Pride

Church of the Redeemer, Chestnut Hill

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

September 1, 2019    12 Pentecost

Let us pray:

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.

You probably would not recognize me 30 years ago, not so much in my physical appearance, but rather in my emotional and spiritual life. I was in my 30’s at the time, and I had, at best, a fragile relationship with God. Emotionally, I had a very limited range as well. Able to smile easily, I often got positive comments in that regard. And yet, I think sometimes my smile became stuck. Like the desert sun, my smile would blaze, even when my private landscape was dark and gloomy, and my soul longed for relief from the rain. There was then, and still is now, plenty for you and me to cry about these days.

            Today’s Old Testament lesson is about the sin of pride. Now most of us have heard the saying, “Pride comes before the fall”; but pride is not always sinful or destructive. Like guilt, our pride can be both healthy and unhealthy. The “healthy pride that we all need is high self-esteem, and a reasonable delight in our own achievements, abilities, and place in this world. Healthy pride fuels progress in human affairs and is something to be protected and nurtured," wrote Mel B. (Hazelden) We celebrate pride in our human diversity, wearing rainbow colored buttons and waving various flags. Proudly, we sing songs about our saints, our alma maters, and our countries. Like a pride of lions, we gather in groups, declaring solidarity with a particular cause or belief or mission. Perhaps we’re proud of our Church.

Unhealthy pride, like its kissing cousin called arrogance, is an enemy to spiritual growth. With this kind of pride we place ourselves at the center of our universe, rather than God. Our acronym is EGO which means easing God out. The song we sing is “How Great I Am” rather than “How Great Thou Art.” Acting like little king and queen babies, we put ourselves on the throne, ruling our worlds with iron fisted control. We exalt ourselves, justifying our words and actions, certain that we are right.

We forget that we are all unique, and that we are all ordinary human beings, created with various God given gifts, and seeing the world from different perspectives. Whether we like it or not, we are inescapably dependent upon other people. Just think about the ripple effects of our weather, trade wars, gun violence, political protests, or social media. The strings of our human connections are woven together like a well-knit sweater, a world-wide web, and an underground tunnel. We create and destroy each other with our pride.

“The beginning of human pride is to forsake the Lord; the heart has withdrawn from its Maker," wrote the psalmist. Easing God out of our lives, disengaging from our faith communities, and ending our relationships can happen abruptly. In her book, The Cloister Walk, Kathleen Norris wrote, “I realized that what went wrong for me is centered in the belief that one had to be dressed up, both outwardly and inwardly, to meet God. I simply stopped going to church when I could no longer be ‘good’, which for girls especially meant not breaking the rules, not giving voice to anger or resentment, and not complaining.” (pp 90-91) 

            My heart withdrew from God much more gradually and subtly. Some of us are taught that being dependent upon others is a sign of weakness. Tightly controlling our emotions, pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps, and stockpiling our assets, we put up walls and white picket fences around our property, our relationships, and our lives. Some people call this the golden ghetto.

            I lived there for decades. When our children were in elementary school, I was a traditional housewife, and my husband Paul an international business owner. From all appearances, we looked like we were a family that had it all together. Sitting side by side in the pews at Trinity Episcopal Church, we were the model suburban family, 2 cars in the garage, a black lab in the backyard, and a chicken or two in every pot.

While serving on the vestry, I became chair of the Outreach committee; and with 4 other churches in the Danbury area we created a transitional living facility for homeless women and their children called Amos House. During this same time I also became involved in a women’s and men’s prison. Unknown to everyone except me, my marriage was falling apart. My smile was stuck. And I was too proud to ask for help.

When I resigned as a volunteer from Amos House, a fellow church member said some nice words about me at the farewell banquet in my honor. In her remarks, she described me as “fiercely independent”, a characteristic that I was proud about then and embarrassed about it now. One who is “fiercely independent” denies the reality of God and our need for other people.

Proudly, I had relied solely upon me, myself, and I to get through our family difficulties. God and other people were decorative flourishes, socially acceptable pieces of my pie, and accessories to my independent living. God forbid that I would ask for help; for it is “more blessed to give than receive,” Jesus had told me. And when asked,  “How are you?” my rote reply was “Just fine” even when it wasn’t. I frequently told myself that “God helps those who help themselves” and I could easily say to myself, “It could be worse. I could be like them.”

            Such thinking and such behavior is hubris. Like the man in today’s gospel, we presume that we deserve a place of honor because we have worked hard and earned it. Or we have done good things for others sacrificially. With a head nod to our privileges, we forget that God, any many, many other people have contributed to our success, and sometimes even to our death. Yes, externally God was a noticeable part of my life; and yes, my church was a very good thing. Yet, truth be told, internally God was absent from my very being. There was a hole in my soul that was causing internal bleeding, and who knew? Not even me.

            Without conscious thought, or deep exploration, I thought that being a good Christian was just being of service to others. I had given freely to the poor, served people in prison, and shared what I had. I had a healthy pride in my contributions and generosity. I also had a need for approval, and even more deeply, a need for love, which was hidden well below the surface of my skin. Maintaining my mask of fierce independence, pretending that everything was fine when it wasn’t, actually prevented me from having truly deep and satisfying relationships with God and those around me. It prevented me from seeing others just as they are, and me just as I am, uniquely created and unconditionally loved by God, regardless of where we lived, how we dressed, and what we did for a living.

I was blind to my own need for unconditional love. It wasn’t Bible study, or Education for Ministry, or even seminary that taught me about love. Rather it was people in my family, my church, in our community, in prisons, and at Amos House that did that. I discovered that both the ghetto and the golden ghetto are inhabited by human beings all yearning for love. Some of us have walls and bars; others have picket fences and windows. We are both poor and poor in spirit, crippled when we look for love in all the wrong places, masking our need for it with other things, and blind to God’s amazing grace.

            Many times it takes failures, or diseases, or broken relationships to see the truth. Feeling powerless, I discovered a higher and greater Power and a 12 step spirituality that crosses all boundaries and leaps over all fences. As a grateful member of al-anon, I know that humility is the antidote to unhealthy pride, and it involves, above all else, being honest with myself as well as others. I learned painfully how to “let go and let God” reclaim my life. “This is hard for me when the thing that God is inviting me to release has gained an identity, like our jobs, people, things, and ideas, so much so that it’s beginning to function for me as a god,” wrote Roger Owens. (Christian Century, Aug 21, 2013)

I came to believe, one person at a time, one day at a time, in a God who loves us just as we are, unconditionally, undeservedly, and without reserve. And invites us to grow into fuller and healthier human beings. In prayers of thanksgiving, today, we offer our sacrifices of praise for Jesus, the One who humbled himself upon the cross, enduring the shame of humiliation for our sakes, so that we might be exalted with Him.

Our humility is neither humiliation nor exaltation. Rather it is knowing who we are, who belongs at the center of our world, and who sits at the head of our table. Humility doesn’t come to us through isolation or being fiercely independent, but rather participating in many communities and relationships, and offering some of our gifts of time, talents, and treasure for the benefit of others. Recentering our lives around God, we realize that through the power of God’s Holy Spirit, we actually can perform at our highest and best selves. We can give unconditional love because we have first received it from God. For that kind of living and giving, we can truly be proud.

Sirach 10:12-18

Psalm 112

Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16

Luke 14:1, 7-14

           

Navigation Systems

St. Gabriel’s Church, Marion, Massachusetts

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

August 25, 2019        11 Pentecost

            My husband Paul likes to fish, and thanks to a collaborative purchase with his father many years ago, God rest his soul, Paul has enjoyed fishing from a boat. A few years ago, Paul upgraded this boat, not only because he wanted a bigger and safer boat but also because he wanted more power. He loves his new boat. And so do I, because he can go out fishing on the ocean more safely, and I can join him for picnics in the bay. We anchor in a place where the bugs don’t bite, the sand doesn’t get in your bathing suit, the waves don’t knock you over, and I can plunge into the waters without wondering if a great white shark is lurking beneath the surface.

Paul’s boat has a navigational system upon which he relies for safety. Every year, with shifting sands and rising tides, the landscape of Cape Cod keeps changing. Finding your way out of the boatyard into the ocean can be treacherous, especially if you don’t know what you’re doing and where you’re going. Into this navigation system, Paul marks the shallow and deep waters and the buoys that will guide his path from the harbor out to the ocean and back. Without warning, fog has rolled in quickly and Paul hasn’t been able to see 15 feet in front of him. At times like these, he has relied heavily on his navigation system.

Did I mention his new motors? He replaced one engine of 150 horsepower with two engines of 200 horsepower each. That’s a total of 400 horsepower for a boat that doesn’t need that much! Jokes about Paul’s manhood notwithstanding, the engines provide an added level of safety. If one motor fails, the other one can work. If needed, Paul can accelerate quickly to get out of a bad situation. And when everything is working in unity, that is when Paul, the weather, the boat, and the engines are all in harmony, I think it’s a theological image worth exploring.

When we are sick, or injured, or hurt in any way, our human navigation system is out of tune. Conflicts and diseases will scramble our brains and our mouths. Like the walking wounded, we will limp along with only one engine working. When things go wrong, it’s as if we’re lost in a fog, and we can become fearful of what is below the surface, or coming at us without warning. Bent over with the burdens of our lives, we may feel the weight of our worries. At times like these, we feel powerless. And our souls, the very center of our lives, the navigational system that can lead us from one buoy to the next is not working. Our batteries are dead; and our fuel tanks are empty.

Knowing the truth of what ails us can set us free. It is far more tempting, however, to deny our problems or those of others. We ignore the crippled woman or the elephant in the room. We make excuses like Jeremiah, who said, “I can’t speak for you, O God. I am only a boy.” We put up barriers, like the leader of the synagogue who criticized Jesus for healing this woman on the sabbath. “Indeed,” retorted Jesus. “You’re willing to unbind your animals on this day, and not unbind this woman?”

Teresa Berger writes, “In a story that is unique to Luke, Jesus heals a nameless woman by giving her the freedom to unbend and stand up straight. The woman did not ask to be healed. She simply finds herself in Jesus’ presence. This beautiful story, however, is not without conflict. Jesus is criticized for this breach of the law. He insists that the synagogue and the Sabbath are not the only things that are holy, however—so is this woman’s life.” And so Jesus calls her over, and laying his hands upon her, he heals her, unbinds her, and gives her new life. (Teresa Berger, Christian Century, August 10, 2004)

Luke is frequently called the Beloved Physician because of the numerous healing stories found in this gospel. Already, Jesus has healed a man with an unclean spirit, a man with demons, and the boy who had a spirit that seized him. Jesus also healed a woman with a fever, a leper, a man with a withered hand, and a paralytic. When she merely touched Jesus’ robe in a crowd, a woman was healed of her hemorrhages. Then in another transfer of power, Jesus raised three different people with a mere word and a gentle touch. “Rise, take my hand, stand up, and walk.”.

Luke’s gospel tells us about the healing power of God that came through Jesus. It is also a story about a person in the midst of religious, economic, and political conflicts in his country. When Jesus challenges his religious leaders, it was like a family feud, like a teenager calling out his parents, or young adults questioning their faith. Jesus complained about their hypocrisy, their lack of response to the needs of their people, and their rigidity in following the letter of the law rather than the spirit in which the laws were written. David Tiede writes that the gospel story is a “fascinating and dire depiction of how conquered people are divided and or even pitted against each other.” (Harper Collins Study Bible (p.1954)

 Is this not true with the conflicts that we are having throughout our world today? We are conquered by sin, and oppress and pit ourselves against each other, dividing into political, economic, national, and religious camps. There is a common saying in 12 step communities that addiction is a disease where family members will circle the wagons and then shoot inside. We are all members of the human family, and  all beloved children of God. Praying to God and asking for help are good first steps towards healing, recovery, and reconciliation.

In her book entitled Healing in the Landscape of Prayer, Avery Brooke wrote, “It is easy to tell people that you are feeling tense. It is not easy to tell (people) the great ache in your heart because a relationship with your husband or wife, son, daughter, or friend has fallen apart at the seams. Nor is it easy to talk of your fears - losing your job, the operation you face, the death of your mother. But when you do so and turn with hope to God through prayer, a slow inner transformation begins that never fails to surprise people.” And so we pray for our health and salvation.

Healing is a slow process that reveals itself over time, and sometimes even surprises us. Recovery from our wounds, whatever kinds they are, is also a spiritual process. Conscious contact with God is the way we acknowledge that God is with us on the journey and as a destination. Whatever our posture in prayer, and wherever we may be, and for whatever we ask, whether we are standing bravely, sitting quietly, kneeling, or lying low, the presence of God can bring us health. Prayer is our request for God to jump start our batteries, put fuel in our tanks, add power to our motors, and help us navigate our way home.

I have come to believe in miracles; indeed as my coffee mug proudly proclaims, “Expect a miracle.” Sometimes, like the sun breaking through the fog, these miracles will appear suddenly. When you’re on that very small boat, on a very large ocean, and you’re praying for help, look for signs of God’s presence all around you. Sometimes they will look like buoys floating in the water. Othertimes, God’s light will beam across the dark waters. Or we’ll hear the bells tolling, waves crashing, and the horns of other boats coming to our rescue. God is with us in the boat, in the water, on the land, and waiting for us in the harbor. Our navigation system is called prayer.

Think about what binds you today, what ails you, and what is crippling your spirit. Ask for the healing that is needed for your family, our church, our nation, and the world. We can go it alone, or we can ask for help. We can rely on our own navigation systems or tap into God’s power. Look through the fog of this world to the promised land, and then praise God for what God has done, is doing, and will do for us today. Have courage, fill up your tanks, and start your engines. Pray for God’s healing power.

Jeremiah 1:4-10

Psalm 71:1-6

Hebrews 12:18-29

Luke 13:10-17

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Signs of the Times

In the Cultural Dictionary of the Bible, author John Pilch quotes a modern dictum that he claims is as true in the past as it is today. “The weather. Everybody talks about it, but no one can do anything about it.” Along with gun violence, issues of addiction, health care, immigration reform, and economic trade wars, I think climate change ranks right up there: issues we talk about, and yet no one seems to be able to do anything about. At least, not in the ways we can all agree upon.     

I think your vicar was not only happy to enjoy some time away with his family today, but also glad that he didn’t have to preach on today’s lessons. In an email exchange with me, he basically said “good luck” in what he called a “bear of a gospel.” In addition to his threats of fire and division, Jesus called his religious leaders hypocrites. This is definitely not a preacher’s dream for a Sunday morning sermon!

            “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division,” said Jesus on his way to Jerusalem. Now that isn’t the warm fuzzy Jesus that I knew as a child. When people claim that Jesus is more peaceful and loving than the folks in the old testament, I point to passages like these. Quite frankly, given today’s gospel lesson, Jesus is not who I would ask for help when families, churches, and nations are dividing into bitter camps!

            The Bible is full of stories about conflict; and our present time is no different. Pick a subject, any subject, pick a country, any country, pick a political party, or any religious system, and you will find various levels of conflict. Some are creative and constructive, when disagreements are easily resolved and compromises are quickly found. Other conflicts are soul destroying, like world wars, hate crimes, and bitter divorces.

There are tell-tale signs when trouble is brewing. "When you see a cloud rising in the west, you immediately say, ‘It is going to rain'; and so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat'; and it happens.” Jesus was critical of his leaders for being able to interpret the signs of upcoming weather, that is superficial realities, but not the real signs of their present time. People were unhappy; and their institutions needed reform.

When trouble is brewing, we can see signs. There is a need for sameness, and a decreased tolerance for differences. Some call it herding. We comfort ourselves with narratives that support our beliefs, closing our minds to people who don’t share our perspectives. We look for quick fixes and simple answers. We attribute malicious intent; and conspiracy theories abound. Conflict creates anxiety, and as our anxiety increases, we become more reactive, less able to step back and reflect. We hurt others with our words and actions; and our protests turn violent.

Like the times of Jeremiah and Jesus, there are signs of political, social, religious and economic unrest today throughout our world. Trouble is brewing. The recent protests in Hong Kong and the division in Kashmir are cases in point. This week the House of Bishops in Hong Kong issued a pastoral letter calling for kindness, tolerance, and dialogue. Concerned about the escalating violence, the executive director of Hong Kong, Carrie Lam, said, “The stability and well-being of 7 million people are in jeopardy,” her voice breaking slightly. “Take a minute to think about that. Do we really want to push our home, this city, into the abyss where it will be smashed into pieces?’ There was soul searching by everyone after the chaos at the Hong Kong airport.

Hammers, like conflict, can be destructive. When we smash something that is valuable, we destroy something that is important, and sometimes not easily replaced. Hammers of violence and vitriol can do that to our relationships, to our cities, and our countries. When we are out of control with anger, we can be pushed and we can push others into the abyss. Hammers, however, like conflict, can also be constructive and creative. A jack hammer will break apart a road that needs rebuilding. It is  a tool that makes our jobs easier, and something that will lay a foundation for the new road to travel on.

Fires, like hammers and conflict, can be both destructive and constructive. When forest fires burned out of control in California, people died, homes were destroyed, and lives were changed. And yet when the wildfires were redirected by new fires, they became life-saving. Some species of trees actually require fire for their seeds to sprout; and during wildfires, when nutrients from dead trees are returned to the soil, and exposed to more sunlight, seedlings will begin to sprout and grow. New life can result from these kinds of fires. (Wikipedia)

Let me return for a moment to the weather. Weather interpretation was significantly different in the times of Jesus. There were no weather channels or daily alerts about upcoming storms. They basically knew what was coming, and  Palestine’s location in latitude is roughly equal to that of southern Califormia. While their weather, political, and religious issues may be similar to ours today, however, their understanding of our world was very different. Our ancestors believed that whatever happened was caused by a human being or some other heavenly force. Rain was not a result of natural condensation; rather it came from God, who also caused droughts, fires, and earthquakes. These were all signs of God’s displeasure or approval, depending upon the people and the situation at hand.

“Hypocrites’ is what Jesus called his religious leaders. “I want to believe that God might choose to work through imperfect beings like me rather than consuming us in (the) divine flames of justice,” wrote Elizabeth Palmer. “Until it comes to those people with whom I most disagree about politics, religion, and social responsibility. Then I'm right there with the prophet Jeremiah (and Jesus) in wanting to call down divine judgment upon their empty claims and false promises. And I'm far too willing to make quick judgments about my opponents, identifying them as ‘those who (offer false dreams) and prophesy lies. This is why it's actually good news that God is a consuming fire. Better God than us.” (Elizabeth Palmer, August 11, 2016, Christian Century)

In today’s gospel, Jesus said “I came to bring fire to the earth.” “If our world were nothing but a place of created goodness and profound beauty, then Jesus’ challenge would be deeply troubling,” wrote Teresa Berger.  “If, on the other hand, our world is deeply scarred, with systems that are exploitative, then redemption can come only when those systems are shattered and consumed by fire. Jesus comes not to disturb a nice world but to shatter the systems that stifle life.” (by Teresa Berger, Christian Century, August 10, 2004)

So you see, when Jesus said that he came to bring fire to the earth, the news isn’t all bad. Bringing fire to the earth is not just a message of God’s judgment and displeasure, or God’s desire to destroy those things that kill life and parts of creation. No, God’s fire is also a purifying flame, naturally cleaning up our messes, warming our souls, shedding light in times of darkness, and empowering us for action.

As “Mediator in Chief” Jesus came to restore our relationships, and help people who have become divided or are caught up in a soul-destroying conflict. Not afraid to interpret the troubling signs of his time, at his own peril, He spoke truth to power, challenged the leaders and the systems of his country, and continued his walk to Jerusalem. There, he endured the cross, disregarding its shame, so that he could fulfill God’s mission of reconciliation, and become known as the Prince of Peace.

Both Jeremiah and Jesus were prophets who called for institutional reform. They were jack hammers and fire lighters, seekers of justice and mercy, for the benefit of all humankind. Not running for political office nor wanting to become King of the Jews, they didn’t always promise peace and unity, periodically prophesying fire and division. Sometimes new fires need to be lighted to redirect our love. Sometimes old things need to be torn down before they can be rebuilt.

Prophets often speak of dreams, and God has a dream for all of us. It’s called Salvation. And while not everybody is talking about it, like the weather, God did do something about it. As a Christian, I believe that God sent Jesus to show us the way to our salvation. And yet, the question remains for all of us, regardless of our faith, what are we going to do about it?

In the words of Peter, Paul, and Mary, if I had a hammer,  I'd hammer in the morning and  I'd hammer in the evening, all over this land. I'd hammer out danger, I'd hammer out warning, and I'd hammer out love between my brothers and my sisters, all over this world. Like Jeremiah, I would remind people of God’s hammer. Like Jesus, I would light some fires. This is the Jesus Movement, which is the Way of Love, a love of both justice and mercy. Amen.

Jeremiah 23:23-29

Psalm 82

Hebrews 11:29-12:2

Luke 12:49-56

Heart and Soul Sickness

Church of the Epiphany, Winchester, Massachusetts

August 11, 2019

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

 “There is a heart sickness and a soul sickness in this country that politics is not going to fix,” said one commentator this past week. In his book called Breathing Under Water, Spirituality and the 12 Steps, Richard Rohr writes that “we are all addicted in some way. When we learn to identify our addiction, embrace our brokenness, and surrender to God, we bring healing to ourselves and our world.” Breathe, I tell myself, when my pulse rate increases with anger. Breathe, I tell myself, when I start holding my breath out of fear. Breathe, I tell myself, when I hear of yet another mass shooting and my sadness overwhelms me. 

Thomas Merton was an American Trappist monk, social activist, priest, and scholar, who is often quoted for his thoughts on our human condition. “No humans are islands unto themselves,” he wrote. We often have no idea where we are going or how we will get there; and yet, Merton reminds us to trust God to lead the way. “Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.” “Do not be afraid,” repeated Jesus over and over again to his little flock; “for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”

            I walked the Camino to Santiago de Compostela in Spain a few years ago. I chose to walk with a group because I did not want to walk alone. There had been rumors about women who were disappearing on the Camino, and I wanted to feel safe. I had just moved to Cambridge and I was looking for “things to do” as I began my new call as a missionary and evangelist. Truth be told, I had way too much time on my hands, and my husband Paul had plenty of frequent flyer mileage on his; and so paraphrasing Jesus, I reminded him not to store up those treasures in his purse. In Spain, I could walk the Camino and pray for his human condition and mine.

            As I prepared for my trip, I received many tips for the journey. Get good, comfortable walking shoes, that are well worn and sturdy enough to endure 10-15 miles of walking every day. Walk at your own pace, not at anyone else’s. Take one step at a time, one day at a time. Remember that you are never alone, and there is always help on the Camino. Indeed, throughout my journey to Santiago de Compostela, doors were opened, lamps were lit, and meals were served with gracious hospitality. I never felt alone even when I was walking by myself. 

            When I started my journey of faith on the Camino, I knew where I was going. Our destination was 100 kilometers away and little signs would periodically appear, pointing the way to Santiago de Compostela. Eight days later my journey was over, and with a great sense of joy, I celebrated in the city with my walking companions. I watched the huge thurible in the Cathedral of St. James swing over our heads, our prayers rising like incense into the night air.

Unlike me, Abraham had set out on his journey not knowing where he was going. By faith, he believed that God was calling him to a land of promise, to a city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God. Believing that he would eventually arrive in a better country, indeed, a heavenly one, he trusted God to lead the way forward, and did not turn back to the land that they had left behind.

You and I both know from scripture that he, like us, stumbled many times along the way. Without little camino signs for direction, he took wrong turns. He lied and wheedled his way out of sticky situations often at the expense of others. His sins were scarlet and his hands were full of blood. His trust walk continued, however, because he believed that God was faithful, even when he was not, and he was called to be the leader of many people for generations to come. 

Appalled at what’s happening in our own country, we seek protection from our government, our elected officials, and political leaders. In a prayer for gun violence prevention, the Rt. Rev. Stephen Lane, retired bishop of Maine, wrote “God of Righteousness, you have given our leaders power and responsibility to protect us and to uphold our right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Lead us to discern what is just in the face of powerful political forces.” Whether you are red, blue, or purple, like Abraham, we all desire a better country. We all seek a homeland that is stable, secure, and safe. We all seek places that are good for all human conditions.

“Come now, let us argue it out,” says the Lord in today’s lesson from Isaiah. In her book Fierce Conversations, Achieving Success at Work and in Life - One Conversation at a Time, Susan Scott argues that we succeed or fail, one conversation at a time. Like our politicians, create your own stump speech, she suggests, and ask yourself these questions. Where am I going? Why am I going? Who is going with me? And how will I get there? If politics cannot fix our soul and heart sickness, then who or what will? If not now, then when?

            When we begin to address our heart and soul sickness in this country, we are not called to be successful. We’re just called to be faithful; and Abraham is a model of faithfulness. So too is Jesus. We walk by faith. “To have faith is like driving in the dark with headlights, when you cannot see the road around the bend.” (01/08 Today’s gift) “Faith within us is like that bird that sings in the dark before the first light of dawn appears.” (12/20 Touchstones). 

Faith tells me that there is a city built on a hill not just in Boston, or Spain, or Washington D.C. but upon a hill that I cannot see. On that hill, there is a beacon of light and a house that is built upon a rock. Knocking on the door, I will meet the master of this house, and be welcomed into God’s arms, without condition. Jesus will invite me to sit down at His table where there is food for everyone, and there is a feast that is more than just bread and wine. 

Conversations will be plentiful. I will tell Jesus stories about my journey on the Camino and how people carried me on their shoulders when I could not walk. I will tell him about the strangers and foreigners that I met along the Way, who were his hands, heart, feet, and voice. I will recall little signs of God’s presence that pointed the way forward for me in faith, encouraging me not to fall back in fear, and telling me which fork in the road to take. I will respect the dignity of every human being who is walking with me on the Camino. 

This house on this hill is climate controlled. Peace reigns in every heart, despite the fact that we don’t all agree. With every conversation broken hearts are healed, and souls are satisfied. I wash my hands before sitting down at the Table and say grace, offering words of thanksgiving for all that God has given. The waters of my baptism flow all around me, and without fear, I breathe freely, fully, and deeply for the first time. I sleep soundly.

Where am I going on my journey of faith, on my current camino prayer walk? I believe that I am going to heaven, to a better country, to a city that will never go under water.  One day at a time, one step at a time, I will go at my own pace, because I know where I am going, even though I cannot see the end. My boots are made for this kind of walking and I trust in God’s promises. Why am I going there? Because I want to go, and God wants me to come. Who is going with me? I hope all of you, and all of God’s creation. And how will we get there? By God’s grace, and with our best efforts. HOW - with honesty, openness, and willingness.

            Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. “Do not be afraid,” said Jesus; “for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” Until then, be dressed for action and have your lamps lit. Cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, and plead for the widow. Sell your possessions, and give alms. God is our treasure, in our hearts and in our souls; and so we carry the light of Christ wherever we go. 

The Rev. Michael Battle told this story one month after the terrorism of 9-11. It is “a story of a young disciple in India who left home and traveled in search of a spiritual master. He found him sitting in prayer beside a river. The young man begged the master to teach him.”

“The master rose slowly, then suddenly grabbed the younger man and dragged him into the river and under the water. Seconds passed, then a minute, then another minute. The young man struggled and kicked, but still the teacher held him down until at last he drew him coughing and gasping out of the water.”

“While you were under the water, what was it you wanted?” the teacher asked. “Air,” the young man said, still panting. “And how badly did you want it?” “All . . . it was all I wanted in the world. With my whole soul I longed only for air.” “Good,” said the teacher. “When you long for God in the same way that you have just now longed for air, come back to me and you will become my disciple.” (Christian Century, October 17, 2001) “In a violent world,” wrote Michael Battle, “each of us is the young disciple in need of such intense washing.”

One breath at a time, one conversation at a time, one step at a time, one day at a time, we keep on praying; for the answer to our heart and soul sickness is God. Trust in God’s promises. Do not fall back in fear. Walk in faith, and believe that the Holy Spirit will carry us home.

Isaiah 1:1, 10-20

Psalm 50:1-8, 23-24

Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16

Luke 12:32-40

Fierce Conversations

Fierce Conversations

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

August 4, 2019

            I chose to focus on the prophet Hosea this morning; for prophets are known to turn up the heat in the lives of God’s people. Speaking truth in love, in faithful obedience to God’s call, a prophet will describe the realities of what he or she sees and encourage people to change their behavior. They turn up the heat. As in Texas heat, “packing heat”, calling for “the heat” when violence erupts in your town.

            As the facilitator of the mentors for the recently ordained clergy in our diocese, I have been reading a book written by Susan Scott, entitled Fierce Conversations: Achieving Success at Work and in Life - One Conversation at a Time. Encouraging radical transparency, this author argues that careful conversation is a failed conversation. (p20) She believes that “our careers, our companies, our relationships, and our lives succeed or fail, gradually, then suddenly, one conversation at a time.” (p12)

I would also add so do our churches and governments. “Fierce conversations are about moral courage, clear requests, and taking action,” Scott writes. “Fierce is an attitude. A skill set. A mind-set. A way of leading. A strategy for getting things done. Fierce does not mean barbarous, menacing, or cruel. Fierce means powerful, strong, unbridled, unrestrained, robust. It means coming out from behind ourselves into the conversation and making it real. There will be no blood on the floor. No violence." (p 67)

God is fierce like a lion, said the prophet Hosea; and when God roars, “God’s children shall come (home) from the west, like birds from Egypt, and like doves from the land of Assyria.” Prophets are willing to describe the “ground truth of reality” and listen to the truth of others in fierce conversations. Like people who stand at various parts of an elephant, prophets see our world, our problems, and our solutions differently, and yet they still point to the elephant in the room! Having fierce conversations, one conversation at a time, is the way to better our future, if we’re willing to “pull the trigger” so to speak, and engage in these hard conversations. Together, like the heat this summer, we will fall and rise with our fierce and/or failed conversations.

            Hosea was a prophet living in the Northern Kingdom of Israel around 750 BCE. At that time, the country was divided into two kingdoms; the northern one was called Israel, and the southern one was called Judah. Hosea lived in the Northern Kingdom, which was ruled by king Jeroboam during a relatively peaceful time. He was followed by several  kings, many revolutions, and political instability because the “people anxiously searched for kings and allies who would save them from the dangers that threatened their national existence.” (HCSB, 1329-30) Hosea focused his prophecy on two things: the religious pluralism and flourishing worship of the God Baal, and the royal politics of the Northern Kingdom.

             Hosea reminded the Israelites of who God was and 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)  After liberating them from slavery, God asked them to live in faithful relationships by obeying the 10 commandments. “Thou shalt not murder” was one of them. Increasingly, the Israelites had broken their promises to God, and Hosea was now calling them out.

            This past Friday, I legalized and asked God to bless the marriage of a young couple in Massachusetts. In the six months leading up to their celebration of love, we had some fierce conversations. We talked about family, friends, and religion. We talked about contracts and covenants. We talked about what it means to be faithful to each other, and what their vows meant to them. We talked about how they both contribute to keeping their community safe in their jobs, one through education, the other through data analysis for the police department.

Infidelity never starts with the physical aspects of love. Rather it starts with someone’s spirit moving away from God. A God-centered world slowly becomes a self-centered world. Too much ego means “easing God out” of your life. Regardless of our religious tradition or lack of one, we become haters not lovers. 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.

Emotions of anger, hurt, and sadness, fueled by our fears and anxieties, erupt unexpectedly. We hurl invectives; we cast aspersions. We become a house divided and make plans to defeat the “enemy.” We look for a savior, or launch a silver bullet, rather than have fierce conversations. With our guns blazing, there is blood on the house floor, in our streets, and on our hands. In the end, we hurt ourselves and others.

            When we begin to cast blame and shame on the other person or party, when we become a divided kingdom like the Israelites, we might ask the question, who moved? It wasn’t God. Hosea claims that the Israelites began to worship the god named “Baal” who was known as the “storm god who provided rain and fertility for their crops. It was as if the Israelites had begun going to the local bar rather than to the Temple in search of the Spirit. Like the farmer in today’s gospel, they wanted bigger barns for their salvation; and so “in their anxious search for kings and allies who would save them” they disavowed their trust in God. They forgot that tomorrow they might die from the violence in their land.

            Apparently, God commanded Hosea to take some symbolic actions to show them the truth of their broken relationship. As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words; and so Hosea married a wife of whoredom. While Gomer spent nights away from her family with multiple partners, Hosea remained at home, faithfully cooking and cleaning, while caring for their three children, and waiting for his unfaithful wife to come home. For his second act, Hosea purchased and kept an adulteress, someone who was clearly violating her marriage covenant. “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.”

I remember running away from my home around the age of 10. I was convinced that I had been mistreated; that my parents had been unfair; and that I was not loved as much as my siblings. I vowed to myself that I would treat my children well, always be fair, and love them equally. And, of course, I failed. As an adult, I looked for a savior and found that material things and well-meaning people ultimately failed me. Fortunately I didn’t resort to violence; rather I felt the heat of God’s love. I found amazing grace.

            When I read today’s lesson from Hosea it brought tears to my eyes. I know how fragile life can be, and how desperate love can feel. I know what it is like to lose someone I love. I know how often we fail one another as individuals in our personal, religious, and political systems. I know that we all participate in systems of evil and oppression; and I know what it’s like to feel hate. Hosea describes God as a loving parent, bending down from heaven to feed us, holding us tenderly in God’s arms, and close to God’s cheeks, teaching us to walk with cords of human kindness, and with bands of love. Begging us to come home.

Hosea saw beyond the infidelity of the Israelites to the compassion of our God. Hosea proclaimed that God would restore God’s people through a new covenant. And so, centuries after Hosea, God commanded Jesus to perform some symbolic actions for the sake and salvation of God’s people. Jesus had fierce conversations. Jesus took some actions. He 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. In effect, Jesus took a bullet for us.

Our salvation is assured. We need not anxiously search for things or people to save us. We need not create bigger barns or bank accounts as insurance policies for our future. We just need to make more room in our lives for God. As Peter Marty once wrote, “Full barns do not equal full souls.” (Christian Century, March 16, 2016) In fact, our inheritance is not stored in a barn, but rather in heaven; our legacy is one of faith, hope, and love.

In times of religious infidelity and political instability, we can have fierce conversations about gun violence, and we can take one small step to do something about it. “Taking action is key,” writes Susan Scott. “I don’t know about you, but I develop compassion fatigue with (people) who complain about the same issue over and over and don’t do what is needed to fix it. The well has run dry and I’m all outta love.” (Fierce Conversations, p62)  Take the next right step. Have the next fierce conversation. Today and tomorrow, make God’s love visible in your words and nonviolent actions.

Hosea 11:1-11

Psalm 107:1-9, 43

Colossians 3:1-11

Luke 12:13-21

Teach Us to Pray

Church of the Redeemer, Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts

July 28, 2019              7 Pentecost

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

            Jesus taught his disciples how to pray, at their request mind you, because they have seen him praying in that “certain place”, and they want to learn how to pray just like him. Or maybe they compared him to John the Baptist, who also taught his disciples how to pray. “Why don’t you teach us just like him?” they might have asked Jesus. Getting a text from someone while he was praying, Jesus responded immediately. “This is how you do it,” he said. “Just pray these six short phrases and you’re done.”

Not really; for Jesus then told his disciples that they needed to persist in their prayers. It’s not a matter of “one and done.” Like the man who ran out of bread in the middle of the night, and persisted in knocking on his friend’s door, Jesus told them that they should keep on praying. It wasn’t the friendship that mattered in this midnight run. No, it was the man’s annoying persistence. In today’s jargon, we might tell them to “keep on trucking” or “keep on, keeping on!” with their prayers.

According to this story, the man first told his friend at the door to go away, but the friend persisted. Having pressed the snooze button many times, the man finally got out of bed just to stop the racket outside. Flinging open the door to his home, he told his friend, probably not in the most hospitable voice, to take whatever he needed and go home so that he could go back to bed! Persistence trumps friendship, said Jesus.

The request for bread, quite frankly, doesn’t seem to warrant such urgency; but then I am living an extremely privileged life. In truth, I’m a little appalled that this man is pounding on the door of his friend because he needs bread for his guest. Can’t it wait until the morning? Presumably, he has a home, and so, isn’t there some hummus, or grapes, or dried fruit in his kitchen that he could offer his guest until the morning?  Really, I wondered, what’s so important about bread that this man leaves his guest in the middle of the night to go to his friend’s house and knock on his door?

Now what comes next in Luke’s gospel seems equally as annoying to me. Jesus claims that if we are persistent in our prayers, we will also get what we ask for. When we search for something lost, God will find it for us. When we knock on the door of God’s mansion, which has many rooms, God won’t tell us to go away because his children are sleeping and God is too. No, Jesus says, God will get out of his king size bed and respond. Opening the door in the middle of that dark night, God will not be annoyed, nor will God tell the servants to fetch whatever is needed. Indeed, God will personally and graciously hand over the goods. Goods as simple as daily bread. Gifts that are good and won’t hurt us like a snake or a scorpion.

             You would think that praying would be simple; and yet, for many people it’s not. Although basic, prayers can be hard to understand, let alone do, which is why I have a gazillion books written on the subject. Prayer is both a holy mystery and a simple task; and I’ve found that my prayer life keeps changing over my lifetime, rising like yeast, then getting stale, or becoming flat like unleavened bread. My prayers come in all sizes and shapes, colors and tastes. They can be home-made or store bought, sliced thin, or with a thick crust. We all pray differently; I like multigrain bread with lots of seeds, while my husband prefers toasted Italian.

Fortunately, we have a basic text book that we call The Book of Common Prayer. For us Episcopalians, this book is like having a religion course called Prayer 101. With this book in hand, we don’t have to rely on the Holy Spirit to teach us how to pray. We can just read the lines that are right in front of us. Besides Jesus already taught us how to pray using those six simple lines from scripture.

Perhaps you, like me, will resort to the Lord’s prayer, when you’re in a pinch or on the spot and don’t have a book in front of you. It’s one of those prayers that serves us well when we’re feeling at a loss for words, we don’t know what to say, or how to pray. And yet, we forget that Jesus also promised to send us the Holy Spirit to teach us those things that he could not teach us while he was among us.

As St. Paul reminded the Christians in Rome, the Holy Spirit “helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes (for us) with sighs too deep for words.” Is this not what Jesus said in Luke’s gospel, that our “heavenly Father will give the Holy Spirit to those who ask?" When we ask, seek, and knock on God’s door, God will give us God’s Spirit, who knows what we need. It may not be exactly what we want, and may even be something we don’t like. It may even hurt a little bit, but it won’t kill us like deadly venom; and so we persist in our prayers. For God’s Spirit will help, heal, teach, comfort, and guide us.

When I am desperate, that is when I am asking, and knocking, and seeking something that I need or want in the middle of my dark night, I persist with my “arrow prayers.” These are prayers that come from my heart, like that man who was pounding persistently on the door of his friend. I ask God, “Please, help me.” Or dropping to my knees in fear, I quietly whisper these very same words. When we pray like this, our words rarely come out in “stained glass voices” or from a book. We beg the Spirit, or Jesus, or Mary to intercede for us, to wake up our sleeping God. We ask God to get out of bed, and give us the bread that we need today.

To be honest, I have prayed fervently and faithfully throughout my life with mixed results. There were times when I could not pray at all, and so I leaned on those who could. My requests have never been for actual bread, but rather requests for help. Unfortunately, God has not delivered the goods on more than one occasion. To be fair, sometimes it was a time delay, or unfamiliar packaging, that confused or disappointed me. And then, there have been those moments when God has delivered what seemed like manna from heaven, and I have been overcome with gratitude. My prayers of supplication and petition have then turned to prayers of adoration and thanksgiving.

As N.T. Wright once wrote, our prayers are often because “we’re usually in some sort of mess and we want God to get us out of it. Or we have some fairly pressing needs, like bread in the middle of the night, and we want God to supply them.” (The Lord and His Prayer) Because these things can lead us astray, forgiveness is part of our prayers. While God is not Marie Kondo, the one who promises to declutter our lives, reorganize our closets, and sort out our problems, we do know that God has forgiven us, loves us, and gives us the power and courage to do what we can, through the gift of God’s Holy Spirit.

On my credenza at home I have a sign that says “prayer changes things.” While I remain unconvinced about whether or not prayer changes things, I do know that prayer changes me, and sometimes even changes other people or events. And so it has always been a comfort to me when I hear Jesus say “this is how you pray” and when scripture tells me that the Holy Spirit knows what’s going on in my life and in our world. In the meantime, I “pray as I can, not as I can’t.” Or as Brother David from SSJE will say, “If a certain place or way of praying is not helpful to you, then don’t do it. Find something that is helpful.”

These days, I pray much less formally at home. I build my prayer muscles at Body Pump classes, and defend myself against evil spirits in Body Combat. I go for long walks along the Charles and find peace in Body Flow, stretching places that have become tight with fear. Sitting in my living room in silence, I ponder life’s blessings and challenges, as I piece together my latest puzzle, letting God’s Spirit search me out and make things known. All in all, I believe that we pray through our words and actions on a daily basis; and that holy mysteries and simple tasks are part of that process.

I love being part of a community of faith because it holds me accountable to a life of prayer, of listening to the words of Jesus as recorded in scripture, and hearing what the Spirit is saying to God’s people in church. When  Jesus teaches me to pray, saying “Our Father,” I acknowledge that we are all beloved children of God.

Recently Pope Francis approved a change in the wording of the Lord’s prayer. Instead of saying, “Do not bring us to the time of trial or temptation” we can pray “Do not let us fall” absolving God from all blame for our human sins. Our prayers change over time; we use words when necessary. In the Eucharistic prayer, I thank God for Jesus, who is the Word of God, and who said, “I am the bread of life and whoever comes to me shall never perish.”

In 1996, N. T. Wright wrote, “If you think it was relevant for Jesus to teach his disciples over 2000 years ago how to pray, then how much more for us even today.” And so we pray, as Jesus taught his disciples, then and now. Amen.

Genesis 18:20-32

Psalm 138

Colossians 2:6-15, (16-19)

Luke 11:1-13

Worried and Distracted

            

Emmanuel Church, Wakefield, Massachusetts

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

July 21, 2019  6 Pentecost

             It’s good to be with you again this morning in Wakefield. And thank you for your gracious and warm welcome last Sunday. Frankly, with almost 100 degrees of heat today, I was hoping you would welcome me with a little less warmth! But here we are - ready to worship God, to sit and listen to what the Spirit is saying to God’s people, and to be fed at Christ’s Table!

I had a delightful time this past week with my dear friends from Ireland. I had worked for the Dean of Christ Church Cathedral in Dublin a few years ago, and Dermot and his wife Celia are currently traveling in the United States with the Cathedral choir. They started their tour in Washington D.C. at the National Cathedral, then came here to Old South Church in Boston, and this weekend they are singing at the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine in NYC. Despite the summer heat, thunderstorms and pouring rain, the Wednesday evening concert had about 200 people in attendance. With tears in my eyes, I sat and listened with awe and wonder to their music. It was heavenly.

Thank you also for some of your inquiries last Sunday about my grandsons and the Celtics basketball team. This afternoon, I will fly to Minnesota for a few days to be with my daughter and her husband to help them care for their 4 month old twin boys. Every three hours, the boys need food. Their diapers need changing. The dog needs walking. And Mom and Dad need more sleep and something to eat. I will sit and listen to my grandsons cry and suck and coo; and I will sit and listen to the joys and struggles of these first-time parents. I will also get up and do what is needed to help. I’ll go to the kitchen and make a meal, or two, or three.

In between working on things related to my vocation as a priest and a family member, I’ve also been listening to various comments about the Celtics basketball team. They’ve lost some super stars, and there are some lingering resentments. I have high hopes for the upcoming season and am excited about the new team members. No wonder I’ve been feeling a little distracted this week, a little bit like Martha in today’s gospel lesson; and yet, you know what they say, “if you can’t take the heat, then get out of the kitchen.”

 Last week, we heard Jesus tell the lawyer 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 doesn’t tell us why. The road to Jericho was known for its robbers, and maybe they thought he was a distraction, a decoy for an ambush by those lying in wait. Or maybe, like me, they were simply distracted by their “to do” lists, or perhaps worried about someone at home. I imagine them walking with their heads down, in deep thought or prayer, looking at their cell phones, and blind to the needs of those around them. Clearly these two men could have been worried and distracted by many things; but who knows? And who’s to judge? Not me!

 Not unlike them, or me, or perhaps you, Jesus accused Martha of being worried and distracted by many things as well. Now last week, Jesus told the lawyer to “Go and do like” the good Samaritan. Today, Jesus doesn’t tell Mary to get up and get going; but rather he tells Martha to get out of the kitchen and “Sit and listen.”  “So, which is it?” I ask myself. “Am I supposed to “go and do” or “sit and listen?”  “How do we inherit eternal life?” the lawyer asked Jesus last week. “Are we justified by our good works or by our faith?” I want to ask Jesus. "And which, exactly, is the better part?"

Joy Douglas Strome once wrote, “The story of the good Samaritan becomes the illustration of how (to) love one’s neighbor. The story of Martha and Mary (shows us how to) love God. Luke is (trying to) define discipleship for the early church, and these two stories begin to pave (the) way.” ( Xian Century, July 10 2007) Discipleship is a way of life that includes both receiving and giving, both sitting and doing. Both Martha and Mary are disciples; and today Jesus is saying that the only thing they need is to first receive God’s love and listen to what God is saying.

I must confess that we have a lot of Marthas in our family, all saints of God to be sure. You can find them in the kitchen, in our homes, at our desks, and on our jobs. As busy beavers, we are worried and distracted by many things, and so we multitask to get the job done. When Jesus says, “Go and do,” we can’t get going fast enough, that is, until we begin to feel resentful about the loads that we are carrying. Turning to Jesus, and pointing to a family member, we will say, “Please tell her to get up and help me." And yet Jesus may say to us, “Please, just sit down for a little while and listen to God.” This is the better part.

Our society and culture, indeed many of our families of origin, will encourage us to stay busy. They say that being “idle” is supposedly the devil’s playground, and being a Christian means being active. At times, we may feel unworthy if we aren’t helping like good Samaritans. We may only feel valuable if we can satisfy someone else’s needs or fix someone’s problems. And then there are those people who will just sit there and keep on taking, never lifting a hand to help, fueling our resentments.

 Fortunately, as this morning’s collect says, God knows our necessities before we ask and our ignorance in asking. God has compassion on our weakness, and mercifully will give us those things which for our unworthiness we dare not, and for our blindness we cannot ask. Jesus invites us to sit down for a little while, and listen to the voice of the Spirit, so that we know what we need, and how loved we are by God. Then Jesus invites us to get up and go, and to be good Samaritans.

Our family has struggled with many diseases over the course of our years together. We know about the challenges of alcoholism and lung cancer, mental illness and dementia. Like the prophet Amos, we know about lamentations and mourning, about fearful days and sleepless nights. We have seen our summer fruit turn into a bowl of pits, and have thirsted for springs of living water. In silence, we have strained to hear the words of our Lord, listening for answers to our questions, and looking for a balm for our wounds.

It is through both good times and hard times that I can relate to the story of Mary and Martha. When worried and distracted, I am reminded of Mary to sit at the feet of Jesus and listen. When I find myself demanding help from others, or begging for mercy, and when the kitchen gets too hot, I will 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. I am also reminded of Martha, that it is good to get up and go, and to do something however small. I know how valuable the ministry of hospitality is, how good it feels to be warmly welcomed by friends into a home or church, and provided with food and drink.

Distractions and worries abound in all of us; and today Jesus calls us to stop. Stop what we are doing, and sit and listen, before we stand up and start doing once again. Anthony Robinson wrote that “the irony is that healing - whether of a disfiguring ailment of the flesh (like leprosy), or of diseases like alcoholism (or mental illness), or of a broken spirit (that leads us to despair), or of a crippling arrogance (that makes us think that we don’t need medication or help), always begins when we acknowledge our vulnerability, our inability to be in charge, when we encounter a grace and power beyond our own.” (p.9 Pulpit Resource, Vol 29, No. 3, Year C, July, August, September 2001) Our healing begins when we sit at the feet of Jesus; and our power to do something comes from God.

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 disciples, 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.” We are all diverse, multi-faceted, uniquely beautiful creations of God, who are called to receive God’s love and then to share God’s love in many and various ways. Sometimes we will go and do; other times we will sit and listen. “Don’t set up some abstract standard for how real discipleship is supposed to look,” said William Willimon. (p.17 Pulpit Resource)

Today’s story about Mary and Martha, indeed of the good Samaritan, is only a snapshot of our lives. If we watch our home movies, we will see ourselves leaving the kitchen in order to spend some time with Jesus. We will also see ourselves getting up to clean the pots and pans because someone else has done the cooking.

Today, be Mary. Sit down and listen to what the Spirit is saying to you. And then go and do something. Get back in that hot kitchen and be Martha. And do not worry. Jesus will give you food and drink for your journey.

Amos 8:1-12

Psalm 52

Colossians 1:15-28

Luke 10:38-42