WHO IS LOST?

The Fourth Sunday in Lent - Laetare Sunday
Joshua 5:9-12; Psalm 32; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

Today we get another parable, one known to us as The Story of the Prodigal Son.
It is a familiar parable, too familiar. It has given us such colloquial phrases as “lost and found” and “kill the fatted calf.” It also brings with it all the baggage of what we have been told and read and in the deepest recesses of our minds, we find that we automatically assume to know what it all means.

I have a task for you today. Forget it! As much as you are able. Come to this story as if you are hearing it for the first time, without the assumptions and deep seeded high Christology. 3-2-1 POOF! There, it’s gone. Now, let’s start from scratch.

Notice how the story begins. “There was a man who had two sons.” Did you catch it? This section of scripture is often marked in bold type “The Lost Son” or “The Prodigal Son.” But here Jesus tells us who to focus on, “There was a man who had two sons.” Two. A family unit. And for simplicities sake, let’s call them Mason and Oliver. The store then viers hard to the right, and all our focus goes to the younger son, Oliver.

If you are part of Jesus first century Jewish audience, this is not at all surprising. In fact, the story begins to sound awfully familiar as the theme of a younger brother getting more attention in the story than an older is a trope that goes all the way back to the Torah. You should be put in mind of the younger Abel’s gift being favored over that of his brother Cains. Isaac being raised up and Ishmael, Abrams eldest, being banished. Jacob winning the inheritance over Esau, even though Esau was born a few minutes earlier. And even Joseph being doted over so much more than the ten who came before him.

We are all pulled into the deep end with this one, as the next twelve verses are completely devoted to the younger brothers side of the story.  So Oliver comes to the Father and says “give me all that will be mine.” And surprisingly, there is no discussion. Instead, the Father just splits the inheritance between the two sons. Let me tell you, that is not how the story would play out in my family. But it’s Jesus’ story –– not mine. So in just a few days, Oliver packs it all up and travels to a distant land.
Then we are stuck with him for the rest of the paragraph.

He squanders all he has. He can no longer pay rent so he hires himself out as a farm hand. He gets to sleep in the barn as long as he feeds the pigs. He’s not getting paid, but at least he’s off the streets. Well, Oliver didn’t grow up working in the fields, and he realizes quickly that he doesn’t really like this sort of living He is in desperate need of a shower and is getting hungry. So he begins to develop a plan. Notice he never actually plans to ask forgiveness, instead rehearses lines to abase himself just get back into the house, albeit as a servant.

The prolific Jewish New Testament scholar, Amy-Jill Levine is un-convinced of any true remorse here on Oliver’s part. And frankly, so am I. She and others suggest that the over-rehearsed lines of, “I have sinned against God and against you” when compared with other uses of the same in scripture are full of insincerity. It’s like pouring all your syrup a ritz cracker, a whole lotta sweet, but not a lotta substance.

When he finally gets back to the homestead, (and you can hear him mumbling his lines under his breath the entire way) what he is actually hoping for becomes a reality. The Father sees him down the lane and comes running after him. Oliver doesn’t get to finish the line he’s been practicing because dad attacks him with a bear hug.  He never even says anything to his son, instead, he begins yelling at the servants to call the caterer, inform the butcher, bring out the finest coat and ring, (another allusion back to Joseph) and he decides it’s time to through a party for what was lost is now found (and in yet another look to Joseph), the son who was dead is alive again. Woohoo! Par-tay! And that is often where we stop listening. We throw the labels around repentant sinner, grace-filled father, a story of forgiveness. All is well, all is well. Now point me to the buffet. But like the Good Samaritan, Jesus’ stories never quite go where we expect.

Tell me, did you forget about Mason? It’s okay if you did because his father did too.

‘Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, “Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf because he has got him back safe and sound.” Then he became angry and refused to go in.

Everyone forgot about Mason. He comes in from the field and hears a party going on and doesn’t know why. Everyone forgot about him. He didn’t get an invitation. There seems to be plenty of servants, yet the Father didn’t send anyone out to the field to tell Mason the good news. It seems there are some major family dynamic issues. And I imagine at this point, the servant going into the house and running up to the father to tell him that Mason is outside refusing to come to the party. And the father going, “Oh, I forgot to tell Mason.” This is why it can be dangerous to analogize the Father as God. God never forgets any of us. As I said of the covenant a few weeks ago, God has never failed in the covenant, it is only we who have failed to keep our end and remember God. So now when starting from scratch, we see that the Father is –– a human father, with all the foibles such a title brings.

He comes out to where Mason in brooding to urge him to come inside. The word in the greek here is more likely saying he came out to comfort him. We don’t get the father’s initial words,  but it’s safe to say he comes out to say  “Sorry! In all the excitement I forgot to let you know.” But Mason interrupts and shows how abandoned he feels. When comparing his obedience to his brother selfishness, he disowns himself from the family, “Listen!” he says, “I stay here and work the fields like a slave, BUT THIS SON OF YOURS . . . “ Not brother, not Oliver, but this son of yours.

So –– “there was a man who had two sons.” And when we dig a little deeper it appears that he actually lost both of them.

We don’t really know how the story ends, Jesus (or at least Luke) cuts it short. The Father says, “Son, we have reason to rejoice, come inside, see your brother, and get a bite to eat.” In the end, we have a call to restoration, but the story is not a restoration between God and creation, rather it is restoration among ourselves. The family is broken and is not actually complete, not actually made whole until the entire family is back together. This is a lesson in how we live together.

God’s covenant with Abraham is a promise of Land, Descendants, and Blessing. In return, to keep our end of the bargain, we are charged to love God and love each other.
Taking care of each other. Making sure the family the entire human family is whole, and that we all have a place at the table.

I will conclude with Dr. Levine’s own words, as she says it so well.

If we hold in abeyance, at least for the moment, the rush to read repenting and forgiving into the parable  [because forgiveness never gets mentioned] then it does something more profound than repeat well-known messages. It provokes us with simple exhortations. Recognize that the one you have lost may be right in your own household. Do whatever it takes to find the lost and then celebrate with others, both that you can share the joy [and gladness] and so that the others will help prevent the recovered from ever being lost again. Don’t wait until you receive an apology; you may never get one. Don’t wait until you can muster the ability to forgive; you may never find it. Don’t stew in your sense of being ignored, for there is nothing that can be done to retrieve the past. Instead, go have lunch. Go celebrate, and invite others to join you.  If the repenting and the forgiving come later, so much the better.  And if not, you still will have done what is necessary. You will have begun a process that might lead to reconciliation. You will have opened a second chance for [restoration and] wholeness.*

For all the Law and the Prophets; for all the tales of brokenness and restoration;
for all the talk of death and resurrection; this is nothing new to God or the story of humanity. So let’s get up and try again. Find who is lost. The poor and the homeless, the unloved and forgotten, or even the person you see every day, maybe sitting next to you this morning, or maybe it’s a part of yourself that hasn’t fully returned.

Help them fully return. Bring us all back to life. Then with our hearts full of gladness or “Laetare”, as today is called we can all go to lunch –– together.

AMEN.

Rev. J. Nelson - 4 Lent C - March 31, 2019
St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana

* Levine, Amy-Jill. Short Stories by Jesus The Enigmatic Parables of a Controversial Rabbi. New York, NY: Abingdon Pr, 2014. (p 69-70)

RELUCTANT TO GROW

The Third Sunday in Lent - Year C

Exodus 3:1-15; Psalm 63:1-8; 1 Corinthians 10:1-13; Luke 13:1-9

In this morning's Gospel reading Jesus tells a parable. It’s kind of refreshing since we haven't had one of those in a while. In this parable, there is a Fig Tree that will not grow. When I first saw the lectionary for today I was all excited and was going to point to our paperwhites as an example. But then the perma-cloud dissipated and the sun came out completely ruining my object lesson, or so I thought.

The Living Homily in Lent 1

There is a lot going on in the pericope this morning but I would like us to focus on the latter half.

In the parables, I think it is always important to identify where Jesus’ role is found in the story. I once took a course on parables, and we were taught to look for Jesus in the places of most action. At first glance that seems to be the owner of the vineyard. The important one. The one passing judgment on the tree. But if we look more closely I think we might conjecture that the owner of the vineyard doesn't really spend much time there. He comes after a time to collect on his investment, but that is all. That doesn’t seem to line up with how God is presented in scripture. That doesn’t seem to line up with how God presents himself to me in life. Yes perhaps at first glance, but certainly not in the developed relationship.

Now, as I said at the Ash Wednesday service The sermon I preach began that day and will not end until Easter, so here we move into the second section of the message. And as I’ve said before,  God’s relationship with us is compared to a great many things, a King, a Father, a Shepherd but God is first and foremost presented to mankind . . .  all the way back in the Book of Genesis . . . as a what? A Gardner. And right here we have a Gardner.

The gardener tends for the plants and trees in the vineyard. He is with them every day. Now, this is an important part of being a gardener, especially in this region of Palestine. This part of the world has a very unique eco-systems. In particular, they are known as micro-climates. Think of it this way, it’s as if I were to plant two bushes, one by our statue of Saint Francis right out front, and the other at the back corner of our field. These micro-climates would make those sister plants grow in completely different ways. This is why the Law of Moses doesn’t allow land to actually be sold. Every fifty years on the Year of Jubilee, all property must all be returned to the original family. Why? Because they are the ones who know the land. It takes generations to fully appreciate these micro-climates and to treat the land with the care and respect necessary to produce to its fullest under these circumstances.

The gardener must know the vineyard. He knows what the weather has been like. He knows the micro-climate. He knows what every plant needs to thrive. And he knows the timelines for that growth. So we have three characters. The owner of the vineyard, impatient for his gains. The fig tree, reluctant to grow any faster. And the gardener who comes to the defense of the tree. 

In this particular parable, I think we can find ourselves in both the vineyard owner and the tree.

As the Spirit of God keeps telling us, Lent is not about being miserable for forty days just so we appreciate Easter more. No, Lent is about growth. We are now entering week three of that timetable, and some of us may find ourselves frustrated at the pace of our growth. I set these goals and haven’t lived up to them. I keep struggling to forgive my neighbor, or myself. Or I keep failing to let go of the things I need to release to God. And although I’ve stretched and pushed and pulled, my growth seems to be stunted. This is why we need a gardener. Someone who knows the weather knows the ground in which we are planted and knows exactly what we need. Sometimes it is just water, light, and time. Which is wonderful. That kind of remark from a friend. That word of encouragement from a family member. That smile from a stranger. Or perhaps that profound moment in the weekly sermon. 

I think, however, it is more often the ‘not so nice’ things that help us to grow. Just a little compost. Things we let go of and let decay. Perhaps a little ash. A penitential heart which begs for forgiveness, or the simple act of remembering our own mortality. The door closed the change in circumstance, the personal or indirect moment of trauma or bout with illness. What is it that Jesus says, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. Sometimes it’s just the stuff that stinks, we later find helped us to grow the most. 

Lent is hard. Life is hard. Growth is harder still. But through all our trials and tribulations, through all our excuses and times we literally step in the “manure,” God is with us.

Moses had nearly every excuse in the book (in fact, someone wrote them down in a book just so you would know) but God says, “I will be with you,” And like the gardener in the micro-climate he has generations on his side “I am that I am [ . . . ] I am the God of your ancestors, of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.” Paul gives similar encouragement in his letter to the church in Corinth, “No testing has overtaken you that is not common to everyone. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing, he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.” And Jesus himself, God-in-fleshed suffered all things and endured all things so that He might know intimately the nuances of the human condition. To know the weather. To know the lay of the land. To know the timeline, and to know just what needs to be done.

Last week I did two things to our paperwhites. First I noticed that the one stem had flowered all alone, it was the tallest and the brightest, yet it had no support. So it faltered under the weight of its own bloom. I went outside and grabbed two sticks. After the recent storms, there are plenty around. I latched them with twine and set it in the midst of the shoots. If you look closely you will notice its design. The support for this growth is none other than a cross.  A symbol I am sure you would agree is not full of water and light and spring air. It is rough and hard and something we are all asked to carry. A cross to bear, so they say. But perhaps that cross is less of a burden and more of a support for the journey. After all, Christ has already carried the cross. He knows its weight and pain and will help us on the way. 

The second thing I did is taken straight from this morning’s Gospel. I dug around the group of bulbs and into that space, I poured the ash. The remnant left over form Ash Wednesday.  Another symbol of pain and suffering, of sin and death, was mixed in with the earth to give life and support to the plants as they grow. This is why I thought my object lesson of reluctance to grow to be for naught because I came back in a few days later and the ashes and cross had begun their work as the plants shot up and the growth was finally clear. 

The Living Homily in Lent 3

Thomas Merton once described the mysterious and often painful process in this way: “You do not need to know precisely what is happening, or exactly where it is all going. What you need is to recognize the possibilities and challenges OFFERED by the present moment, and to embrace them with courage, faith, and hope.”

It may take a little pain and a little time. When we find ourselves in the struggle, muddied by the manure of life the goal is not always clear,  but that is not for you to worry about. Leave that to the gardener. You must simply have courage, faith, and hope. All you must do is grow.

Rev. J. Nelson - 3 Lent C - March 24, 2019 St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana

TRUST ME! I LOVE YOU! COME BACK!

Second Sunday in Lent, Year C
Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18;  Psalm 27;  Philippians 3:17-4:1;  Luke 13:31-35

There is a terrific comic strip I saw one time. Jesus is sitting on a stone, preaching to the masses. He must have just finished the sermon on the mount. You know the one, Blessed are the poor, woe to the mighty. Turn the other chick. Do good to those who hate you. Do not judge. Always forgive. Love one another. At this scene shortly after the sermon, the people have some questions. “But what if they look weird?” one participant calls out. “But they were really mean to me!” decries another. “But they do things differently than us!” shouts yet another. Jesus responds, . . . .

Have you ever had that conversation with a child or a student? “If I told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times.” Or my favorite southernism, “I done told ya, and told ya, and told ya!” But it doesn't matter. We don’t hear it. We don’t get it. Or we downright rebel against it. How frustrating that is for a parent–––a teacher. How much more frustrating that must be for God. In fact, we don’t really need to wonder about it.

’ Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! 

So, how long has this been going on? Well, at least since our first reading. “The word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision.” Translation, Abram had a dream.
And in this dream,  God reminds Abram of a promise he made all the back in Chapter 13. That’s when God says to Abram, look at the sand around your tent, I will make your descendants as numerous as the dust of the earth.

Now, Abram doesn't own a copy of the Book of Genesis, maybe he forgot what God said fifteen to twenty years earlier, or maybe he can’t find the post-it he wrote it down on, or maybe he just doesn't believe it.  So here we are, in Chapter 15. God tries it again. “Abram I love you. I have made a promise and will keep it. Forget about the grains of sand. Look at the stars in the sky. Can you count them? Because that is how many your descendants will be.” And how does Abram respond? But ummm………. And he comes up with all these (humanly reasonable) excuses. So God says, okay wise guy, let’s do this your way. Call your lawyer. Well, basically. In actuality he says, get these animals, kill them, cut them in two and lay them out. Once you do that I will walk through them to prove to you that I’m serious.

Sure this is weird to us. But it made perfect sense to Abram. This is how a covenant is made between two parties in the ancient world. Particularly, two parties of unequal status. It’s legally binding. You walk through the carcasses to say, if I break my oath, may I, like these animals, be cut down.

Still, Abram doesn’t believe it, or forgets it, or just can’t wrap his head around it. So he decides that since Sarai, his wife is old and baron, he will make this happen himself. Sarai brings Hagar, her slave and gives her to Abram as a concubine. She gets pregnant, and God sends an angel to tell Hagar she will have a son and to name him Ishmael.  (oooo that’s a familiar tope- See Luke 1:26–38). Now God tries again. Thirteen years later. This time lets seal it in flesh. God says ‘promise you will trust me. Promise you will wait on me. Promise you will keep the covenant.’ So Abram, and Ishmael, and all the male servants of his camp are circumcised. A sign of the covenant in flesh. He’s not going to forget it this time.

Sarah has a son, named Isaac, which means laughter because she laughed at the notion of becoming pregnant. God comes through on his promise. Not only to Abram through Isaac, but also through Ishmael,  who is also promised to bring about many descendants. From Ishmael, there are twelve tribes: Nebaioth, Kedar, Adbeel, Mibsam, Mishma, Duma,  Massa, Hadad, Tema, Jetur, Naphish, and Kedmah. Through Isaac’s son Jacob, known as Israel, there will also be twelve tribes; Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Dan, Naphtali, Gad, Asher, Issachar, Zebulun, Joseph, and Benjamin. Then after Sarah dies, Abram, now called Abraham, meaning the Father of Many, takes another wife and has more children, Zimran, Jokshan, Medan, Midian, Ishbak, and Shuah. If you want to check out the begat sections in Genesis, it keeps going.

Now with these descendants, God fulfills his part of the bargain. So what is the other side of the covenant? It should be a lot easier than miraculous births. It’s simply this, to love each other. To take care of each other. To look after the poor and weak, the orphan and the stranger. To forgive instead of seeking revenge. To love instead of hate. This is what the prophets speak over and over and over again. Jesus tells us so, he sums it up. There are two commandments. Love the Lord your God, and Love your neighbor. On these two hang all the Law AND the Prophets. God is saying, all those men and women I kept sending to you, this is what they were getting at.  Yet even though the sign of the covenant is marked in the flesh, these descendants continue to hurt each other, and themselves. The powerful stand on the powerless. The children still go hungry. The different ones are still mocked and the stranger is still ignored.  So Jesus laments over Jerusalem.

’ Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! 

What is so different now? We are inheritors of the Law and the Prophets. We have been grafted into the covenant with God, with the children of Ishmael and the children of Isaac. Not through scars of circumcision but through the wounds in the body of Jesus Christ. In God reconciling us to himself, we have been joined into the promise to Abraham, and we are charged to keep our end of the bargain.

Conservatively it’s been some five thousand years or so since God first spoke to Abraham. In all that time, God’s never failed in the covenant. We have! Over and over again. But in all our failings God has never struck us down. Instead, he just keeps calling. Come back–––I love you––––Try again.  I long to gather you all together as a hen gathers her brood, as a mother, her children. Yet time and again, you are not willing.

So God laments. God’s heart breaks. But God’s reaction is not of punishment. For in our failure to uphold the covenant among us, we have only succeeded in hurting ourselves. We still hate the stranger out of fear, although we are all children of God. We still ignore and oppress the weak while praising the strong, even though God is stronger than all. We still lie and cheat and kill one another, even though God was willing to die to get our attention.

God’s reaction is not one of punishment but only love. Ezekiel tells us that God does not desire the death of sinners, only that we turn back to him.  But it doesn't matter, We don’t hear it. We don’t get it. Or we downright rebel against it.

’ Elkhart, Elkhart! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! 

So we try and turn. We repent and seek restoration or reconciliation. But it is not only for  restoration with God, because without restoring our relationships with each other, with the poor, the oppressed, the homeless, the stranger, the one who is different, the one who has hurt us; if we do not grieve for the loss of innocence, then all that work is for nothing, and we will continue to grieve the heart of God.

It may not make sense now, it may seem an impossible task, and it is without the grace of God, but each Lent, God comes to us and says, “TRUST ME! I LOVE YOU! COME BACK!”

Rev. J. Nelson - 2 Lent C - March 17, 2019

St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana

Training in the off-season

The First Sunday in Lent - Year C
Deuteronomy 26:1-11; Psalm 91:1-2, 9-16; Romans 10:8b-13; Luke 4:1-13

It may be difficult to see now but throughout middle school and most of the high school, I was a member of the Cross-Country team. I wasn’t our best runner, but I wasn’t half bad and always enjoyed supporting my teammates.

Long distance running is a very strange sport because that is pretty much all you do. Run! It can also be a very lonely sport. Sure you have your team, but once you are in the race you can easily end up in the middle of nowhere, all alone. The important thing in the moment is to slip into the groove. It’s a beautiful feeling when the world fades away. You find your stride where your breathing is calm you can easily push through the pain and all you think about is what’s right in front of you (or the sound of footsteps right behind you). The problems come in the distractions. When you lose your focus and your stride is thrown. That's when the pain overtakes you. That’s when you get discouraged along the way. That’s when you get injured.

How do you remove or ignore the distractions? By training and preparing for them. This is what happens between the races. Both physical and mental training to take us closer to our goal.

Coach Diltz had us do a lot of different types of training throughout the season. On some days we were in the weight room. Even though we run with our legs, we race with our entire bodies. If your shoulders are weak–––your posture is wrong. If your posture is wrong–––you can’t breathe properly. If you can’t break properly–––the muscles in your legs begin to produce toxins instead of being oxygenated and you develop cramps, throwing off your stride and hurting your performance. On other days we’d just run. Not race, just run . . . . all over town. I still find my way around Circleville based on those training routes. The Kroger run, Master Greenlees, the Washing-Well. Each a different distance and terrain. Each coming with its own set of challenges. But the point was just to run and not stop. Even at the red lights, we encouraged to stand at the corner and keep our pace in place.

Then there were the darkest days When Coach would say those awful words, VO2-MAX! This was a workout where we had to sprint as hard as we could for a portion of the course, lightly jog the rest, and repeat . . . multiple times. It was HELL. But it had a purpose.  For one, it expanded our lung capacity and helped us breathe through. That's the important thing in the race, to remember to breathe. That's the important thing in life . . . to remember to breathe. Two, it strengthened our quick game, not just endurance. But three, and most importantly, it shut up our worsed enemies, the voice in our own head when we told ourselves we couldn’t do it anymore, we knew it was a lie because we had done it all before. And our trust was built in coach, who we knew would never do anything to actually hurt us.

Circleville High School Boys Cross-Country 2001

The testing in the wilderness is a lot like training for the long-distance race.  Life is a lot like a long distance race. Those which are presented to us in the story of Jesus this morning, represent things we all go through. Things we all must overcome if we are to endure the race.  Jesus is spending an extended period of time in the wilderness. He is going the distance, into the realm of pain and fear and isolation. The road through the wilderness is a long and winding and dangerous one, and not one any person should ever walk alone. Again, the same could be said for life.

When THE ACCUSER first appears, he tells the hungry one to turn the stones into bread and eat. But Jesus has the response ready, “One does not live by bread alone.” So what is the distraction here that often causes us to stumble? It is not the daily bread for which we pray. It is not the basic needs of life. Instead, it is about overcoming our insatiable need for consumption. More stuff . . .  more food . . .  more entertainment . . .  more fillers . . . more distractions. We want the next, the newest, the best . . .  and we want it now. This is why fasting is not just about skipping a meal.  We want to give in. We want to stop short and drink, but God says “you can do this, keep going.” But we know that God does not identify us by what we have or what we have gained. But God loves us for simply being, that’s what creators do. That’s what parents do.  God loves us for being, for living, and for loving all He loves. God has given us all we need. Although one may carb up before a race, one does not live by “bread” alone.

Then the ACCUSER shows Jesus “all the Kingdoms of the earth.”
“All this can be yours . . . . just give in, allow me to have the power.”

How often do we measure ourselves by our successes? How often do we link our self worth to the power we have, to our ability to go places and make things happen? How often do we beat ourselves up for accomplishing “too little?” But again, that is not how God measures us. Success is not determined by how many medals you win. It’s okay if we come in last in every heat. As long as we have kept our eye on what's important. Not seeking adulation,  or worshiping the quick fix as we are prone to do.  Faithfulness in the journey is what matters most. This is why Lent is so long. This is what Lent teaches us. I barely placed at a point that would help our team in the race, but I always finished strong.

So what about the third test? “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,’

What is the distraction here? This is selfishness. Believing you are better or worth more than any other. Putting yourself above others. Using others only for your own gain. If anyone had the right, it was Jesus the Christ. Who instead of testing God; instead of giving in to the hecklers at Golgotha and taking himself off the cross, He chose us over himself. What is most important is that we run together.  Lent is not only about the self, it is also about the community. One of the best feelings in the middle of a race was when a teammate would rush up or pull back to run alongside you. We helped each other. No words exchanged, just being was enough . . . enough to push us through.  wasn'tsnt for the entire race, but for the moments of weakness. Jesus is always reminding us to care for eachother. To look out for those less fortunate those who are weaker than us. The other side of this selfishness is ignoring the problem, and saying, “God will handle it.” Sometimes that is all we can do, but it should NOT be our go-to. That is arrogance. Remember we are all on the same team. We are all family. It’s not always about you. It’s not just about me. It IS about us.

Now for the part of our Gospel account  which I think fits best with the analogy “When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.”

In order to truly compete; in order to faithfully finish the race, the training must continue. We did a lot of work in those few months where found ourselves at a race nearly every weekend. But as any good runner will tell you, the true outcome of the race the fullness of your ability on the course
was made in the offseason. If we did not practice, if we did not run through the winter, spring, and summer, we were stuck back at the beginning come fall. What we call “out of shape.”

There is nothing in scripture to suggest that Jesus was not tested from the time he left the wilderness to the time he gave up his Spirit. Since we are always tempted to consumption, greed, and selfish pride, one could argue that by taking on the fullness of humanity, Jesus also walked this road.
Jesus also ran this race. Like us, he came upon distraction.  Like us, he felt pain and sorrow and anger. But unlike many of us, he prepared and confronted sins even in the offseason. He would wake up early before the disciples even roused to go into the mountains and pray. To spend time with God.

For the many in the church Lent is that first day back on the training course. It is hard, you feel every pain, every weak muscle. You notice each distraction. You are not prepared for the race. We are not prepared for Easter at the start of Lent. We are not prepared to fully receive the glory of the resurrection, because LIFE is distracting. This is Lent. This is a time for us to return, what in Hebrew is termed as a turning around. What we call, Repent.

Winter is hard, and we have been out of practice. This is why today we began with the Great Litany, its that LONG run. This is why for me at least, (we have the general confession the rest of the year) but there are times in the Great Litany that just hit me in the gut. It might be a good idea to spend a little time each day this week with a portion of the Litany and live into it.

We confront those things which distract us. We re-learn to breathe. Although it sounds counter-intuitive we build our strength through fasting and prayer. We take in the lessons of the Litany and continue to work through the pain of our own short-comings. It is not easy, but one of these days we will hit our stride. (Hopefully about Holy Week). We will feel the sweet wind of God as we pick up the pace. We will find restoration of body, mind, and spirit. And we will renew our promises, our baptism,
our faith.

Lent is a workout, welcome to the gym! Keep up the difficult work of pentatence. Let us grow through the pain, and let us run toward Easter together.  AMEN?

Rev. J. Nelson - 1 Lent C - March 10, 2019
St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana

NOT BURIED, ONLY PLANTED

Isaiah 58:1-12; Psalm 103:8-14; II Corinthians 5:20b-6:10; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21"

Sometimes preaching happens on the fly. Sometimes the sermon is written three days early and you get to rest. Other times, its getting started at 4:30 the morning of, and at other times the Spirit changes what you're going to preach while you walk to the Ambo. Then there are those very rare moments, that the Holy Spirit lays out the sermon a few weeks in advance. Although I didn’t start writing until this afternoon, this one has been percolating for about two months. Tonight’s sermon is also different because it involves props. The teacher in me may be coming out a little bit. It is likewise strange because this will be the longest sermon I’ve ever preached. Don’t worry, we all get to sleep in our own beds tonight. But this sermon will not really end until our fasting ends with the Feast of the Resurrection at Easter. I just want you to know that your presence here tonight means you're in it for the long hull.

We want our Lenten journey to be a Holy One, and as with any journey or plan, it takes a little preparation. This is why we have Ash Wednesday. A day that grounds us. Reminds us who we are, where we’ve been, and where we’re going. As with every well-laid project, we must begin with the foundation. When you walked in this evening I asked you to take a stone from the basket. All the best foundations are made of stone, the bible tells us that.

I would like you now, to hold your stone in the palm of your hand. Hold it tight. While you clench that stone I want you to think of something in the last year that has caused you to turn from God in any way. Or, has caused your relationships with other people to suffer. Perhaps it’s a distraction or a grudge. Perhaps it is a broken relationship or the inability to forgive ourselves. Something we have done, or something we have left undone.

The server is going to come around and collect those stones from you. And with this action, I ask you to let it go. Not just the stone, but the grudge, the hurt, the distraction. This stone is REPENTANCE. A symbol of our confession. It is the first step toward reconciliation and new life. It is the foundation of our Lenten journey

I’ve picked the stone for this symbol because confession is hard. Admittance of wrong and asking forgiveness can often hurt, and even leave scars if it hits us hard enough. Every day there is something to confess to God, no matter how small. On Ash Wednesday the work begins in earnest of releasing ourselves from the weight of our sins. So, for now, we set them before us, acknowledging them, and giving them over to God, as His love for us requires.

Now for the next layer of our Lenten journey: RESTORATION. For anything to be restored, it must first be broken. We can not change, we can not grow, we can not be transformed unless we are willing. Lent calls us to be open. To find openness in our relationships, with God, each other, friends, and foes. This is only possible with a little brokenness. So here is the next symbol. Broken earth. Soil.

Today we are very exposed to the dust. Ashes to ashes, Dust to dust. Remember that dust you were and to dust you shall return. This Lenten recollection comes from God’s curse in the Garden of Eden. But God does not desire evil upon His children. Therefore this curse does not come without hope and blessing.

Down the hall, we have a plastic tub filled with worms. The worms take what once was whole and since has died, and they transform it. It’s called compost. Rotting, dying, bits of matter are transformed into something new. It dies and is broken. It is no longer of itself. It dies and is broken
in order that it may give life. This is restoration. When out of brokenness come the nutrients that will give new life. Our death is not the end. Our bodies may break down and return to the earth, but life goes on. Life continues. This is what Christ taught us in laying down his own life on the cross, and rising again on the third day, thereby conquering death. Showing that death is not the end of life, but merely the transformation of it. Every day there are things that will break us. And every day a little death is required of us. Just remember that it is only in broken earth that new life is born.

Now our third theme. RENEW. When I hear the word RENEW, I see a sunrise. I hear birds singing the first songs of spring. And I see little green shoots beginning to break through what appeared to be dead earth. When I hear the word RENEW, I think of life. So I have another symbol for this. Bulbs.

God is often compared with a gardener. And as you’ve come to me, you should be able to understand why I like this so much. Our creation account tells us that in the east of the world newly formed God planted a garden. And from the soil of this world, God formed humankind. Breathing breath and breaking the ground so that through what appeared to be dead earth
a new life was born. And after a time the human died, returned to the earth breaking the soil once again. Dying in order for life to be renewed.

This is the movement of our Lenten journey. It is not an easy road, but do not despair. Along the way, the spirit of God moves in and hovers over the water. This water of Baptism is what activates growth as it seeps into every part of our lives from Repentance to Restoration and eventually to Renewal.

Now as I said, this sermon will not be done until we feast at Easter. But as a reminder that this work–––this journey continues, we have this glass vase. It will be back out here for each Mass leading to Holy Week. And hopefully, you will see the physical representation of Lent. The roots will spread clinging to the waters of the Holy Spirit, breaking through the soil with the hands of God, covering our sins in the love of Christ. And over time . . . . life should shoot up.

These are paperwhites. They will grow with us. And as we reach the zenith of our story (the story of Christ which is also our story) the buds should bloom and fill the God’s garden with fragrant beauty. So prepare to grow this Lent. Repent, Restore, and Renew. And remember that even if it feels like you are being buried, you are quite possibly, simply being planted.

Rev. J. Nelson - Ash Wednesday - March 6, 2019

St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana

THE WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN

Jeremiah 17:5-10; Psalm 1; I Corinthians 15:12-20; Luke 6:17-26

From late September to mid-October 1781, a battle raged on the banks of the York River in Virginia that would change the course of history forever. The British troops under Gen. Cornwallis occupied the city of Yorktown, now besieged by the Americans under Gen. Washington on land, and the Chesapeake Bay blockaded by the French under Gen. Rochambeau. The great British Empire was shaken to its core, and for the first time in the history of the world, subservient colonists were about to remove the foot of their oppressors and shake off the chains of tyranny.

On the 19th of October, nearly 8,000 troops laid down their arms, as Cornwallis surrendered, turning the tied of the war culminating in the Treaty of Paris some two years later and an end to the American Revolution. Legend says, that as the British troops marched in surrender, their fife and drum played a popular drinking song of the day. Based on an old English nursery rhyme, the tune they played had a most poignant title, “The World Turned Upside Down” It is this title and this theme that brings me to this morning's Gospel.

The blessing’s of this sermon by Jesus, known as The Beatitudes, can be found in some form in both the Gospels of Matthew and Luke. The verbiage is pretty similar across the board, but the two authors have one striking difference in the setting. Both take place in The Galilee, near the city of Capernaum. But Matthew has us on a Mount. The traditional site of this great sermon is remembered with a convent and a beautiful Franciscan Chapel. Today it is known as Mount Beatitudes. I have been there, and I can assure you, the ground is not even. From the edge of the bluff,  one can see nearly the entire shore of the lake, the sun glistening off the waves as fishing nets dry in the summer breeze.

I believe that Matthew’s account and the tradition of the last two-thousand years probably have the map marked right. No offense to the author of Luke, but it is very well documented that this author does not know the geography or the terrain of the places he mentions. For example,  a few weeks ago the people of Nazareth took Jesus to a cliff in order to throw him over the edge of the mountain. In reality, it probably was not so dramatic. The only viable cliff is about a three-mile hike from the center of town over rough terrain. It is very clear that our author is taking poetic license.

Here it is no different.
“Jesus came down with the twelve apostles, and stook on a level place.”

Luke does not situate us on the mountain. Instead, he has come down, a mass of people from all around the countryside have come up, and here they meet on a level place. Luke is setting the stage. We are thinking of a plain. We are imagining an equal footing. There is no higher or lower. The castes of the age have been disrupted by Jesus words. The systems have been shaken and the world is turned upside down.

Luke begins with the encouraging bit.
Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.

Oh isn’t that nice? Those reduced to the least of these by the systems of this world, in God’s economy, you are the heir apparent.

Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled.

The base of Maslow’s hierarchy is a physiological foundation. Before anything else can be met or accomplished we humans require rest, warmth, water, and food. In this economy, you may have need and want, but do not fear, the Lord will provide.  We will get to how in a moment.

Blessed are you weep now, for you will laugh.

This is not just a momentary respite from pain and sorrow, this is a joy unspeakable and full of glory. This is a joy that does not end because in God’s kingdom there is no night.

Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man.  Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets.

In God’s kingdom, there are no bullies. In God’s kingdom, there is no exclusion. In God’s kingdom, there is no hate. In God’s kingdom, we are all family . . .  The Family. In God’s kingdom, we live by love. In God’s kingdom, we care for our neighbor. In God’s kingdom, we lift each other up.

God’s kingdom does no look like the kingdom of this world. But God is about the work of transformation. God is about turning the systems of mankind on its head. God is about casting down the mighty and lifting up the lowly. God is about love and joy whenever the world is about fear and hate.

So Luke gives us the flip. Blessed are you who are poor . . . Woe to you who are rich and do not care for those with less than you, for you have received your consolation. Blessed are those who hunger . . . Woe to you who are filled with good things while others go without. Blessed are you who weep now . . . Woe to you who fill your days with laughter at the expense of others. Blessed are you who are hated by the world . . . Woe to you who seek her praise and adulation.

This flip is not the spinning of a wheel, but it is about coming together.
It is not about mountain hights or crevasses deep but that place of equality found in between. Last week I warned you that the Kingdom of God is where transformation happens. This is the clearest way in manifests. And it is not a new sermon. So has it been said by prophets of old, and all true prophets heirs. So is it recounted in Mary’s song – Magnificat. So is it said by Jesus the Christ, over and over and over again.

This is the Kingdom of God. This is the will of the Father we sing in the prayer Christ taught us. One of the ancestors of our faith was once asked by a student, why we continue to pray for our daily bread? The answer, said the teacher, is clearly an act of repentance. We pray for daily bread to remind us that as the Body of Christ, as ONE family, none of us can ever truly be filled until ALL of us are fed.

As long as oppression continues, we are all under the heel of this world and the Kingdom is not yet fully realized. As long as children weep for fear in the night, none of us can truly know joy. As long as there are poor among us, none of us can truly be rich.

So come with me to a level place, let us together proclaim the good news, and in all works strive to help the Kingdom of God break through, until that most glorious day when all of this is realized, when the systems are forced to surrender and the world is turned upside down.

May that be the song we sing. 
My soul magnifies the Lord,
Blessed are the poor, the sorrowful, the hungry, and the rejected. 
Thy Kingdom Come.

AMEN.

Rev. J. Nelson - Epiphany 6C Sermon - February 17, 2019
St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana

TRANSFORMATION OF THE HEART

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

If you have been here or watched on our LiveStream for the last few weeks you may have noticed a running theme. TRANSFORMATION. And even if you haven't been here or you keep falling asleep during my sermons, you had to pass a sign on your way in the Nave this morning that clearly tells you the theme. I mean the word TRANSFORMATION  is right there in big bold red letters. So are y’all with me now? Good, because today is no different.

This morning the lectionary framers give us the story of Joseph, (at least part of it). Now if I’m perfectly honest anytime I hear or read about the story of Joseph in Genesis, I hear the soundtrack from Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice’s musical Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat. And no matter the narrative, in my mind Joseph always looks a little bit like Donny Osmond. In fact, I was listening to the soundtrack while writing out this sermon last night. But today I promise I will try to stick to the biblical text.

First, a little background . . . .  Joseph is the 11th of twelve sons of Jacob. He is the firstborn of Jacobs favorite wife Rachael, who to this point in the story had been barren. Being the favorite child comes with a great many perks. The most obvious is that while the older brothers all toiled in the fields, Joseph stays home and gets an education. This doesn’t go over well with his brothers. To add insult to injury, Joseph is blessed with these extraordinary dreams. He revels in sharing these dreams that seem to raise him up and put down his brothers, even going so far as to say they will bow down and honor him. Then Jacob does something that drops the straw to break the camels back. He gives Joseph a special coat.

Now sorry to burst your Sunday School bubble, but it wasn’t a coat of many colors. According to the Hebrew, it was a coat “with long sleeves“

oooooOOOOOOOoooooo! But think about it. This isn’t a short tunic meant to be worn in the fields with the sheep bought on the cheap, this is a garment for nobility someone who stands out who stays inside, and evidence seems to suggest that Joseph was a bit of a brat about it and enjoyed lording his special status over his brothers. Not how we usually like to think of the patriarchs, now is it?

Well to fast-forward a bit, Joseph’s brothers have had enough. They take his coat, fake his death and sell him into slavery. Through a series of extraordinary events, Joseph interprets the dreams of Pharoah in Egypt, predicting a great famine, and putting his education to use,  he suggests the Egyptians undertake major austerity measures and develops what some regard as the first recorded rationing.  For his efforts and his prowess, Joseph is made the second most powerful person in Egypt. He gets a palace, takes a wife and fathers two sons.

One day, a group of dusty Bedouins from Caana stumble into the delta valley seeking reprieve from the famine. Though they don’t know it’s him, Joseph recognizes his brothers. These are the men who kidnapped him,
tortured him, took away his precious coat and sold him into slavery. He had plenty to be angry about. These brothers deserve to become the enemy. They deserve to be hated. They deserve to starve! RIGHT?

Let’s jump to Jesus words in the gospel for a moment.

“Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.”

What does Joseph do? He feeds them. He instructs them to bring their families to Egypt too. He loves them. He forgives them. He kisses them and even weeps over them. They took his coat, and he gave them his shirt. They begged for their lives, and he gave them all they asked and more. Joseph did what Jesus says to do. How lovely is that? It sounds easy on paper, no? Words on a two-thousand-year-old scroll, and a four-thousand-year-old story. But what about now? Besides “sell all you have and give it to the poor” and “die in order to live” These commands by Jesus are probably the most difficult for us to follow. It is harder to love and forgive an enemy than to do anything else.

For two hundred years, South Africa was under British Colonial Rule, but it wasn’t until 1948, that the laws of apartheid took effect. Apartheid laws established separateness, not too unlike the Jim Crow South. Black South Africans, the natives of the land, were legally second-class citizens. While the Dutch and English lived in beautiful houses, the Zulu, the Xhosa, the Sotho, and the Tswana, were forced into crowded slums and reduced to squalor. Mixing of races was illegal, and people like comedian Trevor Noah were “born a crime.”

In 1986, the Bishop of Johannesburg, Desmond Tutu, was made Archbishop of Cape Town, and he continued to devote his ministry to end Apartheid.
In 1994, the laws begin to lax. Nelson Mandela is elected South Africa’s first black president. And in 1996, they together begin the work of  ––not revenge,–– but reconciliation.

The Truth and Reconciliation Commission was about the work of RESTORATIVE JUSTICE. This was not about retribution or appropriations. This was about the transformation of the heart. In these courts of restorative justice, the two sides had to sit together, while the victim shared their stories of abuse. The goal was forgiveness, however long it may take.

About this difficult process of forgiveness, Archbishop Tutu had this to say,

“Forgiving and being reconciled to our enemies or our loved ones are not about pretending that things are other than they are. It is not about patting one another on the back and turning a blind eye to the wrong. True reconciliation exposes the awfulness, the abuse, the hurt, the truth. It could even sometimes make things worse. It is a risky undertaking but in the end, it is worthwhile, because in the end, only an honest confrontation with reality can bring real healing. Superficial reconciliation can bring only superficial healing.” 

True love requires a transformation of the heart. It does not make us superhuman. It does not take the pain away. But it does bring us closer to each other, and thereby brings us closer to God.

Lent is right around the corner, a time when we are charged with examining our hearts.I promise you, there is always room for a little more transformation.

So what does Jesus call us to do? How do we live like Joseph and Desmond Tutu?

“Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. 
Do not judge, and you will not be judged; 
do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. 
Forgive, and you will be forgiven; 
give, and it will be given to you. 

Be Merciful! Do Not Judge! Do Not Condemn! Forgive! And Give!

You have your charge. May you rise every day and strive to keep it. Transform your hearts, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Rev. J. Nelson - Epiphany 7C Sermon - February 17, 2019
St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana

CAUTION! CHANCE OF TRANSFORMATION.

Epiphany V - C

Isaiah 6:1-13, Psalm 138, I Corinthians 15:1-11, Luke 5:1-11

Today we find ourselves on the fifth Sunday after the Epiphany. Often this time is considered a season of the same name. The word Epiphany comes from the greek επιφανηιν - epiphainein meaning ‘to reveal.’ As the Church continues to tell the story of Jesus and our life in Jesus, the Sunday’s of this “season” attest to God being revealed.

The last four Sunday’s focused on God being revealed in the person of Christ. The adoration of the Magi, the Baptism in the Jordan, the wedding at Cana, and the sermon in Nazareth. Today that is shifted. Today we begin focusing on God being revealed in us and through us. Luke shares how Jesus called his first disciples.  The other two readings which the lectionary framers gave to us could seem to be three disparate accounts if it weren't for the fact of one bright thread running through them. All of these readings tell us of a call into ministry. Something happens to transform the lives of the protagonists so that they move from one way of life, one way of thinking, into a new orientation, a new revelation of God.

The first five chapters of the book of the Prophet Isaiah are written in Hebrew poetry. This literary device denotes sacred or prophetic text. Chapter six, however, changes to prose. There is something new in the story here. The writer is saying, ‘pay attention, things are about to change’ The protagonist, not yet a prophet has a vision of the heavenly court. Surrounded by flaming angels, earthquakes, and smoke, and he says, “Woe is me! I am lost . . . “ A more accurate translation here would be  “I am struck dumb–I am at a loss for words.” He then goes on to give excuses for why he’s in the wrong place. “I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.” Moses and Jeremiah do the same thing when they are called to transformation. “I am a man of stuttered speech.” or “I am only a boy.”


This arguing with God is a repeated anecdote within the prophetic call narrative. God then does something to clarify the point, to change or transform the person so that they realize they too can be the voice of God.

The Apostle Paul has a similar story. He is not made speechless like Isaiah, but rather made blind. Knocked off his horse on the way to Damascus from Jerusalem.  He knows he is unworthy of this call and says so in his letter to the Corinthians. “For I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle because I persecuted the church of God.” In his blinding revelation, Saul of Tarsus was changed, “But by the grace of God I am what I am.” Every January, we keep the Feast of the Conversion of St Paul. I would argue it was less of a conversion and more of a transformation. His sight is returned, his heart is changed, and he finds himself on a new path.

In the Gospel, we meet a professional fisherman. And I mean professional.
This is Simon’s livelihood he runs a major business and is even in partnership with the team of Zebedee and Sons. They’ve fished all night and haven't caught a thing. they are stinky, tired and annoyed. He still can't call it quits because he has to mend the nets so they will be ready for another (hopefully more successful) night of fishing. While cleaning and mending, they see this rabbi down the beach. He’s the crazy carpenter's son who was run out of Nazareth last week.

A little later, Jesus ends up in the boat and tells them to go out and drop their nets again. Imagine what Peter must have been thinking. “Hey man, leave the fishing to the professionals, okay” Just like those called before him, he makes excuses. But we’ve just been out all night. That’s not how this works. So God does something to clarify the point, to bring about that transformative moment. Peter gives a huff and drops the nets, only to bring in such a catch that the weight of the fish almost sinks the boats. I like to think there is a missing part of the narrative, where Jesus says, “Good, now that I have your attention.” But instead, he goes on to say, “Don’t be afraid. Follow me and I’ll transform how you fish.” This is what we’re in for if we really look for God if we listen to God if we allow ourselves to be surprised by God.

A friend of mine, The Very Rev’d Gregory Jenks of Grafton, Australia suggested to his congregation the need for a sign on the Cathedral door. A version of this is what you saw on your way in this morning. We are all called to something to some ministry within the kingdom of God. That’s just how God works. When we decide to follow him, to live and love like Jesus, we dare not remain unchanged.  So perhaps the church should come with a warning.

CAUTION!

ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.

All who enter this sacred space may run the risk of experiencing TRANSFORMATION

and may discover that GOD has a purpose for their life.

Expect some inconvenience.

This call . . . this ministry . . . this transformation is not just for the ordained. It is not just for those active in ministry. It is for all of us. Even those who only show up on Christmas and Easter, and especially for those whose feet have never crossed our threshold. I challenge you to leave today with this warning on your lips. Tell the world that God loves them. Tell the world what God has done, and is doing for you. Warn them that God is in the business of shaking up peoples lives. Warn them that God is about the business of transformation. The blind are given sight. The hungry are fed. The oppressors are brought down. The lowly are raised up. The broken are made whole and the weary are made strong. The shepherd becomes a King, the persecutor becomes and defender and the fisherman rocks the boat.

Go and be transformed, because with the revelation of God,  you too,  can transform the world.

Rev. J. Nelson - Epiphany 5C Sermon - February 10, 2019
St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana

Rejection

Epiphany IV - C
Jeremiah 1:4-10, Psalm 71:1-6, I Corinthians 13:1-13, Luke 4:21-30

I moved out of my childhood home just a few weeks after graduating high school. Now granted, I moved in with my grandmother but it was still two hours away from all my friends, off to the farm to help her through the summer, and to take up my first job at King’s Island Amusement Park.

There was still a semblance of “home” but I was also diving into developing my independent life. From that point forward,  my definition of the home began to change, and my definition of self began to change with it. In one sense this is what's happening in today’s Gospel.

Jesus has returned to his home town, the place where everyone knew him. They had watched him grow up, at least since he was about six or seven. They knew his parents, his brothers, and sisters, his cousins, and his friends. They knew the craftsmanship he had learned in Joseph’s workshop. And they knew him to be a bit of a dreamer, an intuitive, an introvert. He would go off into the countryside by himself at times. This last trip he was gone for nearly two and a half months. But for a young man in his twenties, this was not all that unusual.

In Talmudic tradition, the age of thirty is when a young man is finally considered grounded in life and ready to take up leadership roles within the community. So Jesus’ latest journey as he ends his twenties, could be seen as a gap year. He was traveling around learning who he is and is developing his own identity.

Unlike most gap years, this one involved confirmation by The Spirit and The Voice of God, that he was the Messiah. Imagine coming back from your soul searching trip to Thailand, only to tell everyone in your small town that you are the Savior of the World. Yeah, that’s pretty much what’s going on.

This reading and teaching by Jesus in the Synagogue was pretty much his inaugural address. Well, as we finish the story this week, we can clearly see that the assembly does not like the agenda he has laid out. They reject him outright. Luke tells us that they grew angry with him, chased him out of town, and threatened to throw him off the cliff. I’m super glad no one threatened to throw me off a cliff when I went home and told them I was feeling called to the priesthood, though a few of them may have thought I’d already fallen off one and hit my head pretty hard.

This initial rejection by those closest to him, in a way, sets Jesus and his followers on a reoriented trajectory. Home has changed. Following Jesus requires changes in accustomed ways of thinking about the world and about home. It requires a readiness for transformation and a new Spirit that embraces the exiled and the outcast as cherished members of the family. Why? Because Jesus himself was homeless -- exiled from his own town. As he says in another Gospel passage, “Foxes have holes, and the birds have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”

Most of us readily identify with the sentiment expressed in sayings such as “there’€™s no place like home,” But amid an epidemic of violence and rejection at homes, or in towns, and unfortunately even in church communities, we must recognize that for many people there is nothing at all sweet about that place called home. The old expression, €”home is where the heart is,” perhaps best conveys a Gospel outlook, because it recognizes that our true home is not a house or a town or a dot on the map, but a dwelling and abode found only in our hearts, only with God. No matter our connections to our place of origin or current physical surroundings, it is only the geography of the human heart that matters. As Jesus reminds us, “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Ultimately for followers of Christ, anyplace and everyplace can be home.
There is a comfort in this because following the way of Jesus, the Way of Love is going to be full of struggle and rejection.

Strange as it may seem, the message of hope, and love, and acceptance among the people of God, is not always easy to live into, and is not always accepted by the world, especially by those who hold power over others. Especially for those who feel secure in their abode, and fearful of the rejection one might expect by the world through living the Gospel. But this is our calling. By becoming followers of Jesus, we are to expect rejection. We are to identify with and support the forgotten and rejected; the misused and oppressed; the lonely and unloved.

We are called to live a life in–––but not of this world. The early Christians sensed this as they referred to their newly embraced faith not as a home or shelter but as the way or the path. As followers of Jesus, we are all spiritual nomads, bathed in baptism at the Jordan, making our way out across the desert of the soul, and seeking acceptance and welcome at the nearest oasis or village. We offer in return the Gospel message of life and freedom.

Yes, we may have roots in a place. But once we accept the challenge to follow Jesus, we can never truly go “home” again. We now wander through life and invite those we meet to wonder with us. Because of this, we are now the perpetual “guest” in this world. This is why we feel a strong urge to care for each other. We can see that we are all on a journey.

As followers of Jesus we must expect rejection, we must be open to those we meet along the way, we must always be inviting and aware of those who make the journey with us. And we must be ever ready to pull up the stakes and break camp when Jesus calls us in another direction along the Way. In this life and in the next, may our home always be with God!

Rev. J. Nelson - Epiphany 4C Sermon - February 3, 2019
St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana