of people who suffer injustice and inequality throughout our world. All of us, today, are currently suffering through this pandemic. “The truth is,” as St. Paul once wrote to the Romans, “I am not lying, my conscience confirms it,” we are cut off from each other by pandemics, political and religious disagreements, international warfare, and the never-ending “isms” that cause us such great sorrow and unceasing anguish. We keep cancelling each other out. And it doesn’t have to be so.

Perhaps like you, and St. Paul, I feel great sorrow and unceasing anguish over the current state of affairs. Paul’s core message, however, was one of reconciliation. In Christ, he claims, there are no “cut-offs.” No one is cancelled out. In his letter to the Romans, he reminds them that nothing can ever separate us from the love of God, not even death. For we have all been adopted by Christ, grafted onto the same tree of life, and destined for the same everlasting future. St. Paul’s message is good news for us in the midst of so much real sorrow and anguish, both back then, and even now. We all just need to stay connected to one another through God. May it be so.

Weeds

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

July 19, 2020

Weeds 

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

What exactly is the problem with weeds?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Matthew 13:24-30

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

The Man in the Boat

July 12, 2020 The 6th Sunday after Pentecost

The Church of the Redeemer, Chestnut Hill

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Isaiah 55:10-13

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

Matthew 13:1-9,18-23

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This Generation

July 5, 2020  Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

Church of the Redeemer, Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Psalm 145:8-15

Romans 7:15-25a

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Birds

June 22, 2020, 3 Pentecost

St. Barnabas, Falmouth, Massachusetts

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

 Jesus said, “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.”

Last week, I preached about fear and faith, about invisible enemies like systemic racism and COVID 19, and about the prevalence of violence throughout our nation. Today, the gospel passage from Matthew tempts me to talk about slaves and masters, maligning people and telling secrets, the division in our families and the destruction of our bodies. We yearn for peace, and yet the gospel says that Jesus came with a sword. Instead, I decided to talk to you today about birds.

In February of this year, my son gave me a bird feeder for my birthday. It was a creative and thoughtful gift that he had personally made out of wood and plexiglass. And I’ll tell you a secret. Although our last names are Gossling, like the baby birds of Mother Goose, and the members of our family are all birds of the same feather, we don’t always fly together in the same direction. Actually, occasionally, one of us goes rogue. We are uniquely created, and so we make different choices about how we live, what we think, what we do, and what we say. Every day we have new opportunities to make better choices. 

I attended a webinar this past week offered by the Rev. Richard Blackburn of the Lombard Mennonite Peace Center outside of Chicago Illinois. I had attended a clergy clinic there on leadership development a few years ago and one on mediation skills training. Using the Bowen theory, we reflect upon our relationships and churches from a family systems perspective.

As a visual aid, imagine my birdfeeder. Some birds come alone; others come together. Some are willing to share their space; others are not. The sparrows, birds of the same feather, will be eating when suddenly the crows descend upon their group. Cawing their way to the table, clearly larger in size than the sparrows, they take over, like CHOP in Seattle. Might makes right, they claim; and then we suddenly hear the blue jays, noisy and conspicuous, aggressively scolding these predators with their harsh calls. Squabbles routinely break out between and among the species of God’s beautiful creatures!

When the squirrels arrive there is another shift in power. Their cousins, the chipmunks watch from a distance, waiting for their turn at the table. Occasionally a brilliant red cardinal, a red-winged blackbird, or a yellow finch will appear, adding splashes of color to this beloved community. Finally, when everyone has gone back to their nests, the gray mourning doves come for the cleanup. They coo quietly and peacefully, both in the morning and vesper light.

Our family loves the image of geese flying south for the winter. We imagine ourselves flying together as a unified and peaceful family unit, just like we do in our church communities, and in our nation, right? Flying in the proverbial V for victory, with one leader in the front, the goslings go together, honking their encouragement to one another, just like our political parties and the news media today.

If one bird is injured and drops out of formation, falling to the ground, like the hairs on our heads, another goose will accompany the injured party. On the ground, this goose will remain with the injured bird, until they both can fly again, or the injured bird has died. We call these birds our first responders. After health has returned, or the injured bird has died, one or both of these geese return to the flock. The flock, however, is different but similar to the one they knew before.

As human beings we are wired for togetherness, for making connections with other people, even virtually. We want our relationships to be meaningful, peaceful, and united. We want to know that there is a purpose to our lives and that who we are and what we do matters. We want to feel as if we are flying in the same direction with other birds; and we want opportunities to participate, to succeed, and to make a difference by our contributions.

I learned in this webinar that making connections with other people is important in three ways: Individually, relationally, and collectively. First, we need at least one person in whom we can confide intimately. Second, we need to share good times and bad times with our family and friends. And third, we need to be part of something larger than ourselves, finding a purpose greater than our mere existence. We want to connect with a transcendent power, and a community, that uses its energy for good.

I found Deb Gemma’s choice of songs today delightful. We are all destined for the same end, and yet, as Christians, we believe that “Christ is raised and dies no more, and that a new creation comes to life and grows, as Christ’s new body takes on flesh and blood.” These are words from our closing hymn today. We acknowledge, and do not deny, that people can destroy both our bodies and our souls, and so we put our trust in God. Some of us decide to follow Jesus as the gospel hymn proclaims, and from the Wild Goose Resource Group, in the offertory hymn Jesu asks, “Will you come and follow me, if I but call your name?”

I also found some statistics interesting. Data reveals that we can escalate our dying process based upon various factors. Air pollution will raise our odds of death by 5%, obesity by 20%, alcohol abuse by 30%, and loneliness by 45%. COVID 19 is a dangerous and loneliness disease, and each day we make choices about how we will respond to it. In fact, loneliness accelerates our aging process; and it can make us more demanding and critical of others, enabling conflict to erupt in our relationships.

Although we have been living year round in a condo in Cambridge, where a birdfeeder is not a possibility, Paul and I moved to Orleans on April 1st because of COVID 19. I put my bird feeder on the back deck of our family home, where we delight in watching the birds come to eat. At first, frustrated by the interference of the squirrels, we now laugh at their gluttony, and their lack of fear when we attempt to shoo them away. We cheer when the sparrows arrive in numbers, and marvel at the cooing sounds of the mourning dove.

I didn’t know that there are seven varieties of sparrows. The house sparrow nests in any sheltered cavity and avidly seeks out handouts in parks. These sparrows clearly like the Gossling handouts! The chipping sparrow is a common summertime resident, which is what Paul and I were before COVID 19. The American tree sparrow forms loose flocks often near trees and, like many of you snowbirds, they head south for the winter. The swamp sparrow is found in wet marshes or around pond edges, like we find here on the Cape, while the field sparrow resides in weedy fields.

I love to listen to the songs of the birds on the Cape, something that I don’t hear in Cambridge. The white-throated sparrow sings year round in a high clear whistle, not to be confused with a dog whistle, while the song sparrow often sings from the top of a bush. Of surprise to me was the appearance of the mourning doves. In fact they made me a little nervous; for they are a common species of suburbs and cities, rather than the beach. What on earth is the mourning dove doing here? I wondered; for you see, the spelling of “mourning” is not the word “morning” that describes the beginning of a new day. Rather it’s the word “mourning” that denotes sorrow and death. (Backyard Birds of New England, David Allen Sibley)

I think the mourning dove’s song is like the psalmist’s prayer for us today. We have much to lament and grieve. “Bow down your ear, O Lord, and answer me, for I am poor and in misery. Keep watch over my life; save your servant who puts her trust in you. Be merciful to me, O Lord, for you are my God; and I call upon you all the day long. Gladden the soul of your servants, for to you, O Lord, we lift up our souls. For you, O Lord, are good and forgiving, and great is your love toward all who call upon you.”

We are birds of a feather who flock together in Christian community, and statistics reveal that people who attend worship services regularly extend their lives by 25%. You see, Jesus tells us that even if we fall to the ground, God is the One who falls with us. God is our constant Companion, who accompanies us, whether we are flying high or lying low, whether we are singing or crying, whether we are breathing or not.

Jesus reminds us that God cares for all of God’s creation, counts every feather on our wings, and every hair on our heads. Jesus reminds us that God values us more than many sparrows; and so no wonder, countless people love the song, “My Eye is on the Sparrow.” No wonder people of black and brown color have sung it for centuries when feeling devalued, abused, and oppressed.

Throughout our lives, we may feel discouraged and down; and yet we can always remember that God is not only a member of our choir but also our choir master. There is great hope that we can find in the words of the Song, “My Eye is on the Sparrow.” “Why should my heart be lonely, and long for heaven and home, when Jesus is my portion? My constant friend is He: His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me; I sing because I’m happy, I sing because I’m free, for His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”

Sing today, like a sparrow. Sing today because you’re free. Sing today because God’s eye is on the sparrows; God’s eye is on you and me.

Genesis 21:8-21

Psalm 86:1-10, 16-17

Romans 6:1b-11

Matthew 10:24-39

Gospel Hymn: Lift Every Voice And Sing # 136 “I have decided to follow Jesus” Offertory Hymn: “Will you come and follow me?” Closing Hymn: 1982 Hymnal # 296:“We know that Christ is raised”

Fear or Faith? Reacting and Responding

2 Pentecost, St. Barnabas, Falmouth                    The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Amen.

“Keep, O Lord, your household the Church in your steadfast faith and love, that through your grace we may proclaim your truth with boldness and minister your justice with compassion.” So, Church, how do we do that? As my aerobics instructor often says, let’s break it down!

First, we are a household. We are family! Just like the Sledge Sisters sang in 1979. We are a church community of diverse people created by God, united by Jesus, and empowered by the Holy Spirit. Now, if you’re like my family, or the various households I’ve seen, and the communities to which I’ve belonged, our ways of living and moving and having our beings are not all “sweetness and light” as my father used to say. We like to hang out with people who agree with us, see life from our perspective, and don’t drive us crazy. Maybe, we’re a little bit afraid of the strangers who appear on our doorsteps.

Perhaps like your households, our Church has some guidelines for behavior. Outlined in our baptismal covenant, we make promises to God and to each other to continue to gather as a community, to resist evil and when we fall into sin to repent and return to the Lord. We promise to proclaim by word and example the good news of God in Christ, to seek and serve Christ in all people, and strive for justice and peace, respecting the dignity of every human being. We promise to care for God’s creation. Tall orders, aren’t they?

My twin grandsons are at that age when they have “stranger anxiety.” For a few months in the first years of life, most babies are fearful of strangers, even the doctors who are there to help them. This anxious period eventually passes but most parents continue to teach their children about fear, how to stay away from harmful things like guns and drugs and violent people. Parents of black and brown children decide when they’ll have that “Talk” with their children, teaching them how to respond in frightening situations. In fact, we have those kinds of “talks” with our children all the time. And after certain ages, they have those talks with us.

There was, and still is, a time when our churches were offering training in case someone with a gun came into our gathering. We became overly suspicious of strangers and backpacks. I remember a time in Boston, during the Women’s MeToo March, when wearing masks in our cathedral was prohibited, because they suggested an affiliation with a terrorist organization. Now most of us wear masks, fearing COVID 19.

Today there is a great deal of physical, social, political, emotional, and spiritual unrest and pain in our nation. There is much to be feared, and yet we can react in fear or respond in faith, as the story of Abraham and Sarah reveals. Sitting at the entrance to his tent, Abraham saw three strange men standing near him. And how did he react? He ran, like the Prodigal Father, to meet them. He bowed down before them. He begged them to stay, washed their feet, gave them water to drink and cakes to eat. Then he “took curds and milk and the fatted calf and set it before them, standing by them under the tree while they ate.”

Sarah, on the other hand, remained inside the tent. Aside from the cultural norms for women during these times, maybe she was afraid that these strangers might harm her, or that Abraham might offer her to them. Sarah was old, and maybe she was fearful for her own health, that these strangers might be carrying a disease that could kill her. We also know that she was deeply sad, consumed by disappointment and grief, recalling what could have been if she were only younger, and times were different. In despair, she laughed when she heard the stranger say that she would have a son. Sometimes we laugh when we really want to cry because we've known broken promises and unfulfilled dreams. We are afraid to hope.

Fearful people often react quickly. Triggered, we say and do things that we later regret. It is tempting for us to despair when we’re afraid that things will never change, when we think we’re on a hamster wheel of dysfunction. When we react in fear, the way Sarah did, rather than responding faithfully, the way Abraham did, we lose our agency, to live fully and freely as God intended. Instead, we hide in our tents. We fail to keep our baptismal promises. And so I asked myself recently, what exactly am I afraid of?

I was scared this past month when two of my married best friends, one with cancer and the other with asthma, were diagnosed with COVID 19 and hospitalized. They struggled to breathe with the knee of this virus on their necks. I was also scared for family members and friends suffering with mental illness and addiction, afraid that the darkness of these diseases would overwhelm them. I fear for my daughter who works in a hospital in Minneapolis, and my grandsons whose premature births compromise their lungs.

Despairing for our nation and our world, I am afraid of the increasing violence, and the destruction of goodness in the midst of this chaos. Bottom line for me? I am afraid of losing everything and everyone I love. I am afraid of rejection for speaking the truth, and of dying in pain or alone; and so I am tempted to hide in my tent, not out of self-care, but out of fear.

How about George Floyd? I wondered. He must have been afraid when he was murdered for trying to pass a counterfeit $20 bill. Crying out for his Mama, harassed and helpless like a sheep without a shepherd, he begged for mercy from a fearful white man who had his knee on George's neck. George did not die alone; he was surrounded by fearful people. Three other policemen were afraid to challenge their veteran officer, while fearful people stood by and watched.

Imagine if the other policemen took their knees off George’s back, or actually pulled the veteran off George’s neck. Imagine if the bystanders intervened as well. Instead of filming this cold-blooded murder on their phones, walking away or remaining silent in fear, maybe they could have responded in a different way. Maybe, together, they could have pulled the officer off George’s neck. Fear, like COVID 19, like systemic racism, is another invisible enemy that contributed to George’s death.

We have every reason to be fearful these days, and when we’re angry and fearful, bitter and resentful, we are tempted to justify our bad behavior and our hate-filled words. We will hide in our tents of privilege, power, and prestige, relying upon our own power to save us. And yet St. Paul’s letter to the Romans reminds us that we are justified by our faith in God. Instead of laughing in despair, we can find hope “boasting in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us.”

We are drinking from a fire hydrant of feelings these days, but rather than drinking from fountains that say “whites only”, or living in fear as many people do, let’s drink from the waters of our baptisms. Let’s speak and act with love, or as the prophet Amos once said, let’s make “justice roll down like water, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” (Amos 5:24)

St. Paul reminds us that it is through grace that we can speak and act with love. For grace is God’s steadfast love that is unmerited, undeserved, and without conditions.This grace enables us, in fact this grace empowers us, to proclaim God’s truth with boldness, and minister God’s justice with compassion. Grace means that we have agency to live freely and fully, to use God’s power for the common good and to transform our world.

We are family, living in a church community with household guidelines, in which we believe that we are all equally beloved children of God. So Church, what are we to do? For if we speak without action, our faith is dead. And if we hide in our tents, nothing will change. Instead, like Abraham, we can respond faithfully, running to greet the stranger, feeding and serving others, and standing by them in times of need.

 In his book, The Compromise of Color: the Truth about the American Church’s Complicity in Racism, Jemar Tisby argues that systemic racism gradually grew over time because of compromises made out of fear. He encourages us to educate ourselves about our history, so that we can acknowledge the parts that we’ve played in building faulty systems, and determine how we can build anew. Our mission strategy in this diocese invites us to act: to embrace brave change, to reimagine our congregations, to build relationships, and engage our world.

So, today, I remember this story about Abraham and Sarah with you; for it is a message of faith and hope. I invite you to talk about your fears and name the injustices that you know. Welcome the strangers both inside and outside your tents, even the ones who speak and act badly, as if they are messengers from God. And spend some time in prayer; consider what you fear, and how you can respond faithfully rather than fearfully. Consider how this church community, this household of God, can proclaim God’s truth with boldness and minister God’s justice with compassion. The time is now to restore our relationships, to rebuild our systems and our churches, and to fight those enemies with the Way of Love. Amen

Genesis 18:1-15, (21:1-7)  Psalm 116:1, 10-17  Romans 5:1-8    Matthew 9:35-10:8(9-23)

Genesis: A Rainbow Coalition

Trinity Sunday, June 7, 2020

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Genesis: A Rainbow Coalition

In the beginning, everything that God created was good. That is until we humans took control and put ourselves at the center. “You gave me free will,” we say to God, “and I want what I want when I want it. I have my rights!” And then the winds of chaos blew around the globe, creating formless voids of darkness, and in that darkness, volcanoes of violence and hate erupted.

I know something about chaos, violence, and hate. I know something about oppression and injustice. I know about rage; and I confess to murderous thoughts. I know fear and disrespect. I have been spit upon and followed by a man with the intention to do me harm. I have had “the talk” with my kids about many things. But unlike my brothers and sisters of color, I have also enjoyed untold privileges by growing up white in America.

While my particular experiences are not yours, and my truth may not be yours, I suspect we share some common feelings about the viruses of COVID 19, systemic racism, and what happened to George Floyd. We share the common ground of our genesis when God created us and blew God’s breath into our dry and dusty beings. We were made in God’s image and became God’s beloved children; and yet we are not treated equally, fairly, or justly. No wonder there is no peace.

When Cedric Malcolm, former Celtics star, praised the current black men on this team for speaking up about their experience of systemic racial injustice, he spoke truth. He also praised the peaceful protests around our country. “I just don’t think things are going to happen overnight,” Maxwell said. “It’s going to take conversation. It’s going to take work. It’s going to take opening up people’s minds. But I think a good part about these protests was that if you looked at the crowds, especially most of the peaceful crowds, it was decorated like a rainbow. There were all kinds of colors.”

In twelve step communities, we learn that we are responsible for our attitudes and actions, and not what others are or are not doing, can or cannot do, or what others should or should not be doing. I know that I can be critical and judgmental. I know that I can be prejudiced. I know that I have privileges and power; and yet I often feel powerless when I listen to the news. The serenity prayer reminds me to ask God to help me to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. It takes courage to change!

The beauty of God’s original creation is often marred by violence and masked by hate; but our diversity is most beautiful when we are unified in doing good. And while the uncontrollable winds of chaos continue to blow around our globe and within our own hearts, in the end, I believe that God’s power will ultimately save us. In the beginning, God said, “Let there be light. And there was light.”

The Trinity is God’s Love:  revealed to us in creation, shared with “the other” in our relationships, and given through courageous actions of word and deed. United in the diversity and goodness of our creation, walking in the Way of Love, we can reveal God’s original blessing through the power of the Holy Spirit. It’s up to you and me, for the sake of our world, to be part of that Trinity.

“In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. Then God said, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness. So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. God blessed them, and God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.” Genesis 1: 1- 28

Comfort Food

7 Easter, May 24, 2020

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

The Collect for the Day:

Do not leave us comfortless, but send us your Holy Spirit to strengthen us.

We look to you, the God of all grace (Creator, Savior, and Spirit), for comfort and strength.

I’m sure that you, like me, have been looking for multiple ways to comfort yourselves these days. Comfort food is my main “go to” response in times of stress. I get nervous and then I eat. When returning from a difficult hospital visit, I would often stop at McDonald’s on my way home. I would get my “usual” - a cheeseburger and a diet Pepsi. “You want fries with that?” she would ask, and I would answer in the affirmative. During these recent times, I’ve changed some of my habits. I’m not making hospital visits anymore but I’m still looking for comfort food. Now, it’s Wendy’s spicy chicken nuggets and Cape Cod potato chips that bring comfort.

Discipline yourself, I say to myself, as I eat my fish and chips, girding my loins for action. My fish isn’t quite like the ones that Jesus grilled for his disciples, but close enough. I hear that the mediterranean diet is good for you, so I dip my carrots into hummus, eschewing my Cape Cod potato chips. Resist those donuts and ice cream, I caution myself, thinking that I really shouldn’t be complaining about my intake or my choices. My “brothers and sisters in all the world are undergoing the same kinds of suffering” and so much more! Be grateful and humble yourself!

I miss going to the gym, and my hair has grown long like a Nazarite. If it gave Samson some strength, why not me? Like the disciples, right before He ascended into heaven, and some of us now, I ask Jesus, “Is this the time when God will restore us? When we can reopen?” Will this long green season, the season after the Pentecost, be the time when God will restore not only Israel but all the people of God? Will we see the tower of Babel being rebuilt? And will we hear each other speaking in one global language of love?

As my body reserves grow with my food indulgences, I look for new ways to strengthen my spirit and comfort my soul.  After Jesus ascended, the disciples returned to the upper room in Jerusalem to pray. So why not me? It appears that they had expanded their ranks from the 11 men, who had once huddled in fear after the crucifixion, to several women and family members as well. Apparently, they found prayer and being in community sources of comfort and strength. Perhaps, they were also preparing themselves for their mission and ministries ahead. So why not us?

I noticed, however, that not all of them returned, that is if you don’t think Batholomew was also Nathaniel. Did the disciple Nathaniel go back to his day job, now that the dangerous times were over? Was he on the road to another region, bearing witness to what he had experienced, seen, and known? Or was he still huddled up in his own room, strengthening his spirit through prayer, reflecting upon what had happened, and imagining a new way of life? Was he waiting for that green light too?

Unfortunately, at first, the followers of Jesus had to maintain their secret identities, always afraid that an “unmasking” would follow. Maybe that’s why Nathaniel changed his name to Batholomew? They knew that former members of their community were whistle-blowers, telling the authorities that the disciples of Jesus were engaged in illegal activities. Like cannibalism; they ate bodies and drank blood. Or insurgency; they were worshipping Jesus rather than hailing Caesar. So, at first, they huddled fearfully. Then, after they met the risen Christ, they began to huddle faithfully. Fish signs pointed to the Way of Love.

“Yeah, we know about the wages of sin, sickness, and death,” I say to Peter today. “I know you faced stoning, inprisonment, and crucifixion. Today it’s bullets, lynching, and the electric chair.”  We know about that devil too, not Caesar but COVID-19, prowling around like a roaring lion, looking for someone to devour. “Holy Father, protect us,” we pray, as Jesus once prayed for his disciples. Trusting that He is now sitting at the right hand of His Father in heaven, we think, “We’ve got his ear! We know He’s got the Power!”

Remain steadfast in your faith, the Spirit whispers into my ear. Cast your anxiety on God, with those nets that are filled with worry and heartache. The great Holy Comforter is packing her bags now, and She’s arriving from heaven soon. She is bringing you comfort and strength. And news flash! Jesus has joined forces with His Father; it’s a “two-for-one” kind of gift; they deliver straight to your room. No need to get out of your PJ’s and put on your Sunday best!

“Send us your vaccines to protect us,” I ask my Creator. “Put your loving arms, once extended upon the cross, around us for comfort,” I tell my Savior. And “send forth your Spirit to renew the face of your earth,” I beg them both.

Acts of the Apostles: 1:6-14

When the apostles had come together, they asked Jesus, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” He replied, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” Then they returned to Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is near Jerusalem, a sabbath day’s journey away. When they had entered the city, they went to the room upstairs where they were staying, Peter, and John, and James, and Andrew, Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James son of Alphaeus, and Simon the Zealot, and Judas son of James. All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together with certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers.

1 Peter 4:12-14; 5:6-11

Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, so that he may exalt you in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you. Discipline yourselves, keep alert. Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour. Resist him, steadfast in your faith, for you know that your brothers and sisters in all the world are undergoing the same kinds of suffering. And after you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, support, strengthen, and establish you. To him be the power forever and ever. Amen.

A Perspective on Love

A Perspective on Love

6 Easter, May 17, 2020

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

In our family room, on our coffee table, there is a pottery bowl created long ago by our son Brian. In it, I’ve placed some polished stones given to me by a Native American friend many years ago. In these recent days, my granddaughter, Elia, loves to run her fingers through the stones, as if she’s playing with water. She also likes to spread the stones out on the table and then put them back into the bowl. On each polished stone, there are two words, one on either side. On one stone there are the words “perspective” and “love.” The word love has little “plus” signs all around it.

+Love+ Right! Love is a plus sign, a benefit to all who receive it and to all who share it. It also has its costs. Love is fluid, like water that runs through our fingers, like God’s Word that comes from heaven and returns back again, like stock market volatility, like COVID 19. Love demands perspectives on life and death, a cost/benefit analysis, and the ways we live and move and have our beings.

A priest who was trying to communicate the division in his church over sexuality explained it this way. When our perspectives vary it may seem as if we are talking past each other. We feel as if the “other” has a deaf ear, a stone-cold heart, and an inability to let go of preconceived notions. We talk from the perspective of science and biology. We engage in conversations about free-wills and different choices. We drop the God word, as if human relationships were all about, indeed only about, sex. Then we pull out our mental health bibles, or our hospital guidelines, and point to what is considered sick. Hopefully, eventually, we talk about love as a configuration of relationships. Maybe we even remember Jesus, that Jesus gave us God’s Love. It was a cost to him; a benefit for us.

The pandemic conversation echoes these memories for me. Dr. Fauci claims that he speaks from the perspective of a scientist, a physician, and a public health official. Meanwhile, the President and local business owners are worried about the economy, and remind us how death comes in many ways. People suffering from inequalities, long-established in our systems, decry the higher risk of infection, poverty, and injustice. It’s an old perspective coming into sharper focus for us today. As systems and buildings and ways of “living and moving and having our beings” crumble all around us, like ancient ruins in Greece, our faith rises with hope. We all clap our hands for +love+.

Some people claim to know God; while others search desperately for God. St. Paul gave the Athenians a new perspective. Your “unknown” God is not far away, untouchable, or unknowable, or found in material things. God’s +Love+ has little “plus signs” all around it. Even as it tears down the walls of division, hatred, prejudice, fear, and death it will build us up in new ways of living, and loving, and moving our beings. In fact, +Love+ is in the air. Receive it, and then give it away. It may cost you something but the benefits are heavenly.

Acts 17: 22-28

“Paul stood in front of the Areopagus and said, “Athenians, I see how extremely religious you are in every way. For as I went through the city and looked carefully at the objects of your worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, ‘To an unknown god.’ What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you. The God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in shrines made by human hands, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things. From one ancestor he made all nations to inhabit the whole earth, and he allotted the times of their existence and the boundaries of the places where they would live, so that they would search for God and perhaps grope for him and find him—though indeed he is not far from each one of us. For ‘In him we live and move and have our being’; as even some of your own poets have said, ‘For we too are his offspring.’

Show me the Way

5 Easter, May 10, 2020

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

“How can we know the Way?” said Thomas to Jesus. “Show me the Way to the Father and I will believe,” said Philip. Show me the Way.

Show me the Way that dismantles the inequalities in our systems that cause poverty, death, and despair in neighborhoods of color. Show me the Way to end hatred that causes people to pick up guns in Georgia and stones that assault women. Show me the way out of this pandemic, a net that has been secretly set by the enemy and has paralyzed our nation and our world. Show me the Way out of these things that oppress our spirits.

In God’s house, there are many colors, and such evils never exist. Be that strong tower of goodness, I ask God. Show us the Way that will unite us as your beloved people and uphold us by your higher power. Show us the Way to your place where there is room enough for everyone, and spaciousness to breathe. Give us sure footholds on that climbing wall to heaven, on the path of righteousness on this earth, that will lead us to the place of eternal rest and peace.

“Lord Jesus, receive my spirit,” prayed Stephen before they stoned him. “Into your hands, I offer my spirit,” said Jesus as he hung upon the cross. “Forgive and give,” they both said in their final and finest hours.

Show us that Love is the Way. Show me that Way, today.

Acts 7:55-60

1 Peter 2:2-10

John 14:1-14

Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16

Gate or Shepherd?

4 Easter, May 3, 2020

Gate or Shepherd?

Psalm 23; 1 Peter 2:19-25; John 10:1-10

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

“I am the Gate,” he said, “and God is the Gate-keeper. Come into this sheepfold through me, and I will save you. When the morning dawns, go out through me and follow me. Listen to me!  I’m calling your name. Yes, you!” 

“Wait,” I replied. “What? I thought you were the Shepherd! So which is it? Are you an inert piece of rotting wood, a gate? Or are you a living, breathing person, a shepherd?”

“Both, and more,” Jesus answered. He said that he had replaced that piece of wood, which was the cross, and a symbol of unjust execution and cruelty, made by humankind to inflict suffering and sorrow. He told me that, like a lamb, he had been led to the slaughter, how he had laid down on that gate, and willingly gave up his life for you and me. He reminded me how God was the gatekeeper, who opened it, so that Jesus could show us the way out, first through suffering and death, and then into eternal life.

It was a matter of sacrificial giving instead of self-serving action. The religious and political leaders claimed that it was better for one man to die than for them. So they chose him. Power is seductive.They didn’t like his truth-telling; and it was too much pressure on them. Throw him under the bus, and up on the cross, the crowds yelled. His death might serve as a warning to others. It’s called herd immunity. Privileges do have their health care benefits.

“There is death and despair and disease all around me,” I cry to him. “Even inside this sheepfold. And we are crowded together, with no masks, no gloves, and no hope. We have endured this suffering unjustly. We need a Good Shepherd. Please get us out of this sheepfold! We want to wander freely! We want our lives back, just the way they were before!” “Or maybe not?” quietly asked the Gatekeeper.

I remember how darkness descended upon all of creation on that Good Friday. How disciples arrived at the tomb on Easter morning and found it empty. There were rumors that thieves stole the Body; it was a good talking point for the empty tomb. Some accused the disciples of a great hoax. “It never happened,” they said. But the Gatekeeper, the Author of all Creation, intervened and raised Jesus up. And then the Risen Lord appeared to many people. “See me. Touch me. Believe me,” he said. God knew that we needed a living, breathing human being to replace the parts of us that are dead, inert, and rotting.

I look around my sheepfold, as if for the first time, and see that Jesus is there. God has a way of creating new life especially in those dark places, like the womb and the tomb. Jesus is so much more than a gate and a shepherd, I remember; he is one of my companions along the Way, functioning in various capacities. He is the bread of life, and living water. He is there in all of creation, in the body and blood of care-givers, in my family and friends. Maybe even my enemies. “Come into this sheepfold through me; and do not fear” he says,“for by my wounds you have been healed. And, don’t worry! Lay down your heads and go to sleep. I am the guardian of your souls.”

“Weeping may spend your nights,” he consoles me. “But joy will surely come in the morning, when the Son will rise, and the Gate will open, and my Spirit will lead you. “When the morning dawns,” he says, “go out through me, and I will lead you to still waters and green pastures. Did I not come that you might have life and have it abundantly?”

1 Peter 2:19-25

It is a credit to you if, being aware of God, you endure pain while suffering unjustly. If you endure when you are beaten for doing wrong, what credit is that? But if you endure when you do right and suffer for it, you have God's approval. For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his steps.

“He committed no sin,

and no deceit was found in his mouth.”

When he was abused, he did not return abuse; when he suffered, he did not threaten; but he entrusted himself to the one who judges justly. He himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that, free from sins, we might live for righteousness; by his wounds you have been healed. For you were going astray like sheep, but now you have returned to the shepherd and guardian of your souls.

Psalm 23

1 The Lord is my shepherd; *

I shall not be in want.

2 He makes me lie down in green pastures *

and leads me beside still waters.

3 He revives my soul *

and guides me along right pathways for his Name's sake.

4 Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I shall fear no evil; *

for you are with me;

your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

 5 You spread a table before me in the presence of those who trouble me; *

you have anointed my head with oil,

and my cup is running over.

6 Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, *

and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

John 10:1-10

Jesus said, “Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.” Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.

So again Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”